DEVIL IN THE DOLLHOUSE

A Sandman Slim Story

RICHARD KADREY

DEVIL IN THE DOLLHOUSE

The Unimog bounces down a shattered freeway that looks like a set from Crackhead Godzilla Goes on a Bender and Fucks up Everything. Exit signs and overhead lights are melted to slag. Buildings along the edges of the road look more like the stone skeletons of giant fish than settlements. We have to inch our way down and then back up collapsed overpasses like arthritic grasshoppers.

And it gets worse. This thousand-mile-long ribbon of shit? Technically, I own all of it. All of Hell is falling apart and one of my jobs is to put it back together. But not today.

Let’s back up and get a look at the big picture.

There are just as many assholes in Heaven as there are in Hell. The only difference is the ones in Hell aren’t slick enough to hide it. Therefore Hell is a kingdom of assholes, and thus the Devil is the king of the assholes.

Hi. I’m the Devil. No, seriously. I used to be James Stark or sometimes Sandman Slim, but then the Lucifer 1.0 pissed off back to Heaven and stuck me running Hell. I thought that was the worst thing that could ever happen to me. That was three days ago. Today things got worse. Today I’m in a truck convoy heading somewhere I never heard of to find some place that scares even these evil fallen-angel pricks. Plus, I can’t eat the lunch they packed for me. I never could stand unicorn salad.

Here’s how it all started: I was hanging out in Lucifer’s library—my library now—when a bookcase opened and two Hellions came in, looking at me like I was a two-headed rattler in the reptile booth at a Texarkana side show.

“So, this is him,” said the smaller Hellion.

“I guess so,” said the big one.

“He doesn’t look like much of a monster.”

“He’s the monster who kills monsters, so naturally he’s a lesser monster.”

“He still looks like any other mortal to me.”

“You know I’m standing right here, right?” I said.

The smaller Hellion raised his voice, like maybe I was hard of hearing.

“I was saying that you don’t look like much of a monster.”

“I look better covered in blood. You never saw me fight in the arena?”

Big Boy shook his head.

“Merihim there is a priest. He can’t go. Me, I don’t like to go. Fighting for fun doesn’t make sense to me.”

“Trust me. It wasn’t fun.”

The smaller Hellion was in sleeveless black robes. Every inch of visible skin was tattooed in sacred Hellion script, like he’d been mugged by the tiniest graffiti crew in the universe. Big Boy looked like the Hulk’s runt cousin in rubber overalls. Dangling from his thick leather belt were enough vicious-looking tools to give Torquemada the vapors.

“I’m Ipos,” said Big Boy. He hooked a thumb at the tattooed squirt. “He’s Merihim.”

I recognized the names. Samael, aka Lucifer 1.0, left me a note with their names. They’re a couple of his spies and sometime advisors.

“Hi,” I said. “I’m the Devil.”

Merihim nodded. Pursed his lips.

“Yes. That’s what we’re here to talk about. You’re not, entirely, quite Lucifer.”

“Then you better tell whoever is Lucifer, because I’m living in his palace, wearing his clothes, and peeing in his shower.”

“Yes,” said Ipos. “You have all the trappings of Lord Lucifer. And you certainly have the title.”

“What you lack is the belief,” said Merihim.

“I seem to remember killing Mason Faim and stopping a war with Heaven.”

“And those facts are what earned you the title. But the title is a thing of the mind. Belief is a thing of the heart. And that you don’t have.”

“Not yet,” said Ipos.

“In a conversation like this when someone says ‘not yet’ it makes my balls ache. You know why? Because that’s where the knee is going. Because ‘not yet’ means I have to do something and it’s going to hurt. Am I right?”

“Your balls are very wise indeed,” said Merihim. “But you need to see our problem.”

“You need to see mine. I don’t care.”

Ipos held up one of his big hands.

“We’re here to help you become what destiny has led you to.”

“To become the Lord of the Underworld.”

“Don’t call me ‘Lord.’ I don’t like it. So how are you going to do it?”

Ipos said, “There’s something Samael was going to do before he left us. A kind of quest.”

Perfect. Not only does Samael stick me with Hell, he leaves me to clean up his last job. And I know him well enough to know that this is one he didn’t want to do.

“Fuck you both. I never wanted this gig. One of you can play Lucifer. How about you, preacher?”

“I’m a simple priest, unsuited for a life in politics.”

“What do you say, Mighty Joe Young?”

“I’m head of maintenance. Your palace would fall apart without me.”

“Well, I’m not Sir fucking Galahad out looking for adventure. I’m a schmuck who wants to go home.”

“You have to be alive to do that,” Ipos said.

“Not all of Hell is willing to accept a mortal as Lucifer. Considering that you are going to be with us for quite some time . . .”

“Forever maybe.”

“You might want to consider ways to minimize your chances of being murdered.”

“Not being killed is pretty high on my agenda. What kind of quest are we talking about?”

Merihim idly picked up a book from a nearby table.

“It’s really more of an exorcism. Not much more than clearing out a haunted house.”

“Maybe a bit more like a fortress,” Ipos said.

“With a coterie of unpleasant residents doing mischief with travelers.”

“What’s a coterie?”

“A somewhat large group.”

“How large?”

“Some say an army,” said Ipos. “But a minor one.”

“Why didn’t you say so? It sounds completely reasonable.”

“Good.”

“No, it doesn’t. I was being sarcastic.”

Merihim frowned.

“You don’t do it as well as Samael.”

“My wise balls are telling me to pass on the offer.”

“But they know you can’t.”

He was right. If I’m going to survive I need some juice, and the fastest way to get that down here is to kill something.

So now here I am, bouncing along in a truck with concrete shocks surrounded by a Hellion legion that smells like a fish-market Dumpster. I’m not usually the dragged-along-for-the-ride type. Usually, I’m the one doing the dragging, but I’m a little out of my depth here. Like Marianas Trench out of my depth. I fought in the arena long enough to know that sometimes the best strategy is to shut up, go along with the game, and make sure that someone is standing in front of me when the tentacles hit the fan. So far though, all my Cool Hand Luke plan has gotten me is a numb ass from sitting and a ringing in my ears from the engine noise. Worst of all, the unicorn is starting to smell good.

Up ahead, the whole world is on fire. Our three-truck convoy is off the freeway and in open desert plains following a narrow winding road to fuck all.

“Ah. The first ring of suffering,” says Geryon, the scholar. “Henoch created three before we reach the Breach. They’re designed to break the spirit of anyone approaching.”

“I thought we made the suffering. We don’t do the suffering.”

“If you think Hell isn’t Hell for every creature in it then you’re blind, False Lucifer.”

“That’s getting annoying.”

“No more so than being ruled by a usurper.”

“A usurper has to want the job. I want to be home, drunk and breaking hotel beds with a girl named Candy.”

“Of course, False One. You merely fell into the lordship of Hell. It’s happened to all of us.”

“Then you admit I’m head of the pit crew down here.”

He looks away. Geryon loves me. The conversation has been like this all the way out from Pandemonium.

“If you’re unhappy you can walk back to Pandemonium. It shouldn’t take more than a week.

“Merihim should be doing this,” says Geryon.

“Merihim and Ipos are too chicken to leave the capital, so they gave me you, sweetheart. Start talking or we’re going to see if you can dog-paddle through fire. I wonder if fried Hellion tastes like spicy or original recipe?”

Geryon looks at me like I’m a moldy ham sandwich someone forgot in the back of the fridge at work.

“What is it you want of me?”

“The rest of the story. You were telling me about Henoch Breach.”

Lucifer got me into this Hell mess and deserted me. Then Merihim and Ipos got me into this haunted house bullshit and they deserted me too. If you can’t trust a fallen angel, who can you trust? Geryon is supposed to have the lowdown on where we’re going but he hates me more than Aelita and Marshall Wells combined. Maybe Merihim and Ipos are smarter than I thought. Maybe they stuck me with Tiny Tears here to show me how much some of the townies despise me. Maybe I can even learn something from this guy if I don’t get bored and make his guts into a new fan belt for the truck.

“Before the Breach there were the beasts. They were here when God threw us from Heaven’s walls. Few remember them and those who do think of them as nightmares. Nightmares from the terror of landing in this place. Some of us though, we still remember the truth. Great, fat obsidian snakes like blind worms and rats with fur like steel spikes.”

