Or trying to.

  Crap, the door is closed. Somehow, I ended up inside the room. No, that isn’t right. I never moved. The walls of the room themselves moved back to accommodate Ishmael and I. Hades had been positioned just outside of the sudden appearance of walls and door, itself made of clear glass, or something close to it. Probably magical in nature.

  “Oh, this?” says Hades, waving a hand toward the others behind me. “This is nothing, Miss Moon. These bastards should be so lucky. Others—including Rex—are far, far worse than this.”

  “Let me out, or I’ll burn this place to the ground,” I say, and mostly mean it. “Not sure what I can and can’t do down here, quite frankly. In the least we have Ishmael’s fire sword, which might act as a torch, too.”

  “Oh, I don’t want to keep you in here longer than necessary. Truth is, I can’t. There are certain rules for the living. And yes, you are still among the living, for the most part—including your angel, who’s transitioning to the flesh, I see. Yes, even I can see that. In fact, I don’t miss much. I happen to know that you killed the devil of your realm in an epic battle—a battle that was relayed to all of us down here. Yes, Samantha Moon. You are a bit of a folk hero, one to be respected and feared. Hence, the temporary prison. After all, it makes little to no sense to piss off she who wields the Devil Killer.”

  I’m about to open my mouth to counter this, until common sense hit me. I close it again and nod, noting the curious way Ishmael is looking at me. Though I don’t make a habit of lying, if doing so keeps the lord of the Underworld off-balance a bit, then so be it.

  I try summoning the single flame. Unfortunately, it’s snapping and crackling as surely as if it’s sitting in an open window during a windstorm. Grr. Maybe I don’t need the flame to be still. I try again, but it’s impossible. I need to see my landing spot within the fire. Besides, it’s kind of hard focusing when seeing the King of Hades—conveniently also named Hades—staring at me with keen interest.

  He shakes his head sympathetically. “No teleporting into and out of the Underworld, Samantha Moon.” He shrugs. “I don’t make the rules, but it does make sense.”

  “Whatever. I’ll figure something out.”

  “Let’s hope not. You see, you couldn’t have come at a more opportune time.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Remember the condition I mentioned?”

  “I take it I’m about to be blackmailed here.”

  “Would you expect anything less from the ruler of the Underworld? Well, the ruler of my particular underworld, which just so happens to be the grandest of them all.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” I remember now another aspect of the god known as Hades. “You’re the god of wealth as well.”

  “Am I now?”

  “The golden palace, the finery...”

  “And so much more, Sam. Had I lived topside, I would own yachts, mansions, cars, and jewelry. Well, jewelry I have in abundance, but I crave other such riches not readily available down here.”

  “It is said you provide gold to the surface.”

  “Well, I used to, in much more abundance. But that particular characteristic of mine is fairly outdated. Besides, who has the energy to find the gold and deliver it topside? I’d much rather enjoy it down here.”

  “What do you need from me, then?” I ask.

  “Out with it, devil!” snaps Ishmael.

  Hades narrows his wide-set eyes at the angel, seemingly acknowledging him for the first time. “Oh, yes. You. A one-time guardian angel. Now a fallen angel. And all for our little Samantha Moon here. You must really love her.”

  “Enough games, devil!” Instantly, his fiery sword appears in Ishmael’s hand. The angel drives it into the clear door, but to no avail. The burning blade ricochets off it in an explosion of embers.

  Hades doesn’t bat an eye. “Yeah, I think he loves you. And I see you taking advantage of his love by bringing him down here to help you on your mission. Tsk, tsk, Samantha Moon. Selfish acts like that are why some of these poor wretches end up down here in the first place.”

  I blink, stepping back. Had I taken advantage of Ishmael’s devotion to me by putting him in a precarious spot? I definitely needed help, and he agreed. Was he not a free-thinking individual, too? Or does his devotion supersede any free will?

  “Do not listen to him, Samantha,” says Ishmael. “Helping you is my great honor in life, now and forevermore.”

