A Job From Hell (Ancient Legends #1)

by the cold wind.
One approached me as soon as I appeared in the shadows of a concrete wall. If she
found it strange that I materialized out of nowhere, she didn’t show her
surprise.
    “Have a fag?” the girl asked. She was in
her early twenties, maybe younger. Her voice sounded low and impassive. I
recoiled from the pungent smell of sweat lingering on her skin and clothes, and
turned away when she brushed her long hair out of her eyes. On her wrist
shimmered a tattoo: a black snake, its mouth agape, twisting and coiling like a
living creature living beneath her skin.
    “Beat it, succubus,” I growled low enough
for her to hear, but not loud enough to raise the others’ suspicion.
    She shrugged and turned her back on me,
walking to the far end of the wall with short strides and exaggerated swaying
of her bony hips. I kneeled, grinding one fist into the ground, and jumped over
the high fence with no effort. Just like the succubi outside, the fence’s purpose was to stop mortals from trespassing. Immortals
knew better than to barge in unannounced.
    I sprinted across the dark ground to the
tall, grey building with shattered glass and barricaded windows, hesitating in
the doorway as I gathered my thoughts. Once inside, there was no way back. But
even if I wanted to, I couldn’t change my mind now. Layla was expecting me. Backing off would only enrage the demi-goddess. Like a doctor’s
receptionist, she kept a tight schedule and expected her visitors to keep their
appointments.
    The brass doors opened and I stepped in,
jaw set, every muscle tensed in case I needed to fight. The hall smelled of
dust and years of decay. Torches gave the impression of hundreds of shadows
moving across the walls—and souls they were, just invisible to the eyes
of anyone apart from those boasting demon blood. I pulled out my fire whip and
climbed down the stairs that seemed to stretch on forever, following the naked
walls sub terrain into Layla’s realm.

Chapter 12

 
    Aidan

 
    Even after centuries of working for the
Lore court, I still wasn’t used to the overpowering smell of the cursed souls Layla kept around her, torturing them as she saw fit, never
showing kindness. Layla believed the immortals around
her were watching her every move, waiting for a sign of weakness they could use
to their advantage. I figured she just liked being feared. It was also her way
to show the immortal world her mother’s reign, defined by goodwill and kindness,
was over.
    The scent of burned flesh and reeking
wounds intensified the farther I moved. Finally, the steep staircase leveled
and I opened the door to a different world. The vast space looked like a huge
cave with high columns reaching up to a shifting ceiling of tortured souls. Immortals
gathered in groups to watch the gruesome display of dismembered limbs,
bloodcurdling cries and gaping mouths, hollow from centuries of being trapped
in between life and death, deprived of nourishment. To many members of the Lore
court, the pictures before their eyes were nothing but routine and probably less
memorable than a horror movie with good special effects.
    Quickening my pace, I couldn’t help but
look up at a crying mother holding her stillborn in her bleeding arms while a
black, shapeless entity pierced nails into her battered body. I flogged my whip
at the entity, a burning gash forming where I hit the flesh. It yelped and
scurried away. I tightened my grip around the whip and turned to the right into
a smaller space, then through another cavern until I reached the throne room.
    The ceiling and walls here were bare of
trapped souls, but the atmosphere freaked me out just the same. Smooth candle
wax dripped from heavy chandeliers; the heavy scent of incense hung heavy in
the air, choking me. And then there were the snakes—cobras, pythons,
copperheads and what else not—resting on various divans. Ever since
meeting Layla I hated snakes, almost as much as I
hated the demi-goddess.
    I lowered my gaze and dropped to my knees,
face pressed against the cold ivory floor. Layla’s breathing tickled my neck long before her succubi surrounded me, caressing my skin with long, soft fingers. They were beautiful
and ready to do everything the immortals wanted, but while some visitors
thought themselves in pleasure heaven, I knew to fend off their advances for my
own safety. With satisfaction they brought plague into the heart of those they
touched, drawing them into a world in-between dream and