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“Yes. We will bathe in your blood. I will make a throne of skulls, and turn this sad little city into a hellscape of my grandest imagining.” He made another move to stomp on me, and in my efforts to look cool I almost didn’t dodge in time. Smarten up, Secret.
I caught my breath before speaking again, hoping my voice wouldn’t come out in a squeak. “See, there’s a problem with that. You might not know me very well, but if you did, you’d understand that I don’t really like it when people try to take over my city, and things tend to end in a kind of messy way for them.” As I spoke I moved within reach of him, intentionally this time.
He let out a bark of a laugh, and in an instant he had gone from standing still to grabbing me around the waist along with my sword and lifting me entirely off the ground.
I had forgo
tten how quickly he could move for such a big creature, and his grip was so firm I worried I wouldn’t be able finish what I needed to do next since I’d be too busy struggling to breathe.
“I don’t care what you want, little one.”
“That’s too bad,” I wheezed.
“Why?” He seemed genuinely curious, his bright orange eyes narrowing at me like he might actually want to hear what I had to say.
He’d plucked up my sword at the same time he’d gotten a hold of me, and as he squeezed, the blade bit into my flesh.
It wasn’t exactly how I’d planned it, but it would do the trick.
“See, the blood of that vampire over there? The blood that was powerful enough to open up your precious Hell gate? That blood is in me too.”
Belphegor’s brows knit together, and I could tell he couldn’t quite understand what I was saying.
“And that blood is about to make you my bitch, Belphegor.” The moment I said his name, the lines I had been etching in the grass lit up in a bright, blinding white. The blood dripping down my legs from where the sword was cutting into me was enough to complete the seal.
While he’d been busy telling me how he and his buddies were going to rule Earth like Hell, I had been drawing the design Calliope had shown me.
A binding circle.
One that would only work if I knew a demon’s true name.
This cocky mofo hadn’t realized that by lipping off about who he was, he had given me precisely what I needed to rule over him like he was a pawn in my own private game of chess.
Belphegor roared and dropped me as if I was suddenly red hot. I scrambled backwards as soon as I hit the ground.
“Belphegor, I bind you. You will do no more harm on this plane. I bind you from coming here again. I bind those who would follow you. Belphegor, Prince of Hell, you are under my command, and I bid you, return from whence you came.”
The grass shuddered beneath us, and a hideous cracking sound sent me stumbling even farther back. For a moment, I worried the entire park was going to split apart where we stood and all that would be left was a giant, open pit into Hell.
Instead, the area beneath the circle I had drawn dropped away, just like the one the cult members had made, and Belphegor stared at it in utter disgust.
“You will come to regret this one day,” he roared.
“Yeah, probably. But for now I’m pretty happy about it.”
Before he could say another word, he fell through the opening in the ground, and the second he was gone, the pit vanished. All that remained were the fine tendrils of smoke rising from the fading lines I’d drawn; otherwise I might have been convinced I’d imagined the whole thing.
That was why you always paid attention when Calliope showed you things.
Shouting and gunfire brought my focus to the fight still happening across the lawn. Ignoring the giant cut in my thigh, I limp-jogged back to the original pit field and found that for the most part, my friends had handled themselves creditably. The group was holding back the newly risen demons—most of the hideous bird creatures were on the grass with arrows sticking out of them—and they were giving Ingrid the coverage she needed to get to Sig.
She moved across the glowing lines like they were a tightrope, arriving in front of the vampire with her hand out.
“It’s time to go,” she told him, and for the first time since he’d been dragged out here, Sig lifted his head.
A cult member began running towards them, looking like a man bent on murder. I pulled my gun from its holster under my jacket and took one clean shot at his head, sending him staggering to the ground, where he lay still, his mission incomplete.
The second Ingrid had Sig out of the circle—his white skin raw and burned—I went to the edge and drew my sword through the burning lines. Echoing, eerie voices below screamed in anger as the pit closed up over their heads, leaving only ash and smoke behind.
