The pain is inescapable, my body untethered from anything but its howling madness. The flaming river Phlegethon flows through my veins, fills my lungs, and there’s no escape. I burn from the inside out.
Finally, I could truly make Porsoth happy. I could write a whole treatise about the target level of suffering to inflict. My hands on the spear have yielded an exact prescription for maximum torture.
Over the course of what could be eons but is probably at most a minute or two, the sensation of not death, but suffering that seems to have no end, begins to, well, end. Or taper off, at least. The sensation fades like a scream getting farther away.
I’m back on the floor in my shell of a body. Which might be a burned-out husk, but I’m in it. I wonder if I look as exhausted as I am.
I’m weak. Too weak to open my eyes. Survival is a question.
If I do, I’ll never forget the utter wrong of my hands on the lance. A good so powerful when it came into contact with me, it tried to obliterate me.
“Luke, are you all right?” Callie asks. “I need some help here.”
A cool palm touches my cheek and I gasp, blistered by a sense of calm and light. I drag my eyes open.
I back away when I see that she has the spear in her other hand. She looks like an avenging angel. A faint white halo surrounds her, along with an image of a Tesla coil on the ceiling. Nice decorating touch.
“Luke, it’s me,” she says.
“I know,” I say and let my eyes drift closed again. “Just stay back.”
“Do you think he’s dying?” Jared asks, and I hear the underlying Is that a bad thing? in his tone. Nice solidarity, bro.
“He’s not dying,” Callie snaps back.
I wonder what they’ll think when they find out about her soul. That it’s pledged to me and darkness. What if Father tortures Callie the way I was just tortured?
I can’t bear it.
“Luke, I need your help. Please wake up.”
She’s pleading. My weak heart responds to it.
“What help?” I manage to get the words out. She appeared fine to me. Glowing, actually. The picture of health and vitality and unstoppable power.
“We should tie up Solomon Elerion,” Mag says.
“I can’t believe you put that painting right over his head,” Jared says.
Mag sniffs. “Tesla’s pigeon is too good for him.”
Callie responds to them. “Just check for a Hand of Glory. If they don’t have one, we’ll lock them inside the room.”
“Good idea,” Jared says.
“I have my moments,” Callie returns.
They don’t need me. Just like I thought. Callie’s got her own little army, practically as good as the two outside. Certainly more fun to hang out with.
Hands shake my shoulders. “Luke, wake up. I’ve put down the lance. I need you.”
I force my eyes open again and stare up into Callie’s. There’s a storm brewing there. Doubt. And yes, need.
“What’s next?” she asks. “What do I do now?”
It becomes clear that she’s being absolutely honest.
She has no idea what happens next. And she thinks that I do. She needs me. Or believes she does, anyway.
There’s truly a first time for everything.
I manage to push myself up to a seated position and extend a hand to her. She helps me to my feet. I wobble.
Once we’re both relatively convinced I’m not about to fall, she lets go and picks up the Holy Lance. There’s that glow again. Callie of Good.
Jared holds his phone up so we can see the screen. A headline shouts apocalyptic news, along with a photo of gouts of flame. “I don’t want to interrupt, but there’s apparently fire and brimstone storms going on all over the place outside,” he says.
“He said that was their first move,” Callie said. “Any ideas?” she asks me.
“Start there.” I gasp the words. I suck in a breath, and say the next stronger. “Stop it.”
I don’t bother—because I don’t feel up to it yet—to explain that one apocalypse will likely trigger, to put a point on it, all of them. Most religious traditions are more intertwined behind the scenes than people realize. This is an extinction-level event in the making.
But it’s not like Callie needs more pressure at the moment.
“Right.” Callie frowns at the Holy Lance in her hands. “And I do that how?”
I can’t help smiling at her. “You’re way smarter than him and he managed to make it work. Just will it.”
Callie’s frown deepens as she examines me. “Are you going to be okay?”
Again with the worrying about me. I’m not used to it. I don’t know how to wave that off. I feel something akin to devastated. My throat chokes back up.
“Right as rain,” I grit out.
“I hope you like rain,” she says and our gazes hold. I remember standing in the night in Lisbon together what feels like a lifetime ago, when she was in pain from traveling in my manner. Now I can barely stand from the assault of good, but I aim to aid her. How far we’ve come.
Literally and figuratively.
That might be a hint of tears at the back of my eyes. I inhale sharply.
Gather your wits about you, Luke.
