Ishmael’s sword flashes in a blur, cutting off arms and heads and wings. Screeches of fury and agony fill the air. I protect his back as best as I can, landing kicks and punches that send the creatures spinning away, but doing no real damage to them. Too quickly, my forearms and thighs are crisscrossed with deep scratches that heal quickly, but not instantly.

  Ishmael is faring a little better, considering he can keep them at sword’s length; then again, he’s taking on the brunt of the attack, having wedged his way between me and the gargoyle, in true guardian angel fashion.

  I need to help my lovestruck angel, but the only source of water is far below.

  “I’ll be back with reinforcements!” I shout above the screeches and beating of wings, unsure if Ishmael can hear me. He nods when I point to the river below. He gets it. I’ll be back with a sword soon enough.

  Or so I hope.

  Ducking and weaving, spinning and slashing, I free-dive through the melee. One thing about the Devil Killer, it was always nearby. Not so much the ice sword, which needs a nearby water source. How nearby? I’ve tested it. Turns out to be about ten feet.

  Well, I’m far from that, though gaining rapidly.

  Suddenly, my internal alarm rages in my ear, and I brace for something big. It comes from above me. Pretty sure the bastard simply dropped from the sky... to land on me. It latches onto me with talon-like claws, clinging to my shoulders—and goes to town biting flesh from my neck.

  “Bastard!”

  I circle and spin out of control, the weight between my wings throwing off their rhythm. That, and you know, whole chunks of Sam Moon being bitten away. The thing wedges between my wings, wrapping its rear claws around the base of them.

  I do the only thing I can think of.

  When I retract my wings, the demon briefly loses its balance. As it struggles to regain its balance, it mercifully stops chowing down on yours truly. As I freefall, I spin and contort and finally get a hold of the little shit.

  Little is right. No bigger than a bobcat, but just as ferocious. It claws at my face as I grip its neck with both hands. Then twist. Hard. The head pops right off, along with a spray of black blood that mostly covers me.

  That wouldn’t have been so bad, considering the infamous river is coming up rapidly below me; unfortunately, two more demons appear from seemingly thin air, each latching down on an arm or shoulder.

  Together, we plunge into the black depths...

  ***

  The water is weirdly thick and moving far slower than I expected.

  From above, the river seemed to be flowing freely across the dark landscape. Now that I’m in it—and fending off two demons—I might as well have splashed down into an oil slick. Either way, I have to keep these damn things from scratching my eyeballs out—which is what they seem determined to do. No clue how long it might take to grow those suckers back.

  Although I’m in water—if that is what this is—I’m too busy fending off these hellcats to generate the ice sword.

  I doubt trying to drown them is going to work. At present, I have one by the throat and another by an ankle. Both are as big and ferocious as a wolverine. My forearms are literally getting shredded by claws and teeth.

  Down we sink to the surprisingly soft riverbed. I would have expected it to be rocky. Then again, this isn’t regularly flowing water.

  Once at the bottom, I shove the one I have by the neck into the silt, and stomp on it for good measure. Pretty sure I drove the thing a foot into the mud, I push off the floor and shoot up through the gelatinous flow of goop. Flying in the open air again and dripping goop, I fling the one I have by the ankle as far as I can, aiming from a rocky cliff. I hear it go splat and grimace.

  No, I don’t like killing things. Not even sure it’s dead. Then again, I don’t care. They’re a form of demon, and wasn’t I hired not too terribly long ago to rid the earth of such creatures? I was, but I’m pretty sure these are a very different kind of demon.

  And I might not even be on earth.

  I make a gesturing motion with my fingers—the same motion I always make when summoning the ice sword. Except this time... nothing. Pretty sure this isn’t normal H20. Wasn’t this river supposedly composed of the souls of the damned? Or was that something I had seen in Harry Potter?

  Either way, no ice sword for me.