I look out the front window. The air shimmers over the heat like waves on a lake. Molten rock flows in thick streams around burning boulders. Blackened bones of hellbeasts stick up from black patches of cooled lava like slaughterhouse stalagmites.

“How in fuck’s sake are we supposed to get through that?”

Geryon glances at the window and looks away. He’s scared but he doesn’t want to look bad in front of the mortal. Cry me a river.

He says, “The rings are cruel. They are designed not to kill, but to break our spirits. We turn back now or we go through them, stopping for absolutely nothing. The choice is yours, thief.”

The Unimog driver slows down and stops, waiting for me. He looks almost human, if the human summered in a trash compactor. His head is twice the size it should be and roughly the shape of a rotten pumpkin. His back is hunched and one of his arms looks like it was chiseled out of concrete. I nod to him.

“Pour on the horses, Elephant Man, and don’t stop for anything.”

The heat hits hard and fast, like one minute we’re fine and the next some bastard has dumped a ton of burning compost on our heads. Hellions might be fallen angels but they’re still angels, and seeing angels sweat like rotten meat is the kind of thing that can make a person tense.

The ribbons of heat turn the air to Jell-O. It’s hard to breathe and I can barely see anything out the window. The driver inches us along the road at a crawl. The engine whines like it’s about ten seconds from melting down. I swear I can hear the tires sizzling underneath the truck. The troops in the back of the truck are getting restless, and by getting restless I mean pressing their ugly Hellion noses to the window, trying to see who’s going to panic first and do something incredibly stupid.

Geryon sticks his head in the back and speaks to them.

“We can make it. Others have and in lesser vehicles than this. We just have to be strong.”

Geryon might be smart but he doesn’t have the best timing. Just as he finishes, both rear windows crack in the heat. One begins to fall apart but the other holds. Some of the troops grab their guns like they can shoot the heat away.

The truck lists to the right and then lists more as we hit a patch of melting road. For a minute it feels like we’re going to roll over. Elephant Man shifts hard. Gears grind and scream like they’re about to pop out through the hood. Slowly the truck rights itself and just like that we’re clear of the flames. Like closing a window, we’re out of the smoker and onto a nice cool plate with cornbread and potato salad. The other two trucks are moving slow. I go to the back and look out the broken window.

Truck Two is where we just were, leaning to the side on the soft road. The driver inches forward and the truck starts to right itself. Then with a crack like God’s own cannon going off it’s gone. All that’s left is a molten rock void in the road over a river of streaming lava. I press myself against the ceiling, and through the window I can just see the edge of the truck’s front bumper sinking into the thick orange flow. Then that’s gone too. The driver of the third truck takes a big chance and drives off the road onto the rocky shoulder, taking the long way around the hole. It’s a smart move. They take it slow and in a few minutes pull up behind us, the truck’s body steaming, the undercarriage glowing bloody red. There’s nothing to do about the other truck. I tap Elephant Man on the shoulder and we drive on.

“You were talking about monsters.”

“Yes. I was.”

I fish a pack of Maledictions from my pocket, take one and offer him one. He shakes his head. I hold one out to Elephant Man and he takes it. I light it and then mine.

“Monsters.”

Geryon nods.

“The story isn’t about monsters. It’s about Henoch. He, like you, was a traitor to Lord Lucifer and was exiled in the outlands with other traitors in a wretched town made of tunnels carved from the barren landscape. Traders from Pandemonium traveled from there along this very road to bring back their goods. Most never made it home.”

“The beasts?”

He nods.

“But not the old ones. These were new beasts. Henoch mated with the creatures and created an army of unnatural horrors. If he couldn’t return to Pandemonium, he was determined that no one and nothing would ever get there. His monsters attacked even the smallest groups of travelers.”

“And you want me to go up to this demonic freak show that no one even believes in but scares you all shitless.”

“I’m afraid so, King of Liars.”

“No wonder Lucifer took a powder.”

“Lord Lucifer isn’t a coward,” Geryon shouts. The soldiers in the back of the truck look up at Mom and Dad fighting.

“I didn’t say he was a coward. I said he was smart.”

Geryon turns away, staring out the back window.

“What’s that up ahead?”

The terrain is changing again. A lush forest along the banks of a river. Trees dripping with fungus and moisture. Then the smell hits. I’m glad I skipped the unicorn. Geryon doesn’t turn around.

“The second ring. The Alpheus Swamp. The very bowels of Hell.”

He’s not kidding. I’m one bad pothole away from telling Elephant Man to turn around and head us back into the fire. The river ahead is a thick, crawling torrent of swirling blood and shit. Downtown’s sewers have to empty out somewhere. Why not in the middle of no-goddam-where? And why not put a road through it to keep Lucifer’s traitors in and curious morons out? Like the fire, we have no choice of where to go. We head straight into Puke Swamp. I’m on the edge of vomiting up everything I ever ate since childhood, strained peas to chicken and waffles. Damn. Wrong memories. My stomach starts doing a hillbilly two-step. I think of Candy but she makes me think of sex and rolling, moving, and tumbling over furniture. My gut tells me to move along. I look ahead and concentrate on the trees. Dark branches dripping with emerald green parasites. My insides cool off and settle back about where they’re supposed to be.

Elephant Man slows, losing sight of the road in the brown bog.

“Off to the left,” I tell him. “Follow the roots of the big tree up ahead and in between the two little ones.”

He nods, picking up the outlines.

Geryon looks like I feel. He’s slumped in his seat, his head between his knees. Even the fish-store-stinking soldiers are having a bad time of it.

I didn’t sign up for any of this, but at worst I always thought being the Devil would be at least a little fun. Shooting BBs at Hitler as he tightrope walks over a lake of boiling lemon juice and broken glass. Playing Pin the Tail on the Stalin. After lunch, maybe a few rounds of Ted Bundy Whac-A-Mole. Instead I get a literal river of shit. What’s the old saying, “The road to Hell is paved with good intentions?” This one is paved, carpeted, and wallpapered with skin off my sore ass.

We’re halfway across the river when Elephant Man pulls to a stop.

I say, “What is it?”

He stretches up and looks over the Unimog’s hood.

Geryon stands too and says the words I was hoping I’d never hear.

“We’re stuck.”

Lucifer, you motherfucker, you must be looking down at us from Heaven and laughing your holy ass off. I swear someday I’ll make you surf this river from end to end.

I pull up the handle and open the door. Geryon grabs my arm.

“What are you doing?”

“We need to get out and push.”

His forehead creases as he stares at me. “Pushing is what the soldiers in the back are for. Not the Lord of the Underworld.”

“You said I’m not the Lord.”

“For the moment you represent him.”

“Good. Until you come up with another Lucifer, it’s my kingdom and my rules. Let’s go.”

He gives me a shocked smile. Spreads his hands.

“I’m a scholar, not a slave.”

“You can get out and help or I’ll throw you out and you can swim to Mordor, Frodo.”

I lean into the rear compartment where the soldiers are.

“Come on, kids. Time to pat your feet on the Mississippi mud.”

Grumbling, they hustle out the back.

“Go find some big branches to put under the wheels.”

How do you describe standing knee-deep in the evil shit of an evil bunch of bastards? It’s unique. Warm and with unexpected bits of floating things that I don’t want to think about. The drowned carcasses of little winged lizards that pass for Hellion pigeons. My biggest fear is tripping on a hidden root. I don’t want to go facedown in this muck. There isn’t enough penicillin in the world to save me from the badass microbes living in this chocolate oatmeal outhouse.

Geryon is doing even worse than I am. He’s frozen by the side of the truck, turning around and around in horrified circles like he’s trying to stomp shit into wine. He only moves when soldiers arrive with tree limbs and push him out of the way so they can wedge them under the back tires.

“How are you doing, Geryon?”

He doesn’t answer. Just stands with his arms crossed in front of him, watching the soldiers try to pry the wheels from the sludge.

“Why don’t you tell me more about Henoch?”

He can’t answer. Geryon is gone. I might have broken him.

Something moves past my leg.

“Hey. Didn’t you say one of the monsters out here was a kind of snake?”

He looks at me blankly, and then nods.

“Why do you ask?” he says. Then disappears, yanked below the surface by something underneath.

A dozen nearby soldiers drop the branches they’ve been maneuvering and pull their sidearms, firing blind into the river.

“Stop!”

It takes a few seconds but they do.

“Feel with your feet. Use your hands. Find him.”