  “Okay, now that’s sweet,” says Hades.

  The god is clearly trying to get under my skin, for what purpose? I don’t know, but I suspect he really, really loves getting under people’s skin in general. Perhaps literally. I’ll think about this later.

  “What do you need, Hades?” I ask.

  “I need help vanquishing a monster of sorts,” says Hades, clearly pleased to see me spinning a bit.

  I refocus on his face; after all, it’s the first time the god looked even a bit concerned. “A monster of sorts?”

  “Yes, and it’s killing gods like me.”

  ***

  He explains: “Of the fifteen hundred gods of the underworld, few are remembered. Most die slowly over time. It’s quite sad to see. Surely, this will be my own fate someday, unless, of course, interests in me stays the course. The point is, we can’t end our own existence, no matter how much we try.”

  “Why would a god end its own existence?” I ask.

  He paces outside the clear door. “Imagine once having great power, only to be rendered irrelevant. You see, Sam, the universe knows how to create such entities from the ether, but the Universe doesn’t know how to return them once their time comes. Some stick around for eons, far before any of us can remember. They are mad, of course, living in caves out here.” He gestures behind him. “Would have been easier if they had just died—or the Universe had returned them from whence they came. Of course, some simply don’t enjoy their existence and want an exit. Such was the case with your devil. He recognized within you the potential to end his existence and took that freeway exit, so to speak.”

  “Fine,” I say. “What does this have to do with a god-killing monster?”

  “Some of us—not me, mind you—are ready to move on. We have no worshipers, few victims, and no real reason for being. Outside of killing each other—which happens, mind you—there appears to have been enough of a desire to move on from this plane that the Universe delivered into our midst none other than a god-killer.”

  “And it’s here now?” I ask.

  “Oh, yes. By my estimates, it’s killed a couple hundred of us already. And with each killing...”

  “It grows more powerful,” I say.

  “Why, yes.”

  “Why don’t you kill it, or send your pets to kill it? Or any number of bloodthirsty prisoners? Offer them their freedom or something.”

  “Oh, I have. Well, two out of three. My pets get slaughtered, and the prisoners get consumed, adding to the beast’s strength. As far as why I don’t kill it, well, I can’t get close to the damned thing. Any god within a certain range gets rendered useless... and poof. Gone. We’re all targets down here, both strong and weak alike.”

  “And you think we can deal with it somehow?” I motion to Ishmael, who’s still holding the fiery sword at the ready.

  “I think she who wields the Devil Killer can deal with anything.”

  Ishmael makes the smallest of movements. Hmm. Hard to tell, but I think he wants to say something to me.

  “And then what?” I ask, turning back to the dark god. Unfortunately, I know for a fact that I do not have the Devil Killer. For now, Hades doesn’t need to know that.

  “Why, I will deliver you to Rex Infernus myself, where you can begin negotiations for the release of the little bullfighter. Ah, but I can’t expect you to make such a big decision without some deliberation. I’ll be back shortly for your answer.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  That the Lord of the Underworld, Hades himself, fears me enough to imprison me and speak through a glass-like barrier is a bit mind-blowing. Then again, he has—or had—good reason to. Not anyone can boast of killing the devil himself, though I’m pretty sure I never have. Who would I boast to, anyway?

  And from what I gather, Hades is a good deal weaker than what he had been, though he seems plenty strong to me. Yeah, I suppose he has good reason to be nervous, except...

  I gave back the Devil Killer to the archangel Azrael, having given up my position as heaven’s official demon slayer. Why? Turns out demons on earth don’t like to be slaughtered... and actively sought to kill me first. The black sword was a beacon straight to me... and to my home. Demon Slayers probably shouldn’t have a family to worry about.

  When I turn around to look back at Ishmael, I note the prisoners are gone. It had all been an illusion, perhaps to distract me or worry me; either way, it had been a way to manipulate my emotions. Ishmael and I are, however, in a dank prison cell with no windows, no chairs, benches, or any other accommodations. Between Ishmael and I, I have no doubt we can rip that door out. And with enough practice, I can probably get the single flame to quit whipping around wildly, enough for me to teleport us out of here.

