Page 26 of The River of Fire

“Ready to kick some misty ass?” Kevin asks as I approach him, and I can’t help but smile at his puppy-like behavior. A vicious and bloodthirsty puppy, but still. “Maalik says there’s an unusual amount of activity north of Abaddon, around The Phlegethon.”

Where we encountered the golem. I raise my eyebrow at Kev, but when he doesn’t comment on it, I let it drop and we head out.

Two hours later, as we approach The Phlegethon, I’m overwhelmed by a sense of déjà vu; listening to lava bubble, our steps crunching over charcoal, and Kev regaling me with his sexlife. Or, well, lack thereof.

“Not a single one! It’s like they’ve all gone on a communal pussy strike. At this point, you’re starting to look tasty.”

I raise an eyebrow at him skeptically. “You wouldn’t survive me.”

“I know, but what a way to go, eh?” He’s wiggling his eyebrows at me and I roll my eyes so thoroughly, that it’s surprising one doesn’t just pop out of the orbital bone it's nestled in.

“Blobs straight ahead.” Kevin nudges my attention back to our surroundings.

Four manifestations of evil, the amorphous constructs created when too many evil mortal souls congregate, are hovering in the air forty paces ahead.

“Maalik wasn’t kidding,” I say. It’s unheard of to have so many together – it’s not like they’re sentient enough to form packs.

We approach the targets and unsheathe our swords to engage them. Just a slice of Celestial metal disrupts the twisted bonds holding them in their semblance of a shape, making dispatching them easy – for us, at least. An unwary mortal wouldn’t know to avoid coming into contact with their misty shapes and would react as if burned by acid. Or worse, immersed into it. I’ve been grazed by them enough times during my first excursions to Hell to know I need to avoid that.

“Do you want to continue exploring or head back home?” I ask Kevin.

“Let’s just go a bit further, just in case.”

Fine by me.

We climb up a dune to avoid the bend in the river I got trapped by while running from the golem. Just as we crest the hill, we both freeze, feeling a demonic presence, but also hearing sweet notes of signing – silky and inviting, like a siren’s song.

“Succubus,” I say. “Old one.”

“Oh, well.” Kevin scratches the back of his neck and looks at his feet. “Do you mind if I… you know?”

I don’t know what to comment on first – his sudden shyness about sex, or the fact that he wants my blessing to go have itwith a demon. Maybe the former stems from the latter? Maybe my experience opened that final door in our friendship.

“Kevin…” I sigh. “I don’t know.”

“Come on,” he pleads with his puppy eyes, “I’ll be ok.”

I chew on my lip and turn in a circle. I spot a log I could use as a bench, out of line of sight of whatever raunchy acts he’s about to engage in with what will undoubtedly prove to be an easy conquest – what succubus would turn away a free snack, after all. I point at it and say, “Fine. I’ll wait there. But you better not take forever and she better not damage you or I’ll nail her tits to Abaddon’s walls.”

“Promise!” he yells, already darting down the dune.

Sighing again, I sit down and close my eyes. I’m not very good with stillness. And quiet. And boredom. Just as I’m pondering whether to find something to kill, the air around me stills. I’m craving having toasted marshmallows in a pinewood forest and that, coupled with the tingling sensations and warmth I feel on the left side of my body, tells me I’m not sitting alone anymore. And exactly who’s sitting with me.

I open my eyes and turn my head to the left. I find myself face to, well, neck with… you know what, I’m not going to even think his name. The last time I said it, someone lost a vital body part.

There’s a bead of sweat in the hollow of his throat, slowly descending toward his clavicle, and I wonder if it would taste like pine honey. Sweet but spicy. Woodsy.

I growl at myself and wrap my hand around the handle of the sword sheathed at my hip closest to him. I hesitate, though. Is there a point, apart from showing my pride, to do something that by all accounts from many skin-bound grimoires, would just please him?

“There is no point,” he says mildly, his voice reaching to my soul and calling it home to him.

I finally look at his face. His eyes aren’t burning at the moment, but those perfect lips are slightly curled into a patient smile. I’m not really religious, other than in the sense that I was born into a Christian family, but I find myself sending a prayer tothe Big Man, unable to tear my eyes away from his mouth.Lord, have mercy on my harlot’s soul.

The sides of his lips twitch under my scrutiny. That mouth probably sent millions to their doom, but he’s still proud of the effect it has on me. “And no,” he says, “I cannot read your mind. Your expression tells me everything. I am older than humanity and have seen every iteration of a mannerism. You, my pet, have a very expressive face.” He’s chatty when he’s not removing spines or common sense from a body.

“Do you really have a dragon?” I blurt out, panicking because I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his mouth again while he was talking. He seems taken aback at my question.Go me, surprising an ancient being; both his eyebrows are now up. “Never mind,” I rush out. Clearly no dragon.

He recovers quickly and that self-pleased smirk is back. “If you are curious about me, I would not suggest that sixteenth-century occultist rambling be your source of information.” He clearly has some knowledge of the mortal world and what he might consider to be recent history, but his manner of speaking hasn’t quite caught up with the times. Maybe he has less contact with modern phrases than Maalik.

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