Hellhound (24 page)

The burial grounds were off limits to unsolicited visitations.
A person needed to go through the right channels to visit since we considered
the peace of our dead loved ones to be of high priority.

I cautiously came to a stop and wandered around. I
hadn’t been here in ages, not even after Father died, so the trail was vague.
There were sentinels on patrol in the area, but none approached. I moved
through the brush, leaning and tilting to make as little noise as possible.
Crypt keepers were inside, armed to kill me if the need be, so I didn’t want to
evoke their suspicion or concern.

The area was clear. I walked closer to what looked
like endless woods to mortal eyes. Much like the domicile, the building was
tall and broad, several stories high and many, many stories below ground.
Animals never ventured near, nor did birds or insects. The plant life that
doused the area was a mirage.

Once I approached, my essence traveled out of my pores
and mingled with the ions that surrounded and hid the building, revealing it by
unraveling the secret location. The domicile was pristine and modern, but the
catacombs were ancient and primal, carved out of stone. The building did not
have windows, just a rigid shell. There weren’t any towers to host archers,
since we rarely experienced intrusions here. After all, no one wanted to mess
with corpses.

The tracker had a few minutes head start on me, so I
figured that he was already inside. The night was thick and black, few stars
graced the sky and limited illumination on the earthly world. Dead silence
engulfed me and a chill crawled up my spine. I took a step forward to enter the
compound until I saw a figure move. I froze.

My eyes flashed up to the rooftop. My essence must’ve
have notified the man because he spun around in his crouched position and glared
down at me. His trench coat swayed gently every now and then when a strong
breeze drifted by. He held my gaze for several minutes. If I crawled up, he
would flee, but if I stood here like a loon, he would probably flee anyway.

A grunt pushed through my throat. I thought I had him,
that I could sneak inside and finally smack the crescent over his wrists. My
fists tightened as I returned his stare. Demetrius stood tall, casting darkness
down the building. He presented a bold front, unafraid and willing to fight.

Two thick, billowing black wings made of smoke
sprouted from his back. He looked ominous and deadly in the darkness, like a Black
Angel. Shadows engulfed him while the crescent moon and distant stars
illuminated the skies from behind. I’d never seen him look more demanding,
arrogant, and stunningly powerful before. He reminded me of the old legends of Hades,
and for a moment I believed that his blood ran thick in the veins of Demetrius,
the angel of the night.

He gently shook his head at me. The smoky wings curved
over him, covering him, and then curled into a tight ball that consumed his
corporal form. Once his flesh disintegrated into black air, he shot up into the
skies in the form of black smoke.

I groaned, stood akimbo, and watched as the ghastly
fog moved back toward the city. Biting my lower lip, I glanced at the building.
Demetrius wouldn’t risk entering our territory unless he absolutely needed to.
Did he forget something, or was he meeting someone? I didn’t give him much time
to secure or accomplish whatever he came here to do.

The cloud was gone now. Demetrius was gone.

With set determination, I dropped my hands and entered
the catacombs. The night air was brisk, a far cry from the iciness that hit me
once I stepped over the threshold. The corpses were kept at subzero
temperatures so they kept better. Perhaps this was why the tall, gaunt crypt
keepers were just as cold. Unlike the gatekeepers who turned into fog surrounding
the territory and who could devour any creature by entering their pores, the
crypt keepers were unable to escape their corporal form. They were as
disturbing as the descendants of the maenads, and just as barbaric.

I inhaled the cold air, which formed mist when I
exhaled. It was a change to be warmer than my surrounding environment. I looked
around, standing still by the door that crept closed behind me, creaking on the
hinges.

The walls were made of stone and mud, imperfect with
craters and cracks, and the color of faded dung. The smell could’ve been worse,
except the corpses rested in a giant freezer. I actually shivered. Millions of
goose bumps puckered my flesh, and a chill crawled down my spine for a second
time.

The foyer was small; nothing like the grand entrance
at the domicile, and the lighting was dim. Only visitors needed such lighting
because the crypt keepers could see in the dark. They never left the building,
especially during the day when the sun’s brilliance would burn through their
sensitive eyes.

Five steps led to a fork in the halls. Right or left?
I imagined that if I wandered left, I would eventually make it back to the
entrance. I started walking, my boots silent against the uneven floor. The
lights flickered every once in a while, and even more rarely, went completely
black.

The crypt keepers were probably watching, eyeing me
through what seemed like empty holes in the walls. I kept moving, entering the
catacombs that led to recesses where entire families were buried in crypts that
pulled out of the wall, much like a modern-day human morgue, except this place
wasn’t made from spotless steel.

The less important a person was, the lower they were buried.
Sentries and archers were among the lowest levels of the hierarchy, and Elders
and undertakers were in the upper levels. When I reached a circular metal and
cobblestone staircase, I climbed up, avoiding touching the dusty railing.

I recalled an upper floor in which I visited my
grandparents and their parents at a young age. I figured that I could start at
the top, and work my way down. I moved through room after room in this dim
labyrinth, fully certain that I’d become lost and would need help finding my way
out. So many people from my clan were dead, filling the top four floors.

The next floor was broad and held unmarked cabinet
doors. I grabbed onto a cold lever, turned, and pulled. The flat bed was empty.
I looked around, reading all the labels, intricately detailed with carvings,
until I came upon a silver one that translated “Augustus, the Elder.”

I closed my eyes momentarily, took in a deep breath,
and turned the lever. I hadn’t seen my father’s frozen, dead face since I
attempted the memory retrieval on Nathanial.  

The smell of his corpse was faint, but the amount of decay
across his body was strong. My father had been dead for weeks now, and
decomposition slowly claimed him. I only pulled him out far enough to see his
face. His eyeballs were almost gone, leaving odd depressions in the sockets.
His skin was white, tightly stretched over bone.