They’re not happy but the only Lucifer they know just gave them an order. Instead of rebelling and stringing me up like Il Duce’s corpse, they do what I say, reaching under the muck and feeling for Geryon.

Elephant Man, still above us in the truck, points and grunts.

A round hump breaks the surface of the river. Six soldiers reach down to grab it. They pull out one end of what looks more like a fat ten-foot earthworm than a snake. The snake is blind but its jaws are wide and round, like a lion-toothed lamprey. A few feet down from the head, the snake’s body is wrapped around Geryon’s waist.

“Grab him. That’s an order.”

This time no one gives a good goddam what Lucifer has to say. They’re too busy firing their pistols at the snake’s head. They’re hitting it too, with what should be kill shots. Maybe the thing really is more like a worm than a snake, because for all the hits it’s not going down. This thing must have the nervous system of a chicken burrito.

I grab the na’at from inside my coat, extend it into a spear, and shove it into the snake’s body a couple of feet above Geryon. The snake whips around in my directions and takes a couple of blind nips at the air like it’s not sure where the wound came from.

I twist the na’at’s grip and it goes slack. I flick it out like a whip and it goes around the snake’s body twice. Twist the grip again and the na’at is as rigid as plate steel. The whip loops dig deep into the snake’s flesh, drawing a dirty white ribbon of pus-like blood. It screams and lunges for the soldiers. They keep firing and I keep pulling. Its neck twists to the side as I cut through its thick jelly-like flesh. Geryon is holding onto the snake’s body, trying to keep his head above the filthy river. I dig in my feet and give one last, hard pull. The snake stiffens and lets out a piercing scream that’s like getting an ice pick through my ears. And its head slides off the body, trailing luminous insides into the muck. I reach down and pull Geryon to his feet.

“Nice job, St. Francis. Were you trying to romance that thing?”

Back at the truck I help him up and Elephant Man pulls him inside.

The troops are all looking at me. I don’t know if it’s because they’re impressed or because they’ve never seen their boss covered in enough shit to fertilize all the weed fields in Humboldt County. I put the na’at back in my coat and say, “Get those branches and your asses in gear so we can get out of here.”

Fifteen minutes later we’re moving again. A couple of minutes after that we crest a hill and it starts to rain. Shit streams off the windshield. I roll my window and stick my head outside, letting the water wash my face clean.

Geryon pulls his hands from his filthy face and quietly says, “Oh no.”

“What?”

“It’s the last ring. Regret.”

Yes, I was stupid enough to think being Lucifer would be just a little fun.

The troops have the rear door open. Some lean out and others jump, running along behind the truck and letting the rain wash them clean. Other soldiers pull them back in, then jump out to take their place.

It doesn’t look like regret to me.

There’s a choked sound.

I look over at Elephant Man. I’ve never seen a Hellion cry before. It’s disturbing. The mood in the back is changing. A second ago everyone was whooping like it was their team won the Super Bowl on the same day they hit the lottery. Now nothing.

A wave of memories.

Crawling out of Hell to save Alice, only Alice was dead and there was nothing and no one there to save. Then there’s Candy. I told her I’d be gone for three days. It’s been a week now and I don’t know when I’ll figure a way out of here, if ever. I see the arena. The early days Downtown: Most Hellions had never seen a live mortal. The months of flat-out torture, games, and fun fair experiments on me for a paying audience. Then the arena and learning to kill. What’s worse: Committing murder or learning you’re good at it? Mason killed me and he’s kept on killing me every day for years. I’m going to be here forever. I’m never going to leave.

Geryon is curled up like a baby, shaking, his hands over his eyes. The troops in the back are worse. They’ve been on edge for months, ever since Samael left and Hell went balls up. Whatever this is, it’s broken the weak ones. There’s a line of them in the road behind the truck. They went out to feel the rain and never bothered getting back in. We could go back for them but what’s the point? The ones that haven’t shot themselves already are sawing on their throats or wrists. Black blood flows in the gray rain. The second Unimog moves slowly, trying to avoid the bodies.

The truck stops. Elephant Man puts his head on the steering wheel. I know what this is. The memories flow like poison from a cobra bite but I’m still here. Eyes still open. The fire burns my gut but it doesn’t kill me. It’s familiar. An old friend you never wanted to see again but still someone you know. I pull Elephant Man from the driver’s seat and shove him into mine. Slide behind the wheel and hit the accelerator. This is the ring that’s supposed to put the final nail in my plain pine coffin? Regret? Memory? I spent eleven years down here dining and dancing to bad memories and regret. I’ve had my shots for the memory, measles and rubella regrets. I’m fucking immune. Okay, not immune. My hands shake and my throat’s dry but I thought Hellions would laugh off three-hanky flashbacks. Instead they’re crying like a school bus full of little French girls whose ice cream all melted.

Half a mile on, the clouds break. The rain fades to a drizzle and sputters out. A few minutes later the second truck pulls up behind us. Geryon points to a stand of bare trees.

“Henoch Breach is at the top of the next hill. We should rest here for a few hours.”

“Okay by me.”

After we’ve pulled into the trees and everyone is out of both trucks, I do a quick head count. We haven’t even reached Margaritaville and already lost a little over half our troops. The “fuck this shit” human part of me wants to turn around right now and head back to Pandemonium. What do I care that Samael promised these demonic knuckle draggers to scare the monsters out from under their beds? Then the Lucifer part of me pipes up. No matter what, I can’t look weak. Like a pathetic mortal. If I’m going to ride this out and stay alive, then I’m king high ballbuster. I took on God and almost did the old man in. A few grumpy horns and hoofs types and a petting zoo full of rabid Pokemons? I’m Satan. I can deal that and play “Smoke on the Water” while getting a lap dance on a runaway train all at the same time.

Some of the soldiers unload supplies from the Unimogs. Food. Guns. Ammo.

The nearby trees are bare. The whole glade looks dead. The trunks of the trees are twisted up to branches that look like snakes made of finger bones. Soldiers gather fallen limbs into a pile to start a fire.

“Why don’t you send up a fucking flare and let the monsters know we’re coming?”

They stop and look at me.

“No fires. No camp sing-alongs. No square dancing. Have something to eat and drink, quietly. When we ring the doorbell on that castle up there, it would be swell if it was just a little bit of a surprise.”

Without a word they do what I say. Toss the branches aside and settle around the trucks, passing out cans of food rations and bottles of Aqua Regia.

“I want to thank you.”

I didn’t notice Geryon coming up beside me.

“You had no reason to save me. I’d told you the story. You didn’t need me anymore but you saved me all the same.”

“Don’t worry. It wasn’t anything personal. I just don’t believe in leaving my crew behind.”

“All the same, I owe you my life.”

Elephant Man comes over with a bottle of Aqua Regia. He hands it to me and I take a pull. Pass it to Geryon.

“So tell me the rest. What does the city of traitors have to do with all this?”

Elephant Man goes back to the other troops while Geryon and I settle on a log passing the bottle back and forth. The booze helps me forget that we both still smell faintly of Hellion shit.

“It doesn’t even have a name,” he says. “Lucifer didn’t want to give them any cause for pride, so he gave them a place but no identity other than as a land for the shame of the lowest among us.”

“I thought that used to be me. Nice to know there was someone even more fucked up. So what does being a traitor mean down here? I mean, you’re fallen angels. Doesn’t that make all of you a bunch of traitors?”

Geryon half turns his head toward me then away again. I guess it’s not worth the argument.

“The early days after the fall were hard. Some didn’t survive the fall itself. Others went mad. There were murders and suicides. Lord Lucifer, Samael, gathered the fallen and just as in Heaven, he became our leader. He urged us to build and create our own civilization. One to rival even Heaven. He saved us. Still, with all that, there were some who refused to follow.”

“Because he fucked things up so badly during the war?”

I pass Geryon the bottle and he shrugs.

“I’m sure they told themselves they had reasons, but it was really simple greed. Some had escaped Heaven with weapons and riches. Enough, they thought, to mount a new war. Lucifer knew this would destroy us, so he attacked them first. The ones who survived he exiled here.”

I can’t help but hum a couple of lines from “Town Called Malice.”

“What did they do all the way out here?”

“Through the tunnels they lived in they mined the mountains. They grew spices and created rare potions from local plants. In short, even in exile, our Lord made them earn their keep.”

“Is the town still there?”

