“Don’t forget,” warned Darlington. “Demons feed on joy, right alongside pain and sorrow.”
The doors to the palace opened and a creature emerged. It had to be eight feet tall, and it had the head of a white rabbit but the body of a man. Between its ears, a crown of fire blazed red. It was as naked as Darlington had been in the golden circle, but the symbols on its body glowed ruddy like banked embers.
“Anselm,” Alex said.
The rabbit laughed. “Call me by my true name, Wheelwalker.”
“Asshole?” Alex ventured.
The creature shifted, and he was Anselm again, human in appearance, clothed. He wasn’t in a suit this time but his casual weekend best—jeans, a cashmere sweater, an expensive watch on his wrist, a picture of effortless wealth. Darlington without Black Elm. Darlington without a soul.
“I liked watching Darlington kill you.”
Anselm grinned. “That was a mortal body. Weak and impermanent. I cannot be killed because I do not live. But I will.”
Alex saw there was a leash in his hands, and when he tugged on it, three creatures crawled forward on hands and knees. Their pale bodies were emaciated, a clattering of bones barely held together by sinew. Alex couldn’t quite tell if they were human, and then the wretched details locked into place—one older, flesh sagging, hair cut in a gray crew cut; one young and frail, his curls patchy in places, his gaunt features haunted by the memory of beauty; and one woman, breasts shrunken, sores around her mouth, her yellow hair matted and clumped.
Carmichael, Blake, and Hellie. Around their throats they each wore a golden yoke like the one that had circled Darlington’s neck, each attached to a golden chain held by Anselm.
How harmless they looked, how frightened, but they were demons just the same.
“Such sorry hounds,” Anselm said. “They will starve until they feed on the suffering of the dead. Or until they pass back through the portal to pursue you once more. Then they will eat until they are full and feed upon your friends and companions. This is the demon’s dream. A land of plenty. I would be glad to grant it to them.” He paused and smiled, the expression tender, beatific, Jesus on a birthday card. “Unless hell’s price is paid. Daniel
Arlington’s soul was rightfully claimed by this place. He is one of us and must serve his eternity here.”
“I’m willing,” said Darlington.
“For fuck’s sake, at least try to negotiate,” said Turner.
“There’s nothing to negotiate,” said Dawes. “He doesn’t belong here.”
Anselm dipped his head in agreement. “That’s true. He stinks of goodness. But not all of you do.”
“You don’t need to be cute about it,” said Alex. “They all know you mean me.”
Anselm’s teeth were white and even. “You’ve heard their hearts. You’ve seen through their eyes. They’re all riddled with guilt and shame, but not you, Wheelwalker. Your only regret is for the girl you couldn’t save, not for the men you murdered. You have more remorse in your heart for a dead rabbit than for all those boys you beat into nothing.”
It was true. Alex had known that from the start. She’d said as much to Mercy the night before.
“No,” said Dawes. She cut her hand through the air. “No to all of it. You can’t have Alex. Or Darlington. No one stays.”
None go free. Alex felt an ache in her throat. Courageous Dawes, who only wanted her family whole. And Alex was glad to be part of that family.
Even if it couldn’t last.
“You’ve been brave enough,” Alex said. “This isn’t your battle to fight.”
“You don’t belong here either. No matter what that … that thing says.”
“You’re so very certain, scholar,” Anselm said. “But the Gauntlet was built to bring her here, a bloody beacon, a signal fire.”
Alex kept her face impassive, but risked a glance at Mercy in the reflection. What was Anselm talking about? Some new trick to delay them, some new strategy?
“You fought to keep me out of hell,” Alex said. “All of us.” He had done everything he could to prevent them from discovering the Gauntlet and rescuing Darlington.
“I didn’t understand what you were, Wheelwalker. Oh, I understood your appeal. An interesting plaything, a collection of parlor tricks, an infinite
capacity for pain. But I didn’t see the truth of you. I couldn’t understand how you escaped my wolves. Not until you took his soul into your body.”
“He’s lying,” said Dawes.
Turner shook his head. He could always tell the difference, even in the underworld. “He isn’t.”
“You know you aren’t the first pilgrims to walk this path,” said Anselm.
That was when Alex understood why the Gauntlet and those who had dared walk it had been scrubbed from the books, why they’d made sure no one knew about the extraordinary gateway built into the library’s walls. For the first time since Darlington had returned, Alex felt real fear creeping in.
“They made a deal, didn’t they?” she asked.
Anselm winked. “The only thing a demon loves more than a puzzle is a bargain.”
44
Anselm’s pets mewled as if sensing his pleasure. The thing with Blake’s haggard face pressed its head against his leg.
“What is this?” Turner demanded.
Anselm let his fingers trail through Not Blake’s hair. “The men of Yale built a Gauntlet and called their journey one of exploration. But exploration is just another word for conquest, and like all adventurers, once they had seen the riches they could attain, they had no reason to return emptyhanded.”
