The Crossing (Immortals) (29 page)

"Yeah. Funny, huh? Been here long?"

"No. You?"

She shook her head. Formless music drifted from unseen speakers. Mac winced. "Smooth jazz. Now I know I'm in
Hell."

"What's wrong with smooth jazz? Could be worse.
Could be disco."

"Right."

They started down the aisle. The aroma of fresh-baked
bread filled the air. "Can't understand what's so hellish
about a food market," Mac commented. "Damn cold in
here, but other than that..."

They rounded an end cap piled high with packaged
pies. "Hey, look," Artemis said. "Checkout lanes."

"No one at the registers, though. And the exit doors behind them are false. Just paint on concrete."

Artemis sagged against a tabloid rack and sighed. "Another dead end."

"The Tartarus Tattler," Mac read over her shoulder.
"Elvis spotted water-skiing on a tributary of the Styx...
Aliens have landed on Level Seven... bloody hell!" He
reached past her and snatched up the paper.

Artemis turned. "What?"

Grimly, Mac shoved the newspaper into her hands.
"Bottom of the page, love."

She took one look at the headline and groaned. "Oh no."

HELL'S BOATMAN ASLEEP ON THE JOB?

Numerous eyewitnesses have called the Tattler offices with reports of a shocking breach in Hell's
Level One security. Charon, legendary boatman of
the Styx, proved unable to stop two living creatures
from crossing Hell's outer boundary on a stolen motorcycle. The interlopers, a human female and a
male Sidhe, were last seen in Limbo. The Tattler is
offering a reward of fifty years of life essence for information leading to their arrest. According to witnesses, the male is tall, blond...

"This is terrible," Artemis whispered, gaping in horror
at a blurry photo of her and Mac astride the Norton.
"Every demon in Hell's going to be gunning for us now."
She darted a glance at the nearest aisle, half expecting one
to rush out and suck her soul dry.

Mac was already constructing a new death glamour, his
green eyes struggling to mask his revulsion at the spell he
was crafting. Casting death magic cost him. Dearly. But
since glamour was one area in which Artemis did not excel, she said nothing. When he was done, she raised her
eyebrows. "That's a much stronger spell than the one you
cast in Malachi's realm."

"I know. I'm getting the hang of it." He didn't sound
pleased about it. "There," he said, swinging the glamour
around both of them like a cloak. "That should hold for a
while. Stay alert, though. No telling what we'll encounter
next."

She nodded, her heart troubled. She was grateful for
Mac's newfound skills, of course, but watching him cast
death magic just seemed so wrong. Like blasphemy. What
would it do to his soul?

She studied the scuffed vinyl tile beneath her feet. Mac
was so good, so loyal, and she was so afraid she was falling
in love with him. How could she even consider betraying
him to Malachi? If she had any honor at all, she'd tell him
everything. Maybe together, they could come up with a
strategy to beat Malachi, outwit Hecate, and rescue Zander.

But even as she grasped at the slim hope, it slipped away.
Who was she fooling? Malachi was surely watching. If he
suspected treachery, it would be such a simple thing for an
Old One to ascend to the human world, cast aside
Artemis's protective wards, and smother the life out of
Zander's helpless body. And Artemis, trapped here in Hell,
wouldn't be able to do a thing to prevent it.

Mac was pacing back and forth at the end of the checkout rows. "What I don't understand is why this market is
so bloody deserted. Isn't there anyone-"

He broke off as a figure emerged from one of the aisles.
Artemis braced for a fight-she wasn't sure Mac's glamour
would fool a really powerful demon-but to her relief the
newcomer was only a corpse. No threat there. The dead
were beyond the craving for life essence.

The corpse was sunken-eyed, with rotting flesh dripping from his bones. He pushed a shopping cart before
him, loaded to overflowing. Bread, pasta, soda, ice cream,
chips. A bakery cake. Several kinds of meats and cheeses.

The dead man passed without a look toward Mac and
Artemis. Exchanging glances, they followed him as he
turned down one of the aisles. Cookies lined the shelves.
The dead man paused, extending a shaky arm toward a
package of double-stuffed Oreos.

"So hungry... so hungry... so hungry..." He chanted
the mantra over and over, his sunken eyes devouring the
prize.

"What's his sin?" Mac whispered in Artemis's ear.