By the trucks the soldiers have broken up into small groups. Good. We did the same thing after a bad day in the arena. It’s not something you think about, it just happens. You fall into the orbit of friends and familiar faces. You don’t even have to like each other. You just have to be there to remind each other that you survived and that this is real. I’m sure there’s a scientific name for it. The old fighters just called it Tea Time.

Geryon says, “No one knows if the town exists anymore. Hell has fallen apart so badly since Samael left and with the beasts on the road, we’re the first visitors out this far in years.”

I take another hit off the Aqua Regia and recork the bottle. This isn’t the time to drink as much as I want to.

“I guess one way or the other we’ll know tomorrow.”

“I hope they’re all gone,” says Geryon. There’s an edge to his voice I haven’t heard before. “One set of monsters is enough.”

“Amen to that.”

Night and day are kind of abstract concepts out here in the hinterlands. Hell exists in a kind of perpetual bruised twilight, but in Pandemonium and other towns there’s an agreed-upon cycle for morning, noon, and night. Out this far the only difference between 12 A.M. and 12 P.M. is a slight color change in the sky. Still, after eating everyone sacks out. A lot of the troops fall asleep. There are guards posted but this far out all they’ll probably see are desert rats and sand fleas.

Around what I think might be midnight, the trees start to move. It begins with a rustling. It sounds like wind but I don’t feel anything on my skin.

The camp comes awake around me. The troops heard the sound too. Hellions look around for the noise, the breeze, or whatever, as puzzled as I am.

The first scream comes from deep inside the dead grove, followed by another on the edge. One of the guards, a big bastard with a revolver grenade launcher slung over his shoulder, disappears into the trees. Whatever is happening, he doesn’t die all at once. There’s a dull thump and a grenade explodes in the middle of camp, scattering soldiers and weapons high into the air. A second later another grenade goes off right above the treetops, lighting up the grove. That’s when we see the trees moving.

They come apart like ripping cloth and fall to the ground in a tangle of branches and blasted trunks. They writhe and then crawl. A second later they’re on their feet running at us.

Guess what? They aren’t branches and they weren’t trees, thank you very fucking much. They’re bodies, as dry and rotten as week-old roadkill. They were wrapped around each other in a frozen graveyard embrace and we woke them up. There’s hundreds of them closing on us, and more in the distance.

The firing starts before any of them make it into camp. The sound of piss-scared soldiers blowing clip after clip on full auto fractures the air and numbs my ears, but it doesn’t do much else. It sure as hell doesn’t slow the roadkill. They charge into camp like a bone-and-gristle Mack truck, mowing down rows of heavily armed and severely motivated soldiers.

I pull out the na’at. Extend it to its full length. Keep the Freud jokes to yourself. Sometimes a killing stick is just a killing stick.

It doesn’t take much to stop each individual roadkill. They’re not much more than mummies with an attitude. Their teeth are sharp and their talons are long but you can slice them up like buttered toast if you have a sharp blade. I wish I could explain that to the idiots with the guns.

The scene reminds me of LA when a load of High Plains Drifters—that’s zombies to you—were running extremely amok. Bullets didn’t slow them either and even if they did, how do you know which one to shoot when there are six or seven on top of you ripping you to pieces? That’s how these brainless bone sacks win. They wear you down until it doesn’t matter how many of them you kill. All it takes is for a few to swarm you and you’re gone. Short of flamethrowers, nukes, or a bunch of trained Drifter killers, the best strategy is nature’s simplest: run like you’re a zebra at a waterhole and a pride of lions just showed up with ketchup and silverware. But where do we retreat to? No one is going to follow me into the rain ring and there’s no forest to hide in anymore.

I shout, “Up the hill. Get your asses to Henoch Breach.”

I grab Geryon. He’s a scholar, terrified and useless in a fight. I stuff the hem of my coat in his hand.

“Hold on to that. Keep your head down and keep moving. If you fall I’m not coming back for you.”

I circle the long way around the grove, keeping clear of the trucks and the close-in fighting. Anyone penned in there is going to die. At least in the open there’s somewhere to run to. I twist the na’at grip until it’s like an extra-long broadsword and start hacking my way through the roadkill blizzard. The bad part is that there’s a lot of them. The good part is that they’re dumb and the ones I don’t kill forget me as soon as I pass, zeroing in on the doomed assholes playing Last Stand at the Alamo in the trucks.

Groups of soldiers fall in behind us as we work our way up the hill. Now that their ammo is gone, they’re using their rifles like clubs and making a lot more headway than before. Halfway up the hill I look back at the clearing and I can’t even see the trucks. They’re completely covered around and on top by roadkill.

It’s a long way up the hill. Henoch Breach is like a cross between a gothic mansion and an old cavalry fort. The mansion look fooled me into thinking it was a small place but it turns out it’s more of a fort, which means big and a lot farther away than I thought. With every few yards we gain, we’re losing soldiers. I still feel Geryon hanging on to my coat.

After what feels like an hour, we’re finally at the Breach’s big double front doors. I don’t know how many roadkill bastards we’ve killed on the way up but it isn’t enough. There’s a shuffling mob maybe a minute down the hill from us. I don’t want to kick the door in if I don’t have to. I don’t know if there’s anything inside to barricade it with once we’re in. But the windows are sealed tight behind metal bars. Around the side I find a fire escape leading up to a single door three floors up. I extend the na’at into a billhook and get the curved part of the blade onto the ladder and pull. It swings down in a shower of dirt and rust. I have no idea if it will hold our weight and not a lot of time to do an OSHA inspection. I shove Geryon up the ladder and head up after him.

The door at the top is solid. It takes three good kicks to get it open. Plenty of time for the first of the roadkill to catch up with us. I shove Geryon inside and pull in a couple of soldiers behind me.

It’s dead black inside. I can’t see a thing. The first screams hit us as Henoch’s last booby trap catches up with us. Why didn’t Geryon know about the trees? Is this whole thing a setup? If it is, does that make him a suicide bomber or just another loser caught up in the hit on me? I’m going to hurt a lot of people and ask a lot of questions if we get out of here alive.

One of the soldiers cracks a handful of glow sticks. I grab a couple and lead the way deeper inside the Breach. More soldiers are stumbling in but the roadkill is just a few seconds behind us now.

There’s no way I’m running upstairs and getting trapped on the roof. I start down a wide grand staircase, heading for the front door. With any luck we can wait for most of the roadkill to come in upstairs and flank them by going out front and down the other side of the hill into Lucifer’s traitor town. The only kink in this plan is if some of Henoch’s freak beasts show up, but I haven’t seen or heard a peep from them and it sure doesn’t smell like anything has been living here in a long time.

We never make it to the front door.

We hit a series of hallways on the main floor. They twist and turn in on themselves and it doesn’t take long to lose track of which way it is to the front door. I stop to get my bearings. Geryon is behind me. He’s pale, holding his side like he’s about to cough up his lungs. There aren’t more than six soldiers behind us anymore. We’re at a crossroads. All four hallways look exactly the same and then it hits me. We’re not in normal hallways. The main floor of Henoch Breach is a labyrinth.

“Why have we stopped?” asks Geryon.

“We’re lost. I’m trying to figure if I can get us back to where we started.”

“Is that a good idea?”

The screams from behind us make his point for him.

“I remember someone once told me that in a maze the trick is to keep turning left and eventually you’ll get out.”

“Is that true?” Geryon asks.

“I don’t know. I never tried. And maybe it’s the way to get to the center and not out.”

Geryon slumps. Puts his head in his hands. None of the soldiers have weapons anymore. They’re ripped and bitten and bloody, and they’re all staring at me like lost kids at the zoo. I say the first thing that pops into my head.

“Try the doors. Maybe there’s a window or a place to hide and figure a way out.”

That gets them moving. We head in different directions down all four corridors from the crossroads, rattling and kicking at doorknobs. They’re all locked but there’s nothing else to do. We keep trying one door after another. Finally one opens.

“Here,” I shout. “I found one.”

I push open the door with the glow stick held high. The room is empty. On the far wall is a barred window. I head for it. Three steps in I hear a crack and the floor gives way beneath me. The last thing I see is Geryon’s shocked, scared, stupid face as I fall.

Martin Denny wakes me up. It’s “Quiet Village,” all birdcalls and tropical piano chords. Someone is pulling me from the floor and setting me on a bar stool. Carlos the bartender is the first thing I can make out clearly. Then plastic hula girl. Palm trees. I’m in the Bamboo House of Dolls.