“Callie?” Mag interrupts our staring contest. “Fire and brimstone—”
“Raining from the sky,” Jared finishes. “Better get on that.”
Callie squints at me. “When all this is over, you’re getting a milkshake.” I’m puzzled, until she specifies. “Best treatment for most non-fatal injuries.”
“Milkshakes are Mom’s cure-all,” Jared says. “She’s going to kill us, you know.”
“I know.” Callie sets her shoulders. “Okay, I’m going to try this.”
“Should we get out of here first, in case he wakes up?” I ask.
I’m getting stronger by the second, so maybe this milkshake cure idea has something to it. But I still don’t want to deal with Solomon Elerion again anytime soon. Not if it can be avoided.
“Yes,” Jared agrees.
Mag locks the door we came in, the one that opens into that little vestibule. Meanwhile, Jared flicks open a portion of wall to reveal a hidden keypad, then punches in a series of numbers. That triggers the exit door to the hallway to open.
Callie hugs the lance to her with one arm, and reaches her opposite hand to me. “Lean on me,” she says.
I can’t resist, even with the possibility I might burn.
Surprisingly, touching her when she’s also touching the lance doesn’t hurt. It’s nice. That sense of peace and calm radiates through me.
Maybe not all good things hurt me.
“Wow, Luke, that is some major moony look,” Mag says.
“I do not,” I protest, “have a moony look. Impossible.”
“You kinda do,” Callie says. She shrugs the shoulder nearest me. “I don’t mind.”
“Let’s go,” I say with an eye roll I don’t mean.
We shuffle through the exit into the hallway. Jared secures the door behind us.
“Oh my god,” Mag says, pointing toward the front windows.
The scene outside is much, much worse than seeing it in a photo on a small phone screen. If Mag hadn’t been able to say that word without making thing worse, I’d wonder if I was back home.
Fire rains down in heavy gouts amid angry gray clouds that I’m betting fill the air with the reek of sulfur. The whole thing is akin to a volcanic eruption, but coming from above. Most of the fire burns out on the way down, but that just means we probably won’t die in fire caused by it. Yet.
“I always thought fire and brimstone was just an expression,” Callie says.
I see her face tighten into resolve. She marches toward the door and extends the Holy Lance out in front of her with both hands.
“Stop it,” she says. Then adds, “Right now.”
Nothing happens. There’s movement on the street outside. An angel winging low. Some flying demons pass the other way. The armies are inching toward real conflict.
“Stop it right now,” Callie tries again. “No more fire and brimstone.”
And again, no change in the horrific conditions.
Callie heaves a sigh and lowers the Holy Lance. She turns to me with a bewildered look.
“Why isn’t it working?” she asks.
I have no idea. You shouldn’t have put your faith in me.
“I’m not sure … Visualize what you want in detail and believe in your ability to stop it.”
She whirls back toward the windows. I step as close as I dare with the lance active.
Callie closes her eyes in concentration. After a long moment in which nothing changes, she sighs and opens them. “It’s still not working. What now?”
I’m turning out to be useless in this crisis, but I know someone who will have an answer. “Porsoth,” I say. “He’ll know what to do.”
We walk closer to the windows, staring out into the smoke and fire and angels and guardians and demons and hell-beasts along the road. There’s still an empty sort of no-man’s-land on the road directly in front of us. Sure, fire and brimstone rains down the whole way, but it’s a path.
“How do we get to him?” Callie asks. “Can we call him here?”
“Best not to draw too much attention to him, not while he’s babysitting Bosch. Rofocale might not realize he’s here. He could be called to combat.”
Callie frowns, concerned. “Bosch won’t be hurt by the fire, will she?”
“With Porsoth in charge? Not likely.” I gingerly take her arm, careful not to touch the Holy Lance. “We’ll have to cross the street to him though.”
“Take an umbrella. No, that’s not going to work…” Mag glances around the lobby frantically for something to shield their best friend and it’s one of the sweetest things I’ve ever seen.
“That part I can handle,” I say.
I press the front door open and form a smoke canopy to cover us. After all, Mag’s right. A regular umbrella would burn.
“Be right back,” Callie says. “Or as soon as we can. Keep an eye on Solomon. He’s tricky.”
“We got it,” her brother says. I’m beginning to understand what Mag sees in him. He’s solid backup in a crisis. “Go.”
“Jared?” Callie hesitates.
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry. I really am oka—good with this.” She ticks her head toward him and Mag.
“I said go,” he says, playing the long-suffering brother. But I see the sheen in both his and Mag’s eyes.
