Must Love Hellhounds

thought of her picture going up on the Wall of Shame, and her lip curled in distaste.
    They were brought up short just at that moment by the four guards barring the two magnificent doors. Narcissus’s dead halt meant this was Lucifer’s personal suite.
    Talk their way in, or just start killing? If a troop of soldiers hadn’t appeared just at that moment marching by on some other business, Batanya might have found out how well her new sword worked. But there were at least twelve soldiers, and two of them were the quadruped net-throwers. Batanya had formed a strong disinclination to tangle with them again, if she could help it. Clovache glanced at her senior, a question in her face, and Batanya nodded.
    Clovache said, “Lucifer wants these two,” jerking her head to indicate Amelia and Narcissus.
    “He didn’t say anything to us,” the guard with the fanciest uniform said. She was a huge woman with golden skin and golden eyes. Narcissus fluttered his eyelashes at her, and she choked back a surprised laugh. “I’m Ginever, day captain,” she said.
    “I’m Clovache, prison guard. The Master apparently told Marl, who ordered us to bring them,” Clovache said.
    Ginever looked surprised, as if Lucifer talking directly to Marl was unlikely. It probably was, considering Marl had been a lowly prison guard overseer.
    “Let me just ask,” she said. “He’s got his shiny toy back, and he doesn’t like to be disturbed when he’s playing.”
    Batanya felt an unexpected wave of pity for Crick. The Harwell Clan was nearly extinct because of its members’ unusual physical attribute. Being gifted had its price. When Batanya had the time to be curious, she promised herself she’d learn the clan’s history.
    “This one is wanted to join in the fun,” Clovache said, pointing to Narcissus. “You can see the attraction.”
    “Oh, yes,” said the golden woman, smiling. “Oh, yes. He’s been here often enough before. Well, I must check.” She knocked on the left door, a quick set of three raps. Her ear to its surface, she waited. She must have heard some sound of assent, because she drew back to open the door. Batanya exhaled a silent sigh of relief.
    “In, prisoners, move your feet!” she said, as curtly as a real prison guard. Ginever was no fool and certainly had a full complement of arms as well as three comrades, and the sooner they were out from under her eyes, the better.
    Clovache led the way, followed by Narcissus and Amelia Earhart, with Batanya prodding from behind with the sword.
    Lucifer, a flogger in his hand, was standing by a pillar. Crick was bound to the pillar, his back exposed and striped with blood. Batanya gulped, resisting the nausea that rose in her throat. Lucifer was staring at them, trying to figure out their presence, and in the split second before he could decipher their intent, Batanya leaped at him with the sword.
    She got him, right through the stomach, but not before he managed to swing the flogger. It raked Batanya’s back without enough force to draw blood through her clothing, but enough to make her dig in the sword for all she was worth.
    Lucifer’s beautiful face was twisted with anger. Despite the blade in his guts, he said, “I’ll kill you for this, if I live.”
    “Oh, of course you’ll live,” Clovache said. Narcissus was looking at Lucifer hungrily, as if seeing someone else lovely was enough to excite his libido. Amelia was throwing up into a pot on the floor. Crick looked at them as if they were all as beautiful as Narcissus. But what he said was, “Get me out of this.”
    “The key?” Batanya said. Lucifer sneered at her. Batanya pulled a dagger from her belt. “You don’t need both those pretty blue eyes,” she said. “Which one do you want the most?”
    “On the table by the bed,” Lucifer said. Clovache ran to fetch it, and Batanya risked a glance to check on Narcissus and Amelia. Suddenly Lucifer bellowed at the top of his lungs, and in quick response there was pounding at the door. Ginever called, “Master? Master?”
    “Kill them all!” Lucifer yelled, and the door began to bow inward.
    “Find an exit,” Batanya told Amelia, who’d finished being sick. “There’s sure to be one.” Amelia nodded, braced herself visibly, and began scanning the walls of the huge room. It was a very busy boudoir. It contained an enormous bed, many hangings, lots of torture paraphernalia and knickknacks, and a roaring fire; about what you’d expect of