“Maybe you’ve had enough for tonight?” Carlos says and turns to someone on my right.

“What do you think? Too much or just enough to take advantage of?” comes a female voice.

I turn and Candy is right beside. She kisses me. My head hurts and I’m as dizzy as the Teacup Ride at Disneyland.

Candy does a mock frown.

“Uh-oh. Too much, it looks like. Maybe we need to get you home.”

“Home?” is all I can get out.

Vidocq comes over. Puts an arm around my shoulder.

“You remember home. The lovely Chateau Marmont. It’s just a few steps away. Come. We’ll take you from all this, le merdier. You’ll never have to see it again.”

“Never again.”

They pull me to my feet. Candy, Vidocq, Allegra, and Kasabian. Kasabian has arms and legs. A complete body. He wags his finger in my face.

“You never did know when enough was enough.”

I look at Candy and my heart breaks all over again, just like it did when I lost Alice.

“I’m sorry to say but I know exactly when enough is enough.”

I pull the black blade from the waistband at my back and slice Kasabian’s head off. It rolls across the floor like a sweaty basketball. I whirl and stab Vidocq in the eye. Pull out the blade and shank him in the heart. Then I do the same to Allegra and Carlos.

“Stark. What are you doing?”

They’re screaming and they don’t stop until they’re in pieces on the floor.

I turn and look at Candy. She backs away, her hand held up to me. Bumps into the jukebox and freezes.

“It’s me, baby. What are you doing?”

I’m dizzy and nauseated.

“Doing just what you said. Getting myself away from le merdier.”

I flick out the na’at but I can’t go for her. I lunge and put the blade into the jukebox. Denny sputters and dies. I turn and hack the bar in half. Swing again and slice through the bar stools. Vault the bar and start in on the bottles. I take out a row of booze with each swipe of the na’at until I’m ankle deep in the stuff. Back over the bar, I push a candle over. The booze goes up in one big whoosh.

I’m feeling it now. That old arena feeling, where nothing feels better than something breaking under the na’at or my hands. Candy backs against the far wall. I stab it over her head, pulling out big chunks of plaster. I hack at the windows and floor. I slice apart the pillars by the door and the whole thing collapses. The decorations over the bar are burning and patches of the ceiling glow cherry red. Once it catches we all go down together.

“Right, Henoch?” I yell.

I hack at the beams in the walls. They start to sag. I hack at the floor until it starts to buckle beneath us. The ceiling catches. The air is sucked out of my lungs as all the oxygen in the room cooks off. I look at Candy. I pull out the black blade to throw through a window. She knows a flashover is coming.

“Enough.”

She screams it over the sounds of the flames. I don’t have to throw the knife. The window cracks. The air explodes, enveloping us in flames as thick as molasses. Then stops. The room goes black.

“Enough.”

It’s not Candy’s voice. It’s a man’s.

“What in Lucifer’s name is wrong with you?”

Light slowly comes up. I’m standing in a dimly lit stone room with an old man. Splintered pillars and support columns lean haphazardly against the walls and across the floor.

“You mean my name, don’t you, Grandpa? I’m Lucifer.”

Henoch Breach has wet rheumy eyes set in a sagging face. Scraggly white whiskers that might be the remains of a dead beard. His teeth are black and crooked, like fallen dominoes. He’s dressed in robes that probably looked regal about a thousand years ago. Now they look like a gaudy bath mat in a Tijuana flophouse. He looks around the room.

“Look what you’ve done to my home.”

“What was I supposed to do? No one told me there was a ring inside the house. Only this one wasn’t suffering. Did you really think the ‘it’s all been a dream’ gaff was going to work? Does anyone ever fall for it?”

He laughs and it breaks down into a wet cough. He finds a chair in the wreckage, rights it, and sits down. His voice is surprisingly deep and strong.

“You’d be surprised. Offer mortals or angels what they really want and the first thing they’ll give up is doubt.”

“Not me. Not down here. Doubt is my best friend. Doubt that I’m stuck here. Doubt someone like you is going to off me.”

“I have no interest in offing you any more than you have in offing me.”

“You just murdered a hundred of my troops.”

He shakes his head.

“They’re not your troops. They’re Lucifer’s troops and you’re not him. You might have the title. You might be hiding that you wear his armor under that coat but you’re no more Lucifer than the other one.”

“How do you know, Henoch?”

“I’m not Henoch, you young fool. There is no Henoch. I’m Lucifer. The first Lucifer.”

On any other day I might not believe something like that. Today is different though.

“If you’re the real Lucifer then the guy I know as Lucifer is Henoch?”

He leans his elbows on his knees and shakes his head.

“I told you. There is no one named Henoch. Henoch is the town. I’m Maleephas. And before you ask any stupid questions, yes, I said I was Lucifer. Remember that the Lucifer you know was once Samael. Just as you . . .”

“Stark.”

“As you, Stark, are now Lucifer.”

I hear something from above. I can’t tell if it’s screams or someone singing “Close To You.”

“What’s happening to my people?”

“I assume they’re being slaughtered just as anyone who comes here is slaughtered.”

“Why? What’s so special about this place that everyone has to die if they come near it?”

Maleephas shrugs.

“You’ll have to ask Samael. He built it. He made the city. He constructed the road. He made the rings you passed through and the Vorosdok that attacked your men. If you’ve been in Hell for any length of time you’ve probably noticed that he’s quite clever and has a good sense of suffering.”

Is this another illusion? Am I talking to myself or does the roadkill have hallucinogenic saliva and they’ve bitten me and are tearing me apart?

“Why would Samael do any of that?”

Maleephas stands and crooks a finger for me to follow him.

We go down a corridor with windows that look out over the front of the Breach. Roadkill and dead soldiers are spread out in all directions.

“Don’t feel badly,” says Maleephas. “This is his doing. Not yours.”

“Why? Why would he build this? Why are you here?”

He opens his arms wide, turning in a circle. He laughs with more strength than I thought he had in him.

“Because this is Hell. The first Hell. The first after the fall. The one we made together and he took and then abandoned.”

Maleephas looks out the window. A few last roadkill wander up the hill. A lot of them are missing heads, arms or legs.

“What stories do they tell about me now? That Henoch Breach is a rebel Hellion’s hold? What do they say about this Hellion?”

“That he’s crazy. That he slaughters travelers along his road. That he fucks snakes and rats and makes monster babies that do his dirty work for him.”

He grips the bars and presses his face to them.

“At least I’m colorful in this version. These myths about the place, they change over time. Very few in Hell recall what really happened in the early days. Remember what I said about offering beings what they really want? Why would they want to remember that this world began with a betrayal as thorough as the one in Heaven?”

“You’re saying that you and Samael were bosom buddies and he turned on you. Why? Why would he care about taking over this shithole?”

“For one thing he likes power.”

“So do you, if you were Lucifer.”

“Touché. The difference is that I had doubts about the argument with Father. He didn’t. When a group of us tried to go back, well, you see the result.”

The little gears clank in my brain. I look out the window.

“The roadkill that attacked my men. They’re Hellions, aren’t they?”

Maleephas nods.

“The ones who wanted to return with me so we could throw ourselves at God’s feet, hoping to receive his infinite mercy. What they received was what you saw in the grove. I received this prison.”

I take out a Malediction. Light it and offer it to him. He takes it and sniffs, hands it back to me.

“It smells awful. Is that what you do in Pandemonium these days? Pollute yourselves with that?”

“We have all kinds of pollution. You should try Aqua Regia. Or there might be some unicorn salad left in the truck if you want to try it.”

He shakes his head.

“Such a stupid world we made together. It was going to rival Heaven but it turned into more ruin.”

“You know what’s funny?” I say. “Guess where Samael is these days.”

“I’m afraid I’ve lost my appetite for games.”

“He’s back in Heaven. He had doubts about the argument too. At least the part about the war. He’s back upstairs trying to make it up to the old man.”

A smile spreads across Maleephas’s face. He leans against the wall and chuckles.

“And it only took how many eons and another fool to play Lucifer.”

I puff the Malediction and think.

“Maybe it’s not as bad as you think. I thought Samael was playing me for a chump when he blew town and left me this job. Maybe meeting you is what’s it’s all been about. Maybe he couldn’t face you or maybe he knew you wouldn’t want to see him. Maybe I’m here to blow up the myth. Let you out and remind everyone what really happened here.”

He turns his eyes toward me.

“Do you think he’s really that compassionate?”

