Must Love Hellhounds

word,” Batanya said smartly. Clovache was a beat behind her.
    Crick was watching, his eyes intent behind the ridiculous goggles. When Flechette had left, the two bodyguards drew closer to him.
    “What temperature should we pack for?” Clovache asked. “What kind of fighting?”
    Crick had been listening while the contract was explained, but nonetheless he asked, “You can’t tell anyone what I say; is that right?”
    Batanya nodded. Clovache just looked resigned.
    “To Hell,” Crick said. “We’re going to Hell.”
    After a long moment of silence, Clovache said, “We’ll need our summer armor, then.”
     
     
     
    “What happened was this,” Crick said, suddenly chatty. He’d taken a seat at the table, and Clovache and Batanya followed suit. “I obtained a certain item from the King of Hell, and I misplaced it when I had to leave. I definitely didn’t enjoy my stay with the king, and I’m afraid my abrupt departure may have angered him. As you may have deduced, I need to avoid Lucifer. I very much need to avoid him. I must get in and out of Hell as quietly as possible. Since I can’t look in every direction at once, I hired you two to help me watch.”
    “So you’re a thief.” Batanya was entering a list of things she needed to take, using her wrist communicator. She glanced up long enough to make sure he was listening.
    “Ah, yes. But a thief with a cause,” Crick added brightly.
    “Don’t care,” Batanya said. “No matter what you are, no matter what your cause or motivation, we’ll do what we’ve been hired to do.” She looked him square in the eyes.
    “Then we’re all fine,” Crick said, in his most foolish voice. One of the castle cats wandered in and leaped into his lap. He stroked its long orange fur. Batanya eyed it indifferently. She’d never been one for pets, though cats were at least preferable to dogs.
    Anything was preferable to dogs.
    “How long do you expect we’ll be gone?” Clovache asked Crick.
    “If we’re not back in two weeks, we’re not coming back,” Crick said with a pleasant smile. “That would be my best evaluation.”
    Batanya remembered that Clovache had tickets to a concert in a week’s time.
    “Can you turn those tickets in?” Batanya asked. She ran her fingers through her short, inky hair.
    “Nonrefundable,” Clovache said gloomily. “Oh, well.” She rose to her feet. “Senior,” she said, her voice formal, “I ask leave to go prepare.”
    “I’ll be there in a minute myself,” Batanya said. “Go ahead.” She eyed their client narrowly. As soon as Clovache had gone, Batanya said, “I know there’s much you’re not telling us. No client ever tells us the whole story. You always lie. But if there’s some word you could speak that would help us prepare to guard you, now is the time to speak that word.”
    Crick looked down at the table for a long moment. The cat jumped out of his lap and left by a window. “Nothing,” he said. “There’s nothing else I can tell you now that will be of any assistance.”
    “All right then,” she said grimly. “You’ve got two of Britlingen’s best protecting you, Crick. I hope you appreciate that.”
    “I am paying well for the service,” he said. His voice was cool.
    Batanya might have told him that no amount of money could make up for the loss of their lives, but that wouldn’t have been true. The Britlingen Collective had put a price on that, and Crick had paid it.
    “I’ll return shortly,” she said, and rose to her feet. “The witches and mechs will be ready by then, too.” She saw, with a grim satisfaction, that the mention of the witches made Crick shiver. Witches gave everyone the creeps.
    Standing in the middle of her little room, Batanya hauled her backpack from the footlocker. She checked her wrist communicator. It showed her the list she’d made—not in written words, but in symbols. Some of the weapons she often carried would be useless in Hell. Any fray would take place suddenly and at close quarters, almost certainly, so taking some of the missile-firing guns would be useless, as would any of the weapons relying on sun power. Hell was underground in a vast network of intersecting tunnels.
    “Batanya,” called Clovache, whose room was across the hall, “What about crossbows?” The wrist crossbows were incredibly powerful and ranked at the top of Clovache’s list of favorite devices.
    “Do they kill demons?” Batanya called back. “I don’t think so. I