Hell’s bells, I still feel it in my own. None of us are sure we’re going to make it through this. That’s the only explanation.
Callie turns to me expectantly and I say, “After you.”
“Be careful!” Jared says. “I’m supposed to be in charge.”
Callie and I catch eyes and almost laugh, but then the heat hits us like a smackdown.
The trip is not what I’d call fun, even protected from the worst of it.
First off, fire falling from the sky makes the place into an oven. Callie’s constantly brushing sweat from her face, but there’s nothing I can do about that while maintaining our covering.
Then there’s the occasionally jeering demons who start to menace us, until they notice me and then they start mocking Callie. I could do without it, but we don’t have time for trifles.
Sometimes priorities truly suck. World ending, et cetera. And I made a promise. A promise I’m going to see through.
At last, we stand in front of Porsoth, who grips a wide black smoke umbrella in one hand and a panting Bosch’s collar in the other. He’s made himself and the dog hard to notice, and we slip into the pocket of his working as if it’s a niche in the wall of reality.
“You were successful!” Porsoth says. Then I watch it connect. We were successful, but things are still progressing toward apocalypse now. “What’s the trouble?”
He takes in the lance with fascination, but keeps his distance. Smarter than me, but I knew that already.
“All this,” Callie says. “I tried to stop the fire and brimstone, but it’s not working. Why?”
Porsoth gives one of his standard owlish blinks. “Who gave the command initially?”
“Solomon Elerion, obviously.” She wipes away more sweat from her forehead with the back of the hand not clutching the holy weapon. “We managed to take the lance away from him, but it doesn’t seem to want to listen to me.”
“He’s still alive?” Porsoth asks.
“Yes.” Callie swallows. I can tell she doesn’t like where this is going.
“There should be two ways to stop the command,” Porsoth says, going into teacher mode. “Either the person who gave it must perish…” When he sees Callie’s horrified expression, he says, “No one could argue that the sniveling worm doesn’t deserve it. We have a fine accommodation waiting for him in Hell after this…” He searches for a word.
“Cluster-o-pocalypse of epic proportions?” I say.
“That is not a word,” he says.
“Or,” Callie prompts. “What’s option two?”
“Or,” Porsoth says, “the Holy Lance can be destroyed. Now that it’s reunified, it should be possible.”
“How?” Callie asks. “And what happens if we do?”
Porsoth shrugs. “That I don’t know. No one ever set forth a method in any text that I’ve seen or detailed the consequences.”
“Great.” She sounds ready to scream. “Why can’t anything be easy?” She turned her phone back on en route. Now it buzzes and she checks it. I glimpse some unopened texts from her mother. A lot of them. “Mag says Solomon’s awake. We have to get back. Thanks, Porsoth.”
“I’m coming with you,” Porsoth says.
We both stop. Fire and brimstone continue to rain down around us. The armies of darkness and light are mixing it up a bit in the air and on the ground here and there.
“You are?” I ask.
“This is no place for a dog, is it, Bosch?” he asks Bosch.
He has a point.
Bosch doesn’t look exactly zen about being out here, even under Porsoth’s protection.
Callie says, “Come on.” She stops for a second and peers between me and Porsoth. Then, “The lance. Luke held it, and it hurt him. Is he going to be all right?”
Porsoth studies me with concern. “And you survived?”
There’s no point in lying. “Barely.”
“Interesting … I presume so,” he says to Callie. “I have no real way to know.”
“Try again,” she says.
I’m confused, but Porsoth takes her meaning. “It’s likely he’s going to be just fine.”
“Better,” Callie says and I want to hold her to me and keep her safe forever.
To be honest, I want to anyway.
But we don’t have time. No, we have to get back to the Great Escape to prevent a not-so-great escape and to face another existential moral quandary. All this big meaning-of-life, saving-the-world business is exhausting. The lazier version of me had some things going for him.
Porsoth sweeps out a wing and effortlessly enlarges the pocket of shadow I made. Off we go, Callie’s faithful hound back by her side.
The obvious answer to our current dilemma is that I take out Solomon Elerion and harvest his putrid soul. Father won’t give me credit for it, but no one has ever deserved eternal damnation more.
Still, I’ve never had to get my hands dirty, not in that way. But the lance’s reaction to me seems to confirm I’m made for the task. After all, one way or another, I’m going to see Solomon Elerion in Hell. And I’m going to disappoint everyone, like always.
This time, I fear I may also disappoint myself.