The Malediction burns my throat in a good way.

“Weirder things have happened.”

Maleephas comes over to me, using his hand to fan away the smoke. He whispers.

“You know what I think? I think he did send you. But not for the kind of compassion you mean.”

I feel the knife slip under the bottom of the armor. Maleephas drives it in two, three times, twisting the blade and holding it in place.

“I think he sent you here as a sacrifice. He’s gone and is giving Hell back to me. I’ll burn Pandemonium to the ground. Henoch will be the new Hell and this will be Maleephas Lucifer’s palace.”

He pulls out the blade and pushes it back up under the sleeve of his robe. I fall to my knees. He kicks me. It is a small thing but already bleeding and stabbed, it still hurts.

“If it truly is so easy for Father to forgive Samael, then he was right and I was wrong. We’ll prove them both wrong by creating a brand new Underworld. The hills outside of Henoch are rich in gold and silver. We’ll build an entire city of precious metals, so bright it will blind the archangels and over time they’ll come to worship us.”

“Fuck you, Mally puss. You’re as dumb as the twerps that fall for your picture show. You’ve started believing your own fantasies.”

He stands over me.

“Whatever Samael’s intentions, I’m about to become Lucifer again. The armor protects you but not from everything. This athame is quite potent, even against Lucifer.”

“I know. I stabbed him with one myself.”

He brightens.

“Did it hurt?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m so glad to hear that.”

“One thing,” I say and swing out with the black blade. I never put it away, just held it back against my arm like a polite, stupid son of a bitch. The knife catches Maleephas just above the right ankle. He falls over backward, leaving his foot behind and spouting black blood all over the floor.

I grab a set of the window bars and pull myself up. As soon as I’m upright, Maleephas throws his knife. I’m too hurt to get out of the way. The blade kicks up a spark when it hits Lucifer’s armor and bounces into the ceiling. I extend the na’at into a spear and return the old man’s favor by pegging him to the floor through the gut.

“You’re not Lucifer. I am,” he says.

“The difference between us is I don’t want the job. Normally I’d offer it to you but that little trick with the knife was annoying, so all you get is a big steaming plate of fuck-all.”

“What are you going to do to me?”

He looks scared, which is pretty funny because I can barely stand up. Just to keep up appearances I drop the Malediction by his head and crush it out with my boot, letting my heel graze the side of his face.

“Maybe I’ll just leave you there like a butterfly stuck in a display case. Bring bus tours out to see you. Print maps to the star’s home and put your face on mugs and T-shirts. How does that sound?”

“Kill me. If you have any mortal mercy left in you, kill me. Or are you fully Lucifer now? Should I worship you and beg your indulgence? Please, great and awful Beast of the Abyss, give me the gift of oblivion.”

“Shut up. I’m not going to kill you. But I’m burning this place to the ground. I’m leaving you and your knife here. You can crawl away into a hole in Henoch. You can burn here or you can kill yourself. It doesn’t mean jack to me. But I’m not doing Samael’s dirty work or yours.”

I pull the na’at from his stomach. Maleephas groans and rolls onto his side. I cut through the bars over the window with the black blade and crawl outside. It hurts so much I almost faint when I drop to the ground. I cut a long strip of cloth from my coat and press it against the wound in my belly. I couldn’t fight off a Vorosdok kitten right now but I don’t think I’ll have to. The few pieces of roadkill still alive are laid out on the ground like a truck ran over them. I think when I put the na’at into Maleephas the Vorosdok went down with him.

It’s quicker down the hill than it was up. Not running for your life through an army of brainless Hellion zombies will do that. When I reach the nearest Unimog, I pull enough bodies out of the cab that I can get into the driver’s seat and start the engine. I head up the hill, steering the truck over every Vorosdok body I can see. I stop the truck outside Henoch Breach’s front doors and a couple of corpses get to their feet. I pull the na’at. The dead men are Geryon and Elephant Man.

“Playing possum? How did you get outside?”

Geryon shakes his head.

“I have no idea. After you disappeared, we ran down corridors at random. I don’t know what happened to the others. I think we were just lucky.”

“Well, get your lucky asses over here. Take a couple of jerry cans of gas and toss them into the Breach.”

Geryon frowns.

“Why?”

“Because I met him. Maleephas. I know the whole story.”

Geryon walks over to me. I hand him one of the heavy cans.

“You met him? He’s still here?”

“Who do you think gave me this?”

I lean back so he can see my wound.

“Since you knew he was there, that means you know the story you told me is total horseshit.”

He shakes his head.

“No, it isn’t. It’s a myth. You have no idea how ugly the early days were here. We needed to forget all this and when we did, we needed something to replace it.”

The old man in the basement had it right. Give people what they want.

“It’s over now. This place and the story. Both of you. Toss those cans or I’ll do it and toss you in with them.”

Geryon and Elephant Man push open the doors and throw the open cans inside. I pull a couple of road flares from storage, spark them, and throw them into the dark. The gas explodes, knocking me flat on my ass. Elephant Man helps me to my feet and walks me to the truck. He pulls out the rest of the bodies from the cab and helps me into the passenger seat. Geryon gets in and sits on the little jump seat between us as Elephant pulls the rest of the roadkill and dead soldiers out and leaves them on the road.

“Is it just us?”

Geryon nods.

“It seems that way.”

Elephant Man brings the jerry cans of gas from the second Unimog and secures them in the back.

“I’m not looking forward to going back through the rings,” says Geryon.

“I’ll bet you a dollar they’re not there anymore. Why would they be? Maleephas is probably dead and the Breach is burning. The hoodoo that hid them is probably gone too.”

“I hope so.”

I sleep most of the way back. I’m a fast healer, so the wound has stopped bleeding by the time we can see the lights of Pandemonium. Elephant Man stops the truck to pour fuel from one of the cans into the tank.

“You’re intent on telling the people the truth about Henoch and Maleephas when we get back?”

“Damn straight.”

“I wish you wouldn’t.”

“Hell is a wreck. Forgetting who and what you are isn’t how you start putting things back together.”

Geryon claps his hands together.

“Lessons in ethics and morality from Sandman Slim. Who would have thought?”

Geryon pours a shot of Aqua Regia into a glass and we drink together. He pours a shot into another glass for Elephant Man when he gets back.

“In many ways this has been a disheartening trip,” says Geryon.

“Which part? The hundred dead guys or Maleephas and me wrecking your fairy tale?”

“The hundred are a tragedy. The rest is your fault.”

I sit up. The wound makes me wince.

“What’s my fault?”

Geryon nods past me.

“That.”

I look at Elephant Man. He’s slumped against the door, the glass of Aqua Regia still in his hand. I pull my knife and hold it to Geryon’s throat.

“You poisoned him to keep your secret? Did you slip me some too? Trust me, I can take your head off before I go down.”

“I would never kill you, Lord Lucifer. And you are Lucifer now. You defeated the Henoch, the evil one, and his beasts and I’ll sing your praises to all of Pandemonium. Hell needs a brave and glorious Lucifer if it’s to rebuild.”

“But I’m going to tell everyone the truth,” I say, but even as the words come out I know in some weird way I’m not.

“You’ll tell them what I tell you. I didn’t poison you. I just gave you a little memory draught. What’s happened will fade and be replaced with the myth I’ll repeat to you on the way to Pandemonium.”

I want to stab Geryon but the knife gets very heavy. My hands drop to my lap. Geryon pushes Elephant Man’s body into the back of the truck and gets into the driver’s seat. He starts the engine and drives us into Pandemonium.

“Henoch Breach lies on the edge of a town with no name. A town of traitors,” he says.

“No. That’s not true. I’ll remember. I’ll tell them.”

“No. You won’t. Henoch mated with beasts and they terrorized travelers on the road.”

I start to say something but the words won’t come out. I try to picture Maleephas in his dingy robes but I can’t hold the image. I try to remember the Breach, the labyrinth, and the fake Bamboo House of Dolls. But even now I can feel it all slipping from me like water down a drain. I try to hold on to the memories but I know that by the time I finish this sentence they’ll be

Don’t miss the continuing

exploits of Sandman Slim.

(Or he will do horrible things to you.)