"Level Three punishes gluttony." She inhaled a steadying breath and looked away from the corpse's misery.
"So, where do you think the exit leading to Level Four
might be?"

"I don't care!" the corpse shouted.

Artemis jumped, but the dead man's outburst hadn't
been directed at her. He was staring at the Oreos, muttering under his breath.

"I don't care. I don't. What can he do to me? I'm already
dead. A man's gotta eat, doesn't he?"

Darting furtive glances right and left, the corpse
snatched up a bag. The packaging crackled loudly in his
skeletal fist. "God, I miss these. I used to eat a whole bag,
every day. With a full gallon of milk." He shook his fist at
the ceiling. "Nothing wrong with that, is there? Is there? No! Of course not! A man's gotta eat. Well, this time, he's
not going to stop me."

With a savage motion, he tore open the package and
launched a fistful of cookies toward his open mouth. As
the first crumb hit, alarm bells clanged.

Heavy footsteps shook the ground, accompanied by vicious snarls and barking.

"Ballocks." Mac's arm shot out. He pressed Artemis up
against a tower of Nutter Butter cookies as three slavering
hell dogs rounded the end of the aisle, barely restrained by
an enormous demon dressed in a security guard's uniform.

"Stop! Thief!"

Dogs and guards streaked past the edges of Mac's glamour. No. Not dogs. One dog, with three heads. Each
looked more than able to snap the would-be cookie thief
in two.

"Cerberus," Artemis whispered.

The corpse shrieked; Oreos flew into the air. One struck
Artemis on the cheek. Abandoning his cart, the dead man
fled down the aisle. Dog and guard gave chase. They cornered their prey in front of a Pepperidge Farm display.

The corpse cowered in front of the Milanos, arms
raised. "Please, no. Don't hurt me. I was only going to eat
one. Just one! I'm so hungry...

"Payment first!" the guard barked.

"But... all the cashiers are closed! They're never open!
And even if they were open, I don't have any money."

"That's not my problem, glutton. This is the Hell you
made for yourself. I'm just the enforcer. Now get your
cart and move along." The command was punctuated by
three menacing growls.

"Y-yes, sir." The trembling corpse heaved himself to his
feet. Oreos crunched underfoot as he stumbled to his cart.
As quickly as he could manage, he shoved it to the end of
the aisle and turned the corner.

The guard gave a satisfied grunt. Turning, he muscled his three-headed dog to the opposite end of the shelving
and disappeared. Artemis sagged against Mac. "Thank the
gods he didn't see us."

Abruptly, a woman's shrill voice replaced the smooth
jazz. "Cleanup on aisle six million seven hundred twentyfour thousand three-hundred and fifty-two."

Mac gave a low whistle. "Bloody hell."

"Great," Artemis muttered. "Just great. What do you
want to bet the exit's at aisle number one?"

Mac grabbed her hand and started walking. "Wherever
it is, we don't want to be caught in this one when the demon cleanup crew arrives."

True enough. They backtracked to the checkout lanes,
turned left, passing about twenty aisles before Mac tugged
her into one filled with pasta and jarred sauce. Following it
to the end, they emerged at the deli counter.

"Whoa. So, this is where everyone is," Artemis said.

Hundreds of corpses crowded the counter, waving paper tickets and shouting for service. The single demon on
duty had his head bent over a meat slicer, his arm moving
slower than a glacier in February. Artemis eyed the nearest corpse, a dead woman waving a ticket bearing the
number 2417. The Now SERVING sign above the counter
displayed the number 0001.

"Just like back home," she muttered.

"Through here," Mac said suddenly, steering Artemis
toward a door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY.

"Are you crazy? There are probably more demons back
there."

"No pain, no gain, love."

They passed through swinging doors and by signs reading SHOPLIFTING IS STEALING-DO IT OFTEN and FORGET TO
WASH YOUR HANDS.

"There aren't any exit doors."

"Not doors, no," Mac said, forging ahead.

"Then what?"

"Garbage chute. There's got to be one somewhere."

They followed their noses past skids of wooden crates
to a heap of rotting meat and produce. Two lesser demons
were listlessly shoveling the stinking mess into a small,
square opening. A battered steel door, swinging from one
hinge, banged with every shovelful.

"This is going to be tricky," Artemis said. "How are we
going to get around them? Your glamour is going to fail if
we have to shove them out of the way."

