Dark Days

CHAPTER 21

There were no frills this time, no buttering him up before they bent him over. Belial stormed ahead of Jack into the meeting room, the Princes sitting at the round bone table with their heads bent.

Baal looked up, eyes narrowing. “What’s the meaning of this?”

Belial shot Jack a black look. “This was your idea, princess. Speak up.”

Jack wondered what his life was coming to when speaking to Baal and Beelzebub didn’t rank as the most likely to make him piss himself in the course of a day.

He told them about Legion, about his visions. He laid everything out, feeling the eyes of two of the oldest demons in Hell boring into him as he did. It was the same feeling as when he’d go with his mum and watch her beg for yet another extension on their rent from the council when he was a boy. The feeling of knowing that the whole performance was getting booed before you even began.

“Tell me, crow-mage.” Beelzebub folded his delicate, multi-jointed fingers. “What makes you think you’re such an expert on this Legion problem?”

“I dunno,” Jack said. “Maybe because you set me up as your hard man and used me to track him down, and now my arse is on the line while you’re sitting tucked up here in your magical pitchfork palace?”

Belial coughed, letting him know he’d gone too far, but Jack rolled on. He was beyond caring what the Princes might do to him. They’d ceased to be the boogeyman under his bed long ago.

“Look,” Jack said. “According to him, he’s lined up at least one of the rulers of Faerie on his side. He’s got enough mages to turn all of London into tinder. He’s got zombies, lycanthropes, tinker, tailor, soldier, spy. What more do you need to realize that this entire thing is fucked and you need to take drastic action?”

Baal flared his nostrils. “If what you say is true, that drastic action could provoke a war with Faerie. Or with the human necromancers. Hell’s numbers are diminished, as Legion counts so many among his followers. Would you see Hell fall, crow-mage? Is your game revenge for what was done to you at Belial’s hand?”

The demon cleared his throat at Jack’s shoulder. “Baal, I assure you…”

“Shut up, Belial,” Baal snapped. “The offensive was your plan, and it hasn’t worked. Now it’s down to us. The fact is, Legion commands the artificer, and so we are at a disadvantage. If you were not so young you would see that.”

“Nice name for something that can flip the cosmos like a pancake,” Jack said. “Why on earth would you even leave something like that lying around?”

“Azrael was the only one who knew of it,” Baal sighed. “He had many secrets. This one, he shared with the wrong demon.”

“Yeah, about that,” Jack said. “Who is Legion? I mean, I heard the stories. But who is he, really? How can a regular bloke grab the one thing in all of Hell guaranteed to twist the Triumvirate’s panties and run off with it?”

“Because they all trusted Azrael to keep them safe from the bad men,” Belial said, acid eating at each word. “But when Daddy turned out to be a twat who’d fiddle while Abbadon and his pals turned us into sausage meat, they were left scrambling, and now they’re a bit red in the face.”

Beelzebub shot to his feet, chair knocking backward. “You never did know when to just shut up, did you?”

“Oi!” Jack stuck his fingers in his mouth and whistled. The sound cut through the small space, taking the wind out of Beelzebub’s sails. “Look, you don’t want to tell me who Legion really is, fine. Guarantee I’ll find out before this is all over. The point is, he’s got this artificer, he’s using it to reenact the plot of every shit episode of Doctor Who there is, and we need to do something about it.” He folded his arms and bestowed the Princes with the same look he gave Margaret when she was being a brat. “So what’s that going to be? Because the dragging him to Hell bit is off the table, I’ll tell you right now. No way am I getting within spitting distance of that bastard again.”

Legion’s face, his real one, crept into Jack’s mind, and he shivered. There was something alien about it—as if Legion were not just a creature of Hell but a black hole, consuming all it touched.

“That won’t be necessary,” Baal said. “We are going to take over the operation from here, crow-mage, and rest assured, Legion will no longer be your problem.”

Jack had expected some threats, maybe a kick to the ribs or a slam in the skull, or perhaps just the invitation from the Princes to jump up his own arse, but this wasn’t right. Demons never gave up, never smoothed things over and told you everything was going to be all right. Demons lived to get the upper hand, and to watch you squirm while they did it.

And he’d failed, rather spectacularly. That should at least merit a few pokes verbally or with a hot poker.

“Oh, fuck me,” Jack said as the truth slammed into him like a lorry. “You’re going to make a deal with him, aren’t you?”

Belial gave a grunt from beside him, but the two other Princes remained unmoved. Beelzebub spread his hands. “Bargains are what built Hell, and they are what will continue to keep it running. Legion will be given certain … concessions in return for giving back the artificer.”

“And by concessions, you mean Earth as his merry stomping ground,” Jack said. The rage was boiling again, hot and fast up his throat. “You bastards,” he whispered. “He doesn’t want a consolation prize. He doesn’t want anything except to watch you burn. Let me give you a tip: When he kills you, and you’re rotting in the Land of the Dead, and you feel a drip on your head, that’ll be Legion, pissing on your graves.”

Belial shoved him aside, gripping the edge of the table with his black-nailed hands. “You two geriatric morons can’t be serious.”

“Way to go,” Jack said. “That’ll win ’em to your side.”

“You got a seat at this table by subterfuge and backstabbing,” Baal told Belial. “Don’t act so shocked that you lost it the same way.”

“I’ve seen what this bastard can do,” Belial growled. “Much as it pains me to agree with anything that comes out of Jack Winter’s mouth, the little bastard is right. Legion won’t bargain with you. He’ll use you to tear down Hell, and then it’ll be so long and thanks for all the Hellspawn for the both of you. Are you mad?”

The Princes stood in unison, monsters in slick black undertaker suits, and Jack instinctively backed off a step. If Belial was about to lose his head, he didn’t want the spatter on him.

“Your services as the third in this Triumvirate are no longer required,” Beelzebub said. “I suggest you get the fuck out of Hell before our good mood turns sour.”

“I hope the two of you end up just like Azrael,” Belial snarled. “You deserve it, both of you.”

Jack put his hand on Belial’s shoulder, scarcely believing he was touching a demon voluntarily. “Come on, mate,” he said. “Before they call security to cart your stuff out in a box.”

Belial came with him as far as the door before he wheeled around. “Legion may have stolen the artificer and started this war, but the two of you brought down the walls of Hell. Soon, there will be nothing left, and you’ll be kings of the wasteland. So fucking enjoy it, the both of you. I always thought you were twats.”

He threw the doors wide, knocking one of the Fenris on guard off balance with the violence of the swing.

“Good luck with that whole deal-with-the-devil thing,” Jack told the Princes. “Hope it bites you right on the arse.”

He turned without waiting for the Princes’ reaction, and ran after Belial before anyone in Hell could decide they wanted to keep him there.