  Damn, the goop is weighing down my wings. I’m having a terrible time keeping myself aloft. Moments later, I fall back into the River Styx, and feel myself sinking again. I could drop back to the riverbed and rocket back up, but it’s not like I got very far last time.

  I might—just might—need help.

  Not too terribly far away and up about fifty feet, a frantic-looking Ishmael punts a demon high into the sky—and spots me. Maybe because I’m waving my hands. He nods and dives down, tucking his back like a falcon aiming for a field mouse. As he does so, a dozen or so demons dive-bomb after him, most of which he dispatches with his fiery sword, rolling in a sort of corkscrew. A few latch on to his legs and shoulders. He reaches back for these and flings them off him like so many leeches.

  As Ishmael comes screaming at me, looking for all the world like a white eagle about to snatch a goat off a mountainside, I do something very un-goat-like. I reach a hand up to him—a hand slick with goo.

  Luckily, Ishmael’s grip is true, and I’m yanked up out of the stuff to dangle from his strong grip. Based on the searing pain shooting through my shoulder, I’m pretty sure my arm just got yanked out of its socket. Doesn’t matter. I’m free of the stuff and we’re now heading for shore. Yes, the same shore presently jam-packed with wandering souls.

  My life.

  There, he releases me and I hit the ground running, my shoes squishing over sticky gunk. Once I come to a stop, I choose the trunk of an alien-looking tree and ram my shoulder against it. Two whacks later, my arm is back in place in my shoulder socket and I can quit whimpering. Mercifully, my healing game is on point. The scratches are already fading and, with luck, the bigger chunks of flesh removed from my neck and shoulder are filling in.

  Ishmael settles next to me, his wingspan providing a bit of protection from any demons thinking of dive-bombing us. They don’t. Instead, they hover in the sky around us, shrieking and chattering excitedly. Maybe they are the souls of the flying monkeys from the Wizard of Oz?

  Along the riverbank, we see someone approaching us—a tall, fully formed figure. Not one of the wandering souls. It’s a man.

  A very big man.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  The guy is about the size of Ishmael, if not a little taller. I’m definitely getting “devil” feels from him.

  It’s in the cockiness, the contempt, and cruelty in his eyes. It’s all in there, mixed with disdain and humor. I know, that’s a lot from a simple gaze. Except this isn’t just anyone. It’s an entity for whom these nasty little furballs have total reverence, judging by their little bows, some of whom even quake in fear.

  Yeah, this could have been the Christian devil, with whom I faced off with years ago, back when I had the Devil Killer sword. Kinda regretting giving up that sucker now.

  Judging by his size, general presence, sneer, and the vitality of his state of being, I’m guessing he’s Hades. According to Reggie, this god still possesses most of his power, thanks to his name being kept alive in pockets around the world, especially within the creative types in Hollywood and in publishing.

  He says something loudly, boisterously, his voice full of curiosity. Except I haven’t a clue what he’s saying.

  “English?” he offers.

  I nod, though I suspect Ishmael understood him perfectly.

  “Let’s start again,” he says, spreading his hands. “What do we have here? I’m guessing an immortal undead and an angel? But that can’t be right, can it? How could an angel cross into the Underworld?”

  “Stand back, devil, or perish,” says Ishmael, holding out his blazing sword.

  This amuses the entity. “Do you know who I am, angel?”

  “You are Hades, the incarnation of evil in this realm.”

  The tall god, presently floating about a foot off the ground, nods and folds his hand before him. “Before we get into all that, how about an explanation for why an angel and a vampire are here in my backyard, fighting with my pets.”

  I push from under Ishmael’s protective wings. Not an easy task. Weirdly, I feel like I’ve been embraced by them in the past, especially as a child. There was a time when a speeding car had hit a puddle and lost control. Thought for sure it would hit me; instead, it had careened off what I assumed was the curb, or a pole, except when I went looking for both the next day, there had been only a broken patch of sidewalk.

  Ishmael? I think so.