Devil Said Bang

Richard Kadrey

Coming Fall 2012

“Me and the Devil Blues”

“Devil’s Stompin’ Ground”

“Your Pretty Face Is Going to Hell”

“Don’t Shake Me, Lucifer”

“Hell Is Around the Corner”

“Hellnation”

“Up Jumped the Devil”

I punch the tunes into the jukebox and make sure it’s turned up loud. I’ve loaded up the juke with a hundred or so devil tunes. The Hellion Council can’t stand it when I come to a meeting with a pocketful of change. Wild Bill, the bartender, hates it too, but he’s a damned soul I recruited for the job, so he gets why I do it. I head back to the table and nod to him. He shakes his head and goes back to cleaning glasses.

Les Baxter winds down a spooky “Devil Cult” as I sit down with the rest of Hell’s ruling council. We’ve been here in the Bamboo House of Dolls for a couple of hours. My head hurts from reports, revised timetables, and learned opinions. If I didn’t have the music to annoy everyone with, I would probably have killed them all by now.

Buer slides a set of blueprints in my direction.

Hellions look sort of like the little demons in that Hieronymus Bosch painting The Garden of Earthly Delights. Some look pretty human. Some look like the green devils on old absinthe bottles. Some are like what monsters puke up after a long weekend of eating other monsters. Buer looks like a cuttlefish in a Hugo Boss suit and smells like a pet-store Dumpster.

“What do you think of the colonnades?” he asks.

“The colonnades?”

“Yes. I redesigned the colonnades.”

“What the fuck are colonnades?”

General Semyazah, the supreme commander of Hell’s legions, sighs and points to a line of pillars at the center of the page. “That is a colonnade.”

“Ah.”

If the hen scratchings on the blueprints are different from the last bunch of hen scratchings Buer showed me, I sure as hell can’t tell. I say the first thing that pops into my head.

“Were those statues there before?”

Buer waves his little cuttlefish tentacles and moves his finger across the paper.

“They’re new. A different icon for each of the Seven Noble Virtues.”

He’s not lying. They’re all there. All the personality quirks that give Hellions a massive cultural hard-on. Cunning. Ruthlessness. Ferocity. Deception. Silence. Strength. Joy. They’re represented by a collection of demonic marble figures with leathery wings and forked tongues, bent spines and razor dorsal fins, clusters of eyestalks and spider legs. The colonnades look like the most fucked-up miniature golf course in the universe and they’re on what’s supposed to be the new City Hall.

“I have an idea. How about instead of the Legion of Doom we put up the Rat Pack and the lyrics to ‘Luck Be a Lady’?”

“Excuse me?” says Buer.

“What I mean is, it looks a little fascist.”

“Thank you.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

I push the blueprints away with the sharpened fingers of my left hand, the ugly prosthetic one on my ugly prosthetic arm.

Buer doesn’t know how to react. None of them do.

There’s Buer the builder, Semyazah the general, Obyzuth the sorceress, and Marchosias the politician. Old Greek kings used to have councils like this, and since a certain friend hinted I should read up on the Greeks, I have a council too. The last member of the Council is Lucifer. That’s me. But I’ll get to that part later. The five of us are the big brains supposedly in charge of Hell. Really, we’re a bunch of second-rate mechanics trying to keep the wheels from coming off a burning gasoline truck skidding toward a school bus full of orphans and kittens.

The Council is staring at me. I’ve been down here a hundred days and still, anytime I say anything but yes or no, they look at me like I’m a talking giraffe. Hellions just aren’t used to humans giving them back talk. That’s okay. I can use that. Let them find me a little strange. A little inexplicable. Playing the Devil is easier if no one has any idea what you’re going to do or say next.

They’re all still waiting. I let them.

We have these meetings every couple of days. We’re rebuilding Hell after it went up in flames like a flash-paper bikini when the original Lucifer, the real Lucifer, blew out of town after sticking me with the job. The trouble for the rest of the Council is that I don’t know how fast I want Downtown back in working order.

I say to Buer, “I’m fine with Hellion pride. It’s troubled times, the team’s in last place, and they need a pep rally. Cool. But I don’t want Hell’s capital looking like we’re about to goose-step into Poland.”

Obyzuth turns the blueprints around. I still don’t know what she looks like. She wears an ivory mask that covers everything but her eyes, and a curtain of gold beads covers them.

She says, “Buer’s designs expand and celebrate many of the classic historical motifs of Hellion design. I like them.”

Obyzuth is into the spiritual side of the rebuild and doesn’t usually comment on things like this. I’ve upset her. Good.

I say, “This Nazi Disneyland stuff, it’s too cheap and easy. It’s like something the Kissi would dream up.”

That’s hitting below the belt. Calling a Hellion a Kissi is like calling Chuck Norris Joseph Stalin. Buer looks like he wants to stuff the blueprints down my throat with a road flare. Obyzuth and Semyazah look at me like they caught me eating cookies before dinner. Marchosias raises her eyebrows, which is about an inch from her challenging me to a duel at dawn.

The Bad Dad thing usually works. Hellions are big on pecking orders and I have to remind them regularly who’s at the top. Now they need a pat on the head from Good Dad before things go all Hansel and Gretel and I end up in the oven.

“You’re a talented guy, Buer. You get to redesign all of Pandemonium for the first time in about a billion years. No one’s going to get a chance like that again. Throw out the Albert Speer bullshit and modern up. When God tossed you fallen bastards into Hell the builders were the only ones who saw it as more than a pile of rocks and dust. Do that again.”

I can’t believe I’m learning how politics and court intrigue work. I feel a little dirty. I miss punching people. It’s honest work but I don’t get to do it much these days.

Marchosias shakes her head. She’s skinny, pale, and birdlike, but her instincts are more like those of a velociraptor.

“I’m not sure. In unstable times people need comfort. They need the familiar.”

“No. They don’t. They need to see that whoever’s in charge has balls and vision. They need to see that we’re making a new, bigger, and better Hell than they ever had before.”

Obyzuth nods a little to herself.

She says, “I cast the stones this morning, and although I like Buer’s work, if things must change, the signs are in an auspicious alignment for it.”

“See? We’ve got auspicious alignments and everything. We’re golden. Let’s draw up some new plans.”

I pick up a handful of little crackers from a bowl on the table and pop them one by one into my mouth. Really, they’re fried drytt eggs. Drytts are big, annoying Hellion sand fleas. I know that sounds disgusting, but this is Hell. Besides, if you fry anything long enough, it gets good. The drytt eggs go down like fried popcorn.

Semyazah hardly reacts to anything in these meetings and he chooses his words carefully. He says, “You’ve been dismissing everyone’s ideas for weeks. What ideas do you have?”

“I worry about this place ending up like L.A. All Hellion strip malls, T-shirts, and titty bars. The Pandemonium I remember is more of a Bela Lugosi–and–fog kind of town. When I have to choose between Dark Shadows or fanny packs, I’ll step over to the dark side every time. Have any of you ever seen a Fritz Lang movie called Metropolis?”

They shake their heads.

“You would love it. It’s about bigwigs that kick the shit out of proles in a city that’s all mile-high skyscrapers, smoke-belching machines, and office towers that look like dragons fucking spaceships. The place is clean, precise, and soul crushing, but with style. Just like you. So that’s everyone’s homework. Watch Metropolis. It’s in the On Demand menu.”

That’s right. Hell steals cable. Call a cop.

The three most popular TV shows Downtown are Lucha Libre, Japanese game shows, and The Brady Bunch, which Hellions seem to think is a deep anthropological study of mortal life. I hope watching the Bradys depresses them as much as being trapped here in Creation’s shit pipe depresses me.

“Let’s take a break. I need a drink.”

I walk to the bar and sit down. I make the Council hold its meetings here for a couple of reasons. The first is that Hellions love their rituals, and trying to get anything done is like a Japanese tea ceremony crossed with a High Mass, only even slower. There’s enough ritual hand waving down here to put the Dalai Lama to sleep.

Reason two is this place. It’s Hell’s version of my favorite L.A. bar, the Bamboo House of Dolls. The main difference between this and the other Bamboo House is that Carlos runs the bar in L.A. In Hell, it’s my great-great-great-granddad, Wild Bill Hickok.

Wild Bill already has a glass of Aqua Regia ready for me when I sit down.

“What do you think?” I ask.

“About what?”

“About what. About the damn meeting.”

“I think you’re about to drive them fellers crazy.”

“They’re not all fellers.”

He squints at the Council.

“There’s ladies in the bunch?”

“Two.”

“Damn. I never did learn to tell the difference with Hellions. ’Course they’re all pig-fucking sons of bitches to me, so what do I care if I guess wrong and hurt their feelings?”