  I do recall reading that Hercules (and perhaps someone else) was able to escape Hades, but they had been demigods. Humans, not so much. But what about an energy vampire and a fallen angel? There might not be any precedent for either of us.

  Or... I can just help Hades with his monster problem.

  “How long can he keep us here, Ishmael?” I ask.

  “Hard to say, Samantha. We are not suffering eternal damnation. We are his prisoners. The longer he keeps us in here, the longer we have to formulate a plan and exact our revenge on him, which he clearly doesn’t want.”

  “He’s keeping us in here to think about his offer.”

  “It appears so.”

  “Why not allow us to think about in, say, the cafeteria?” I ask.

  “You think there’s a cafeteria in this place?”

  “They have to eat somewhere.”

  “You are very amusing, Samantha Moon.”

  “Then why didn’t you laugh or smile?”

  “I’m still learning how. Angels don’t laugh much.”

  “Because you take your jobs very seriously?”

  He winks. “Something like that. Anyway, this is not a realm meant for angels. Few, if any, have ventured here.”

  “Welcome to the club,” I say.

  “I do not know how long he can keep us here, Samantha. I suspect, only for as long as necessary.”

  “Until he can force us to help him?”

  “Or convince us.”

  “Imprisoning us might have an adverse effect. Like, I want to smack him now.”

  “I suspect he’s not proficient in the ways of negotiations. His rule is law down here. Likely, he’s regretting imprisoning us. Perhaps he hadn’t thought it through.”

  “I don’t recall reading that the ancient gods were particularly brilliant. Just powerful and prone to jealousy.”

  Ishmael puts away his sword; and by that, I mean it disappears back into his hand again. “Ultimately, I suspect he is too corrupt and too desperate to ask nicely.”

  I lean a shoulder against the clear door. It crackles with weird energy, and so I stop doing that. “Unfortunately for him, asking nicely goes a long way. Especially with me.”

  “Yes, Sam. I have watched you help many, many people over many lifetimes—many of whom didn’t have to ask. This trait in your personality has never changed.”

  I smile at the tall being. I would like to ask him more about how I was in other lifetimes, but between my one-time father, Jeffcock, and my dragon-bat friend, Talos, I’ve gotten a snapshot of how I had been. And yeah, there was a good chance I had been a good person in many past lives, which makes me happy.

  “Well, he did ask me in a way,” I say.

  “He is blackmailing us.”

  “But he’s also Hades, and he’s desperate. Can’t really expect more than a solid blackmail from the guy. Besides, he almost seemed sad to have done it.”

  “I noted that, too. He’s not used to someone helping him.”

  “Well, I am leaning toward doing something about that god-eating monster, except he has one thing clearly wrong: I don’t have the Devil Killer sword anymore.”

  “Yes and no, Sam,” says Ishmael, taking a step back.

  “Yes and no? What does that mean?”

  “It means he sensed the sword nearby, which makes sense; after all, the blade was meant to permanently vanquish entities like him, and he knows it. And felt it. He has a healthy fear of it.”

  “I gotta say, big guy. I’m a bit lost.”

  “Then let me explain, Samantha Moon...”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  “Once I understood what you were asking of me, I requested an audience with the Archangel Azrael.”

  “Back at your house,” I say. “When you stepped away for a few minutes?”

  “Yes, Sam. The Angel of Death, as you know him to be called, granted me an audience, and listened to my request with interest. In the end, he gave me temporary stewardship of a weapon you know well, a weapon no one but you can wield.”

  “But... I thought they found another to take my place.”

  “They had. He perished in battle. The sword, as you know, cannot be wielded by any but one who is chosen. But fair warning,” says Ishmael, “once our mission here is completed—if it’s completed—the sword will return with me back to Azrael, where he will await another agent of death.”

  “You thought I might need it, Ishmael?”

