I taste salt and copper.
“For the wicked will be destroyed, but those who trust in the Lord will possess the land!”
All at once, I realize why the shouting man’s voice sounds so distant, so muffled. I am hearing it over not only the engine rumbling softly beneath me, but over the sound of rushing water.
The shhh and slap of waves brushing against a jagged shore can only be one thing. My heart in a vise, I bolt upright and draw in breath to shout, but strong hands muscle me back to my stomach, pressing my head hard against the unyielding metal beneath me. I strain against their hold, but I know it isn’t any use. I’m blinded and bound. They are big and I am small. They are stronger.
Like Ford was.
The vehicle passes over a bump and a lancing pain shoots through my abdomen. I curl inward, trying to protect myself from the internal onslaught as the tearing sensation spiderwebs out—my body becoming a conductor of misery.
I have no idea how long it lasts, only that by the time the sensation begins to dissipate, I am panting hard. My insides recoil and twang as if they’ve been torn out, beaten in a blender and then unceremoniously dumped back inside.
“Any kin in Elisium?” A booming voice ricochets through the atmosphere.
“No,” comes the hollered reply from the officer next to me, cut off by the blood-curdling screech of rusted metal hinges and the sweep of chains over pavement.
This isn’t happening.
This isn’t happening.
Finding my voice around a mouthful of blood, I wriggle against the cuffs and the press of the officer’s palm against my head. “Please!” I shout. “You’re making a mistake!”
Can’t they see that?
I am Paige St. Clare. Immunocompromised-leaves-the-house-once-a-year Paige. Just Paige. I am not Diablim!
Abruptly, the weight on my back and head vanishes and after a second more, the tight band around my neck eases. Then the black bag is gone, too, leaving me squinting into the blinding furnace of the sun.
A booted foot connects with my hip and I sail over an edge, grasping empty air for something to hold onto before I find the ground beneath me. Just barely breaking my fall with outstretched palms.
Loose dirt and bits of rock drive into the heels of my palms and tear at the knees of my jeans. I flip over and scramble to stand, eyes burning from the light and the saltiness of my sweat and tears. Raising my hands, I inspect the injuries, finding chewed flesh clotted with bits of dirt and shimmering slivers that looked a hell of a lot like glass.
Then, I see what lies beyond the trembling peaks of my fingers. On the bridge, the military-style vehicle I’d been transported in ambles in the opposite direction. The officers watch me from the open back with varying looks of disgust and haughty disdain.
My blood turns cold in my veins as the shining curve of the Gateway Arch glints to my left. On my side of the river.
I’m on the wrong side of The Hinge. The police officers in the dust-coated truck retreat back to the mortal side, abandoning me.
This isn’t happening.
Mortals don’t belong in the Fallen Cities. We don’t survive here.
A great iron gate begins to swing closed several meters in front of me, blocking the way back. The crunch of glass behind me sends a violent tremor racing up my spine. I whirl, coming face to face with the largest thing I’ve ever seen.
I was staring at the blackened skin of its calves and now have to crane my neck up and up and up to find its face.
A scream withers in my throat. I’m too afraid to make a sound.
Glowing red eyes watch me with cruel interest as a macabre grin splits the creature’s face. Its dark, curling horns almost seemed to ripple as though on fire.
The demon spreads its mammoth arms wide like a ringmaster about to announce the greatest show on earth.
In an inhuman voice, he roars, “Welcome to Elisium!”
Two men and a woman appear around the demon’s legs. One of the men twirls a length of shining silvery rope in the air like a cowboy’s lasso, eyes watching me like a cat would its prey.
Behind me, the metal gates are near to shutting. I can still hear the crank and grind of the hinges.
I pivot and bolt for the gate, finding only a narrow gap remains for escape.
Damn.
Behind me, raucous laughter echoes, and my stomach plummets.
As if I could make it to the gate by sheer force of will alone, I reach out, fingers grasping for the iron.
Please, please, please.
My fingers connect with the eroded metal gates a fraction of a second after they’ve clanged shut. The sound of a heavy metal bolt sliding home slaughters my last hope of escape.
The rope comes down over me before I can react, and with a vicious tug, it cinches around my waist, forcing my arms down against my rib cage.
The female Diablim appears at my side, wild black eyes searching and a deranged smile on her lips. She draws closer and snakes a hand out, snatching up a section of my hair to drag me closer still. I cry out as she inhales its scent with a strange hooked nose, her black eyes rolling back to reveal red-veined whites.
“Weak,” she whispers wetly into my ear. “But no matter, a pretty thing like you will still fetch a handsome price.”
6
The Diablim at The Hinge stuff me into the back of a black van.
Into a cage.
My skin burns where it’s been rubbed raw in the creases of my elbows with the silver-threaded rope. But that burn isn’t nearly as bad as the burn of my mangled palms. Or the sting from where the prods of the stun gun were jabbed into my flesh earlier this morning.
I wince, resettling myself onto the loose bench seat as the van begins to move, the exhaust pipe shuddering before it emits two cacophonous popping sounds.
It smells oddly like cinnamon and hickory in the vehicle. Metal music blares from poor quality speakers up front where the female Diablim and the male who has the lasso sit separated from us in the driver’s and passenger’s seat.
Warily, I stare unblinking at the other being in the back of the van. It’s a young boy. He can’t be more than eleven. Maybe twelve. But I know better than to let my guard down based on appearances.
Diablim are known for their trickery. I know from what I gleaned from the seven o’clock news that there are demonic beings—great beasts of old, who can take human form. For all I know, this little boy could be the devil himself.
I draw my knees into my chest and wrap my arms around them before finding my voice again. “Hey!” I shout over the music toward the front. “Hey!”
“Keep it down back there!” The male retorts, clanging something that looks like a hooked blade against the metal cage separating us.
“You’ve made a mistake,” I holler. “The police—they messed up. I’m not what they think I—”
“Yeah, yeah,” the man waves off my pleas. “We’ve heard that one before. Your magic might be weak, girl, but it’s there.”
“I’m human!” I try again, my voice growing shrill. “You have to let me go. This is against the law.”
My voice breaks on the last words, and I shudder as a hard ball forms in my chest, trying to carry a sob from my lips. I don’t let it free. Won’t give these bastards the satisfaction of knowing I’m near my breaking point.