"A distraction, perhaps." He called a ball of hellfire to
hand, bouncing it up and down. "I'll toss this back the way
we came. As soon as they run past, we head for the chute."

Artemis flattened herself against the wall. "Okay. Ready."

Mac lobbed the hellfire toward the far end of the room.
It landed with a blast, toppling a tower of wooden crates.
The garbage demons' heads went up. "What the f-"

They took off to investigate. Mac pressed himself
against Artemis as they passed. The first loped by, eyes
fixed on the fallen crates. The second wasn't so easily
fooled. He drew up short an arm's length from Mac and
Artemis's position, sniffing the air suspiciously. Artemis
didn't dare move.

The demon sidled closer. "Hey, Rark," he yelled to his
companion.

Rark turned and loped back. "Yeah, Gark?"

"Do you smell anything funny?"

Rark sniffed. "Yeah. Life essence. But it can't be. Not
here."

Gark grinned. "Didn't you catch this morning's Tattler?
Two life magic creatures slipped past Charon. And I think
we've just found them. See that?" He pointed. "The edge
of a glamour. Right there."

Rark peered. "I don't see it."

"Yeah, well, you couldn't find your own cock in the dark. They're here, I tell you. Right in front of us. Feeling
hungry, Rark?" He rubbed his hands, generating smoke.
"I am."

"Not good," Artemis whispered to Mac.

"You take the ugly one on the right," Mac said. Hellfire
sprang into his hand. "I'll take the uglier one on the left.
Any time you're ready, love."

"On three," Artemis said, readying her own spell. "One,
two, three!"

They hit the pair together. Rark dropped like a rock;
Gark managed a blast of hellfire. It hit Mac in the thigh.
Artemis dropped the demon with a kick to its knees. Mac
added a stream of red fire and Gark landed atop his friend,
out cold.

"Come on." Artemis gave a nervous glance toward the
corridor leading to the front of the store. "We're lucky
they were lesser demons. Let's get out of here before
something bigger and badder turns up."

"I'm right with you, love."

Mac plowed a path to the garbage chute. The opening
looked just big enough for a person to squeeze through.
The fetid rot emanating from the narrow tunnel left
Artemis gasping.

Mac glanced at her. "Ladies first."

She grimaced. "Age before beauty is my motto."

"Whatever you say, love." Grabbing the top edge of the
frame, he hoisted his legs into the chute. "Wish me luck.
Stay close behind."

Artemis stuck her head through the opening and
watched him disappear down the chute. As soon as he was
gone, she climbed into the shaft and followed.

The chute led to a women's clothing store. The swimwear
department. Every single bathing suit on the racks was a
bikini.

"Hell for certain," Artemis muttered.

"I don't get it," Mac said. "What's so hellish about buying a swimsuit?"

"Nothing at all, if you're a man." She waved a hand.
"But as you'll notice, all the corpses here are women."

"So? I thought women loved clothes shopping."

"Runway models maybe. Women who exist on coffee
fumes and lettuce and spend hours at the gym. The rest of
us..." She shuddered. "And don't even get me started on
cellulite. Or how pregnancy changes things around. Let's
just say it should be a crime to install a lightbulb brighter
than fifteen watts in any ladies' dressing room."

"The shoppers on this level shouldn't be having any
angst. They're looking well enough."

It was true. Unlike the supermarket corpses up on Level
Three, the dead women on Level Four weren't showing
the slightest signs of decay. Except for the slight pallor
of their complexions, and faint dark smudges under their
eyes, the shoppers were gorgeous. Tall. Slender. Graceful.
Good hair. No cellulite. In life, these women had certainly
loved shopping for bikinis. Now, inexplicably, they drifted
from rack to rack, wailing.

"What sin does this level punish?" Mac asked.

"Excessive love of material goods." Artemis watched,
bemused, as one of the beautiful shoppers pulled a shimmery red bikini off the rack. The women checked the tag,
choked, and flung it away.

"Size ten!" she howled. "This bathing suit's made for
a pig!"

Artemis nearly choked. "What? I'm a size ten."

Mac snorted.

Artemis balled up a fist and punched him on his burned
arm.

"Hey," he protested. "That hurt."

"It's not funny."

His eyes didn't stop laughing. "No worries, love. Personally, I like a woman with a little meat on her bones."