  “My name’s Samantha Moon, and this is my ex-guardian angel, Ishmael.” Perhaps I should be a tad nervous about meeting the Greek god of the Underworld—except that I had faced and fought the Christian devil and won. A weakened Greek god just doesn’t push my buttons, though his realm is certainly impressive.

  “Ah, a fallen angel. Okay, that makes sense. But that does not explain why you’ve trespassed into my kingdom.”

  I consider how much to tell him. As a god, I suspect he can read my mind, though he’s made no indication of having done so yet. Gods are a good deal above immortals. I say, “I’m looking for Dis Pater; in particular, one of his prisoners.”

  Hades cocks his head, studies me, and then snaps his fingers.

  ***

  The dark forest morphs into an elegant hallway full of paintings, statues, lush carpets and hanging tapestries. We’ve been teleported by a master. No surprise there. He is, after all, the brother of Zeus.

  Mercifully, the flying hell-monkeys did not make the trip. Instead, a handful of servants line a long hallway, all wearing robes or long dresses. Most are quite pretty and handsome. Were these humans? None sport auras and all seem to have a fairly blank look in their eyes.

  I had done some spot research last night. I knew Hades’s palace served double and even triple duty. Many of the rooms here housed the worst of humans. Real bastards. I’m leaning toward many of these rooms being below the palace in what I’m imagining as dungeons. Additionally, there are pits around here somewhere, where the absolute scum of the earth were punished for all eternity.

  “Ah, Rex. He really, really hates when people call him Dis.”

  “Okay. Good to know.”

  “And before you ask, no Persephone is not here. This is her time away. If you ask me, she relishes it a bit too much.”

  I wasn’t going to ask, but I say, “Er, okay.”

  “Tell me, Samantha, what do you want with this prisoner?”

  “I’ve come to, umm, negotiate for his freedom.”

  “Ah.” Hades gestures for us to walk with him, and we do. The servants bow to him each in turn as we pass by. “That might be problematic, Miss Moon. Souls are down here for a reason. The idea here is eternal punishment. Not short-term punishment.” He chuckles at that, as if it’s the first time he’s formed the word play. “Trust me, I feel bad for half the people here. But I don’t make the rules. I just implement them.”

  “But what if he was, in essence, tricked into making a deal?”

  “Tricked, how?”

  “He made a deal with Dis—er, Rex—at a young age.”

  “What were the terms of the deal? These tend to be binding, Sam. Do you mind if I call you Sam?”

  “That’s fine,” I say, briefly marveling at the fact that the brother of Zeus just asked for my permission to use a shortened version of my name. “In exchange for his soul, he would become the world’s greatest bullfighter.”

  “I see. And was he?”

  “By all accounts, yes.”

  “And how old was he when he made the deal?”

  “Sixteen.”

  “Hmm. Pretty young for such a big decision. How long was the deal in place?”

  “Just three months before the young man was killed in a bullfight.”

  “I see your concern. An eternity in exchange for three months of greatness?”

  “That’s right.”

  “That hardly seems fair. Was he your son?”

  “No, a client’s son.”

  “Client?”

  “I’m a private investigator, which means—”

  He holds up a hand. “I’m aware of the profession. How long has the lad been down here?”

  “Two hundred years.”

  “Yikes. Sadly, his punishment has only just begun. Rex is a real bastard. And that’s coming from, well, me. But there’s another problem, Sam.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Rex is fading into irrelevance. He’s holding on to what few victims he’s managed to scrounge up. Keeping them down here helps him hang on for just that much longer. I don’t see a scenario where he gives up his charges.”

  “Then I won’t ask him,” I say. “And maybe his demise should be hastened.”

  Hades throws his head back and laughs. “Ho ho! Funny how being down here affects your mindset and your speech. Would you say words like demise and hastened topside?”

  “Maybe,” I say. “Doesn’t matter. I’m here to break the kid out, one way or another.”

