Hellfire Drop (Brimstone Cycle Book 2)(3)

“So you’re an admirer?” I ask.

“And a grateful one at that. I’m not alone in the feeling, either.” he says.

The devil takes his own turn at looking out of the window. The sun’s fallen even lower, painting the swamp ridden landscape stretching out past the diner with broad strokes of blood red and and almost Hellfire glow.

“For most of us, it’s a rare treat to walk this earth.” He smiles again, but the expression doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and carries bitterness this time. “We can’t all be your ‘Ole Beeze’ after all.”

As I watch him, I think back on the pieces of lore I’ve picked up since meeting Ole Beeze. While my old mentor was a common participant in most of those stories, I couldn’t say the same for others of his kind. In fact, in the half dozen years I’d spent dropping through Hell before making my last, disastrous, deal with Ole Beeze, I’ve never even heard of another devil, capital D devil excluded, walking the earth.

No devils out of Hell, at least until me. I try to think about how many people I’d dragged with me and left down there in the deeps. A dozen mercenaries. A dozen of them at least, I think.

The thought of Tom being worn until the ends of time is not a problem with me. But what about the others I’d dragged to hell along with him? What about the things that now walked in their bodies? Devils that are capable of unspeakable things.

I close my eyes and think of Mary. Unspeakable things, and the devils that do them, aren’t my problem. Not now. I’ve got enough to worry about, because no matter how hard I try to suppress it, the rage won’t let go of me. I know what I have to do. I’ve got to kill Ole Beeze.

“Ah, there she is.” says the thing sharing the table with me. “The little imp that everyone of us is talking about. That is exactly what I came here to see. Exactly why I came here, in person, to thank you.”

I open my eyes and look at the devil. He’s no longer smiling at me. His gaze is intense, his expression serious.

“That fire is potent.” says the devil wearing Tom. “I see why you’ve lasted so long. Hell. I see why Ole Beeze liked you, too.”

Irritation pushes its way past, or at least alongside, the rage I’ve been feeling. I sneer.

“That devil has a funny way of showing it.” I say, my mind turning back to the task of planning my kill.

“Your sister?” says the devil, still looking out at the sunset. He shrugs. “People die. It is what they do.”

There’s some truth in that. People die. And by the time I’m finished, Ole Beeze will too.

The devil laughs, the sound rushing from him in a wheeze.

“Ole Beeze won’t die, little imp.” he says. “He’s an angel, regardless of however far he has fallen, and still of the divine.”

His mind reading thing, if that’s what it is, is getting old. My sneer turns into a snarl by the time I next speak.

“That won’t stop me from trying.” I say, meaning it with every fiber of my being. Mary’s gone. Without her, there’s nothing left to lose.

That draws a nod from the devil at least.

“No, it can’t.” he says, then shakes his head. “And I won’t try to stop you, either. I owe nothing to your Ole Beeze. He’s made promises, sure. Offers to set me and others like me up with bodies to wear, days to spend on the earth.”

He looks down, once again, at himself.

“But I don’t need him for that now.” he says, “Thanks to you.”

The devil exhales then places his hands wide apart on the table. He looks at me, then, while bracing his weight, leans so far forward his nose is only a few inches from me.

“Let me give you a piece of advice, though.” He says. “From one monster to another.”

I can feel something as he approaches. A literal heat that breaks me out in a sweat, like a furnace barely contained, radiating out from him. I want to lean back from him, to flinch. But I refuse him the pleasure.

“Advice?” I say, attempting to keep my voice level. “Which is?”

“Do not come for him uninformed or alone.” he says. “It won’t end well if you do, and if you’re unlucky, it won’t even end with you dead.”

The devil wearing Tom stands up before I have a chance to respond.

“Take care of yourself.” he says, then leaves the table, and is gone.





CHAPTER THREE


The waitress shows up and refills my mug of coffee. I thank her as she heads off and take the steaming cup in my hands. The drink tastes like ashes in my mouth, but I think that has more to do with my mood than the brew.

Ole Beeze is a devil, and can’t be killed. I don’t believe it, not fully, because anything that can feel pain can definitely die. What I can believe is that he can’t be killed by me. Not with what I have on hand, or can get access to easily.

I’m not the kind of woman to limit myself to what comes easy, though. When I’d first gone into gun running after my deal with Old Beeze, I hadn’t known anything. I knew hunting rifles, sure, and the names of a few exotic calibers, but next to nothing about the weapons demanded by bad men in bad places. I’d learned though. I’d put my nose to the grindstone until I knew everything there was to know, and worked hard enough, taking advantage of my new abilities, to make sleep a thing for the past until I’d made enough to support Mary and me.