  “Yes, Samantha. The sword could do a lot of damage in the Underworld—and be of tremendous help. With you, I always err on the side of help.”

  “That was rather industrious of you.”

  “Guardian angels are known as followers. I am more than that now. I am becoming human.”

  “How long until you are fully human?”

  “Not long now.” He makes an effort to smile at me. “Will you accept the sword again, Samantha? It just might help us survive this mission.”

  “I’m not an assassin, Ishmael. I don’t kill for anyone.”

  “Understood, Samantha.”

  The sword, I know, is a powerful killing tool. Where most weapons might cause minor harm to a demon, one swipe of the Devil Killer causes instant death. In the case of the devil himself, it took a well-placed thrust to his heart, but that had been enough. The devil was dead. At least, that iteration of the devil was dead. And yeah, he had sought me out specifically, even attempted to recruit (read trick) Tammy. That action, of course, had directly led to our final battle.

  Leave my kids out of it.

  To help us out of this temporary imprisonment, and to save a young lad, then yeah, I’ll take back the Devil Killer. But I am not going to kill gods or demigods—or even god-killing monsters—if I don’t have to.

  Then again, sometimes those choices are out of my hands.

  “Okay, Ishy... may I call you Ishy?”

  “You may call me whatever you want, Samantha.”

  I hold out my hand. “Okay, Ishy. Yes, I’ll accept the sword—for now.”

  He smiles widely, which lights up his already beautiful face. He reaches down in front of him, in the space just in front of his belly button (which I doubt he has). There, his hands briefly disappear—only to reappear seconds later, dragging out a familiar black blade. When free of the interdimensional pouch, he holds it up briefly—almost triumphantly—then winces in something close to pain.

  “Hurry, Sam. Take it. I can’t hold it for long.”

  Whoa. I quickly take it from him, gripping it by the black leather handle. Smoke curls off his palm.

  “I am of the fallen now, remember?” he says. “The sword is meant to kill beings just like me.”

  “How were you able to keep it on you, then?” I ask, marveling at the dull, black blade all over again, turning it this way and that.

  “Only near me, Sam. Not on me. The pouch doesn’t occupy the same plane we’re in.”

  “Oh, right. Do I have the pouch again?” I ask.

  “You do. It sort of comes with the territory.”

  I test the space in front of me, and he’s right. There’s a pouch there, waiting for me to stash the sword within, which I do now. The presence of it seems to be affecting Ishmael, who shies away, having broken out in a sweat.

  “I guess we have a monster to find,” I say.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  We’re flying over the Underworld. And since the place is also called Hades, I guess we’re flying over that, too.

  From what I remember, the Underworld wasn’t all dark and gloomy; after all, it wasn’t entirely a place of punishment. Apparently, there had once been verdant fields of golds and greens, stretching as far as the eye could see. Definitely not anything like that now, and my eyes can see damn far, especially now that they’ve completely grown accustomed to the place.

  Something happened to change the landscape, and I think I know what. As the decades turned to centuries, the “Underworld” and “Hades” became more and more associated with Hell. As such, the landscape formed and reformed to match the global vision of the place, the collective idea of it.

  As I fly, I see nothing but blackened hills covered in thorny vines. Or rocky outcrops comprised of big, broken boulders. I see some animal life down here, which is interesting to think about. Mostly obscenely long snakes, monstrous lizards, and swift-moving mammals with red eyes and long tails. To think that plants and animals originated down here is a strange thought indeed. Again, this is all likely what mortals imagine living down here is like... and therefore, it is.

  Earlier, when Hades returned to our prison, he permitted me out of the cell, but not Ishmael. The god was certain that anyone who could vanquish the devil could do the same with a god-eating monster. I wasn’t so sure and wanted the help of Ishmael. Hades was adamant but I told him tough shit and reminded him of the Devil Killer—and who wielded it. Me. I don’t like throwing my weight around, but I will if it keeps me alive—and keeps someone I care about out of Hades’s prison.