  “A thousand years ago, I would say good luck with that,” says Hades, pulling at his chin, despite there being no hair there. “Then again, a thousand years ago, Rex still had a thriving kingdom to oversee. Not so much now. Which, undoubtedly, prompts him to actively find victims, of which the matador would have been one. Tell me, Sam. Why venture into an alien realm of gods and monsters just to help one lost soul?”

  “Because I know right from wrong.” I say. “Do you rule this realm?”

  “I rule most of what you see. When all was said and done, I emerged as the most powerful of the Underworld gods. Here’s a fun fact for you: there are over fifteen hundred such gods down here, in varying degrees of relevancy, many of whom have near to none at all. Just this past decade, we lost a hundred of such gods. I say good riddance. Pathetic, really, watching them fade into nothingness.”

  “And they all exist down here?”

  “Yes and no,” says Hades. “Most exist here, for the Universe created this space for us all. A sort of communal Underworld, if you will. Should a particular entity, like the Christian devil, for instance, be given even greater power by the awareness of mankind, they can branch off and form their own Underworld. Or hells. The Mayans are one of those that created their own Underworld separate from this place.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Oh, theirs was so rich and unique that there really wasn’t a space for it down here. As such, theirs exists within their own space, wherever that might be.” He pauses, glances at as we walk. “But I suspect you might just discover that.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  Muscular shoulders roll up in a shrug from beneath his robe. “I am a god, Samantha. I know things. But that would be in the future. How far away, I do not know. Maybe sooner than you think.”

  I find his comment interesting, not just because it sounds creepy and weird, but because I have been planning a secret trip to South America for Tammy’s graduation. Okay, wow. One underworld at a time!

  Hades continues, “Unfortunately for the lot of us, we no longer have such popularity, though I seem to be hanging on well enough. As such, I am the strongest here, though I am but a shadow of what I once was.”

  “These other gods of the underworld...” I say, getting the conversation back on track, “where are they, exactly?”

  “Managing their own realms as best as they can. Some might only have a handful of souls to torment. Others have just a few hundred. I believe ol’ Rex is down to about five. Which is too bad for them, as he gives each his full attention. Trust me, you don’t want Rex’s full attention.”

  “And you?” I ask. “How many souls do you, ah, oversee?”

  “Why tens of millions, Sam. All locked away safely, with new ones coming in daily. No, I don’t enjoy the torturing aspects as much as some of my colleagues, but I do want them to think about what they have done.”

  “For all eternity?”

  “Well, for as long as I’m in existence, which isn’t a guaranteed thing. A common story about my realm—of which I might have helped perpetuate—is that souls can never leave. That’s false, of course. They may do so as soon as they believe they can do so. Ah, here we are.”

  We’ve come upon an open door. Hades steps to one side and gestures inside. I take a look. It’s a wildly luxurious room, complete with two oversized beds sitting high on frames, reclining sofas and overstuffed chairs. A platter of grapes sits on a low table.

  “What’s this?” I ask.

  “Your furnishings.”

  “I didn’t come here to sleep... or to eat grapes.”

  “I know, Ms. Moon. You came here to liberate a foolish young bullfighter.”

  My inner alarm clangs a few times. Nothing too crazy. Danger is here, but not life-threatening.

  “That’s right,” I say. “So, why the need for a room?”

  “As you may or may not know, anyone who enters my palace, never leaves. Unless I allow it.”

  “Fine,” I say, fighting a sudden wave of panic. “Then let us leave.”

  “I will gladly do so, but first, I have one condition.”

  “If it’s anything weird, pal, then you’re in for the fight of your life.”

  He chuckles. “No, not too weird.”

  He steps back and snaps his fingers. As he does so, the room rapidly turns from luxury to horror. Men and women line the floor of the back wall, hands stretched above them, wrists bound by heavy chains. Muscular, bald men of unknown race move along the wall, indiscriminately whipping those secured to the wall. Blood splatters the floor and wall and ceiling.

  “Thought you weren’t as bad as the others,” I say, grimacing, and stepping away from the horror show.