His burial? I wasn’t even here for the formal
ceremony.

I turned and slammed my back against the wall, keeping
my eyes locked on my father’s face.

My assignment took me far from this place during the
ceremony. I wasn’t here to console my mother, though I was sure that Claudius
took advantage of being there to catch her tears.

A heavy sigh left my lips. “I’m sorry, Father.”

I was sorry that I couldn’t have prevented this. I
knew Demetrius well, yet I couldn’t have known that this animosity dwelled in
his heart. I should’ve caught the intention, but I failed. I failed again when
I couldn’t bring him in. This assignment would last forever, it seemed. It
would be a disgrace to my father that I couldn’t bring in his killer for
retribution.

“Goodbye, Father.” I kissed two fingers and then
pressed them against his forehead. It was rubbery and taut. I shuddered and
drew away, closing the door to his tomb forever.

I looked around until I found Nathanial’s crypt in a
room on the other side of the floor. I turned the lever and pulled, gasping
when I saw his unexpected predicament.

A snarling noise drew my attention as I spun around to
face an empty recess. The lights flickered again and something dripped on the
floor. Without moving, I glanced down at the clear, sticky fluid. I gulped and
raised my eyes.

Since Demetrius lived a good portion of his life in
the skies, he always told me to look up, the one place where most didn’t think
of looking.

I stared wide-eyed at the ghastly creature who crawled
toward me on the ceiling. He cocked his head to one side and then another, as
if examining me with cloudy, milky white eyes. A snarl escaped through razor
teeth and thin lips. His body was hairless, his ears pointed, his hands
deformed with long, sharp nails scraped against the ceiling. I cringed at the
sound. Humans often depicted the crypt keepers as Death, and they weren’t far
behind.

He dropped to the ground in a crouch, then stood. The
crypt keepers weren’t the tallest of us. In fact, this particular one stood at
a non-reassuring five feet. I towered above him from my five foot eight height.

The man snarled again, moved along on his toes, and
pushed Nathanial’s tomb closed.

“What are you doing here?” he hissed.

I gawked at him and crossed my arms. “Do you know who
I am?”

“Yes.”

“Then don’t question me. I’m on a case, so move aside,
keeper.”

He placed his long, bony hand against the lever,
denying me access. I pushed my fangs out. My essence threatened to tear him
apart. There wasn’t much that could scare a crypt keeper, and I hardly did the
job at this point. I slid my crescent out of the waistband from my back, beneath
my trench coat. It glowed. I smirked, my fangs scraping against my bottom lip.

“You know what this is?”

He stared at the weapon and stumbled back. With
determined eyes, snapping out of any transitory fear, he snapped, “You will
leave this room.”

“Wrong answer.”

I snapped the crescent across the wrist that hung from
Nathanial’s door. He jumped back, wide eyed, as the crescent forced his wrist
to meet with his other hand, cuffing them together for my convenience.

Quickly looking around and up, I concluded that other
crypt keepers were nowhere near for the moment, so I acted quickly.

“Sit, keeper.”

The crypt keeper snarled, biting at the air, but the
crescent formed around his wrists tightly, the teeth snapped open and injected
him with my essence. He fought for about five seconds before succumbing to the
call of my darkness. He was vicious, charged with the protection of the
catacombs with his life, but my essence was just as ferocious.

I pulled out Nathanial’s slot in the eternal grave,
gaping down at the modern technology that cocooned him in special plastic and
ventilators. His flesh wasn’t as corroded, and deterioration hadn’t made a firm
claim. Nathanial was in far better shape than my father. I wouldn’t have known
that the man had been dead for more than a few hours.

“Is he alive?”

The keeper shook his head but answered with a
contradictory, “Somewhat, yes.”

I breathed. “How? Why? And who did this?”

He shook his head violently. “No, Hellhound,” he
growled from deep in his throat. “Don’t find these answers.”

“Tell me,” I asserted more dominance over him. He was
strong, but my crescent was stronger.

Sweat formed on his icy temples. He attempted to keep
his mouth shut by biting his lips, drawing blood. He heaved and moaned, but
after several minutes became dizzy from the fight as my essence dug deeper into
his mind. He unwillingly yielded to me, and in a dazed, hypnotic state
complied.

“Nathanial is barely alive. He isn’t breathing, but
hovers preserved. We fixed his heart, which was crushed during his essence
ascension, and his brain waves are slight, muddled. He won’t barely live like
this for much longer.”

“Who ordered this?”

“His father, Elder Claudius.”

“And how does Claudius expect to revive Nathanial?
Once a soul is dead, it cannot be brought back to life.”

He squirmed, panted. “Claudius is the descendant of
Zeus.” He paused.

“Yeah, so?” I tapped my foot impatiently.

“He can send his electricity into his son to restore
Nathanial.”  

I shook my head. “That doesn’t make sense. Even if
that worked, which I’ve never heard of, Nathanial wouldn’t be the same man. His
heart is weak, his essence has been stolen, his memories are lost. Without
those things, he would return as a debilitated mortal. What more do you know
about this?”

“That is all. The rest, the details, are within
Claudius.”

“What has he obligated you to?”

“To guarding Nathanial’s body so that no one sees him
like this, and making sure that he remains in his tomb, within the plastic
cavity.”

I cringed, looking down at the pale, emaciated man who
could’ve been my husband. I just didn’t understand how Claudius planned this,
but I knew that he was a desperate man who wanted to revitalize his lost blood.
Perhaps that was why he became so upset, so adamant about returning Demetrius
sooner than later, but what would that do?