I don’t think running a bar was ever Bill’s dream job and he’s not exactly the type to throw around a lot of thank-yous, but I know he likes it better here than in Butcher Valley. Bill died in 1876, was damned, and he’s been fighting hand to hand with other killers and shootists in that punishment hellhole ever since. Taking him out was the least I could do for family.

“Is anyone giving you trouble? Do they know who you run the place for?”

“I expect everyone’s aware by now. Which don’t make me particularly happy. I’m not used to another man fighting my battles for me.”

“Think of it this way. This setup isn’t just about me having a place to drink. It’s about showing the blue bloods who’s in charge. If anyone hassles you, it means they’re hassling me, and I need to do something loud and messy about it.”

He puffs his cigar and sets it on the edge of the bar. There are scorch marks all over the wood.

“Sounds like it’s hard work playing Old Nick. I don’t envy you.”

“I don’t envy me either. And you didn’t answer my questions.”

He’s silent for a moment, still annoyed that I’m asking about his well-being.

“No. No one in particular’s been causing me grief. These lizardy bastards ain’t exactly housebroken, but they don’t treat me any worse than they treat each other. And they only get up to that when you and your compadres aren’t around. That’s when the rowdies come in.”

“If you hear anything interesting, you know what to do.”

“I might be dead and damned for all eternity but I’m not addle-brained. I remember.”

We turn and look at the Council.

He says, “So which one do you figure is going to kill you first?”

“None of them. Semyazah is too disciplined. He saw Hell come apart the last time it didn’t have a Lucifer. I don’t really get a whiff of murder from any of the others. Do you?”

I finish my drink. He pours me another and one for himself.

“Not them directly. But I figure at least one’s scribbling down everything and passing it to whoever’s going to do the actual pigsticking.”

“That’s why I keep the rebuilding slow. Keep the big boys busy and scattered all over. Makes it harder for them to plan my tragic demise.”

“It’s funny hearing blood talk like that. I wasn’t exactly a planner when I was alive and it never crossed my mind anyone else in the family would ever come by the trait.”

“It’s new. Since I moved into Lucifer’s place, I spend a lot of time in the library. I never read anything longer than the back of a video jacket before. I think it’s bent my brain.”

“Books and women’ll do that. Just don’t get to thinking such big thoughts you forget to listen for what’s creeping up behind you.”

“I never read with my back to the door.”

He nods and downs his drink in one gulp.

“All it takes is the one time,” Bill says. He looks past my shoulder. “I think your friends are waiting on you.”

“Later, Wild Bill.”

“Give ’em hell, boy.”

The others look impatient when I get back. For a second, I flash on Candy back in L.A. After knowing each other for almost a year, we’d finally gotten together right before I came down here. Managed to squeeze in two good days together. What would she think of Hell’s ruling elite hanging on my every word? She’d probably laugh her ass off.

“We did all right today. Knowing what you don’t want is about as good as knowing what you do. Let’s meet back here at the same time in three days. That enough time for you to sketch out some ideas, Buer?”

He nods.

“I’ll watch your Metropolis show tonight. And have something for you at the next meeting.”

“That’s it, then. Anyone have any questions. Any thoughts? Any banana-bread recipes to share with the class?”

Nothing. Hell’s a tough room. They gather up papers and notes. Stuff them in leather bags and attaché cases.

“Thanks for coming.”

I head back to the bar, where Wild Bill is already pouring me a drink. I need a smoke. I take out a pack of Maledictions and light one up. It might be Hell but at least you can smoke in the bars.

Bill pours a second drink in a different glass and walks away.

Marchosias is behind me. She does this after meetings sometimes. She says she wants to practice her English. I don’t mind; after three months of speaking nothing but Hellion, my throat feels like I’ve been gargling roofing nails.

She says, “What you said to Buer, that was either very rude or very smart.”

“The Devil gets to be both at once. It’s in the handbook. Look it up.”

“You caught everyone off guard. I’ve never heard you ever mention the Kissi before. Everyone admires how you handled them, you know. Getting others to do your killing is the most elegant way and you did it masterfully.”

In another time and place I’d think she was being sarcastic, but I know she’s not. She gets off on what I did. Why not? I brought the Kissi down here like we were allies, trapped them between Heaven’s armies and Hell’s legions, and wiped out most of them in one big royal rumble. That kind of treachery covers pretty much all of the Seven Noble Virtues. Her making goo-goo eyes at me for it makes me want to punch Marchosias very hard and often.

I say, “I’m usually more of a hands-on guy when it comes to killing.”

“Of course you are. Sandman Slim has an ocean of blood on his hands. ‘The monster who kills monsters,’ isn’t that what they called you in the arena? Now here you are, Lucifer, the greatest monster of them all. Maybe God really does have a sense of humor.”

Her eyes shine when she says it. She loves being this close to the grand marshal of the Underworld parade. She’d like to have Lucifer’s power but the thought of it scares her stupid, which makes it that much more exciting. This is why she stays behind. An intimate tête-à-tête with Satan. It’s not getting her any brownie points with me and she knows it, but it makes the rest of the Council nervous and that makes it fun for her.

I take a long drag on the Malediction like maybe it’ll start a tornado and carry me back home like Dorothy.

“All things considered, I’d rather be in Philadelphia.”

She looks at me and then glances at Wild Bill, not getting the joke. Bill ignores her and wipes down another glass.

“While I have you here, you’ve never told me why you chose me for your council. Or why you decided to create it. Lucifer—”

“The former Lucifer, you mean,” I cut her off. “I’m Lucifer now. That other guy goes by Samael these days and he’s home crashing with Daddy.”

“Pardon me. Samael would never have considered working with anyone but his most trusted generals.”

“Maybe if he’d asked more questions, this place wouldn’t look like a second-rate Hiroshima. I don’t have a problem with getting advice from smart people. And to answer your question, Samael recommended you.”

“I’m honored.”

She glances over her shoulder. The others are all outside. She’s enjoying making them wait.

I say, “Your English is getting better.”

“So is your Hellion. You’ve lost most of your accent.”

“Someone told me I sounded like a hick.”

“Not that bad. But you’ve become more dignified, in every way.”

“I’ll have to watch that. Dignity gives me gas.”

Over by the door of the bar someone says, “Are you ready to go, Lucifer?”

It’s a military cop named Vetis. He runs my security squad. He’s a mother-hen pain in my ass but he’s an experienced vet with his shit wired tight. He looks like Eliot Ness if Eliot Ness had a horse skull for a head.

“I’m staying but the lady will be right out.”

Vetis goes outside. I nod toward the door.

“Your caravan is waiting.”

Marchosias straightens to leave but doesn’t move.

“You never come back with us. Why not ride in my limousine with me? It’s very comfortable and roomy.”

All the councilors travel in individual limos and vans between a dozen guard vehicles. It’s like the president, the pope, and Madonna cruising town with a company of demon Wyatt Earps riding shotgun.

“Thanks, but I have my own way back.”

“You don’t trust me.”

“Would you?”

She picks up her bag.

“Probably not.”

“Anyway, I like to clear my head after a meeting.”

“Of course. I’ll see you in three days.”

“It’s a date.”

She slides a leather satchel over her shoulder. Rumor is that the leather is the tanned skin of an old political opponent.

I call after her.

“One more thing. I know one of you is gunning for me. When I find out who it is, I’m going to stuff their skull with skyrockets and set them off like the Fourth of July. Feel free to tell the others. Or keep it to yourself. You’re smart. You’ll know which is best.”

She raises her eyebrows slightly. This time in amusement. She gives me a brief smile and walks out.

Of course she’s not going to tell the others. Just like none of them said a word to her when I told them.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

RICHARD KADREY has published five novels, including Sandman Slim, Kill the Dead, Aloha from Hell, Butcher Bird, and Metrophage, plus the forthcoming Devil Said Bang, and more than fifty short stories. A freelance writer and photographer, he lives in San Francisco, California.

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ALSO BY RICHARD KADREY

Aloha from Hell

Kill the Dead

Sandman Slim

Coming Soon

Devil Said Bang

COPYRIGHT

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Excerpt from Devil Said Bang copyright © 2012 by Richard Kadrey.

DEVIL IN THE DOLLHOUSE. Copyright © 2012 by Richard Kadrey. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

EPub Edition AUGUST 2012 ISBN: 9780062230652

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