HELLION: THE DEAD HEX: (Hellion, Book 2) Read online

  Jenna Wright

  HELLION: THE DEAD HEX

  First published by Jenna Wright in 2018

  Copyright © Jenna Wright, 2018

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

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  Contents

  ALSO BY JENNA LYN WRIGHT

  HE WANTS YOU BACK IN PANDEMONIUM

  THE DEAD HEX

  GOBLIN IPA

  FRIEND OR FOE OR DEMON

  THE WORST WITCHES

  YOU NEED A NECROMANCER

  NICE NIGHT FOR A RESURRECTION

  THE DAUGHTERS OF THE DEAD

  THE BONEYARD

  ANYA

  THE HAUNTED

  MAD'S NOT WHO YOU THOUGHT SHE WAS

  YOU'D BETTER RUN

  HOUNDS OF HELL

  DOUSE THE TORCHES

  NO PRISONERS

  SHE'S MAD, AND YOU'RE IN BIG TROUBLE

  YOU CAN'T BEAT THE DEVIL

  A HEARTBEAT

  SLOANE

  A GOOD OLD FASHIONED SEANCE

  THANK YOU!

  ALSO BY JENNA LYN WRIGHT

  THE HELLION SERIES

  HELLION: ASYLUM OF ASH

  HELLION: THE COUNTERFEIT CITY

  HELLION: THE DEAD HEX

  This novel is a work of fiction and a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons or events is coincidental.

  Cover Design by Karl Slominski

  1

  HE WANTS YOU BACK IN PANDEMONIUM

  “You realize this is the last place I want to be, right, Gray? I still have pieces of zombie in my car axles.”

  Runner is staring up at Lilah’s mansion with a scowl on his face. I don’t blame him. I’m not particularly thrilled to be back here either.

  The smoke from Lilah’s spell to raise the dead has dissipated, and the grounds of her estate are an eerie sight. Dozens of open graves dot the lawn and the rotting corpses of the newly re-dead litter the driveway and the stairs leading up to the front door. The air smells musty and sour like laundry left wet in the washer overnight. And he’s right about the car: bits of graying skin and spatters of coagulated blood mar the grill and tires of the hearse we borrowed from Erin. An unfortunate side effect of mowing down the undead.

  “I’ll make it quick, I promise,” I say, and head up the front stairs, carefully picking my way around the tangled limbs of Lilah’s fallen army.

  Inside, more bodies lie in the cavernous hallway that leads toward Lilah’s Artifacts Room, as she’d called it. The place she’d kept the objects I’d stolen for her that were too precious, too valuable, or too dangerous to re-sell.

  Also, as it turns out, the objects she’d planned to use to raise a demon army to overthrow Lucifer.

  Avoiding the corpses, Runner and I enter the Artifacts Room to find the fire still crackling in the hearth and the lowball glass containing the mixture of Lilah’s blood and black water from the river Styx on the mantle.

  Runner sweeps his gaze around the room, coming to a rest at the pile of dead bodies near the window. “They’re all dead, right? Or, dead again, like they’re supposed to be?”

  “I killed them myself,” I reply, remembering the weight of them on top of me as I sliced through them with my dagger. Their fetid breath and papery skin. The snapping of their teeth and the cracking of their disused joints. Death-by-zombie would’ve been a terrible way to go.

  He doesn’t seem satisfied, but this is as good as it’s going to get. He moves toward the dozen or so glass display cases that line the far wall and peers at Lilah’s stolen goods. “I’m guessing these aren’t family heirlooms.”

  “Not exactly. And don’t touch them. Now that I know I probably stole them from an angry god or sorceress or… who knows what…” Exasperated, I run my hand through my hair. The missions Lilah had sent me on, I’d assumed they were on the level in terms of stealing from humans. That, I could deal with. Thanks to the tiny bit of knowledge Lucifer has given me, I now know that I stole from some of the worst supernatural creatures in Counterfeit City, and they’re none-too-pleased with me.

  “Trust me, touching them was never part of the plan. I don’t even like the fact that the soles of my shoes are touching the floor in this place. So why don’t you tell me what we need to do to get out of here so we can, you know, get out of here?”

  Warmth blooms in my chest at his use of the word we. Assassins and thieves don’t make many friends, and Runner risked his afterlife to help me take down Lilah and bring the Dagger of the Fallen back to Lucifer. I’d call it good luck, but luck doesn’t exist. Not only did Mina point me in the direction of the Dagger of the Fallen, she had Runner sent to me. Whether it was the luck of the draw or she knew it would be this antsy Phantom driving the cab that scooped me up on the side of the street, I owe her. Big time. And a big-time gift is what she’s going to get.

  “First things first, that demon army resurrection juice needs to go. How would one dispose of this?” I ask, picking up the lowball glass from the mantle.

  “Depends on what it is.” Runner eyes the glass warily and makes no move to get a better look.

  “Lilah’s blood and water from the river Styx.”

  He jerks back, waving his hands and shaking his head. “For starters, you can keep it right over there with you.” Runner stares at the glass for a long moment, finally deciding. “And I have no idea. But I wouldn’t leave it here. Obviously. Just because we… you… wiped out most of Lilah’s demons doesn’t mean one or two aren’t still out there causing trouble. Who knows what they could do with that stuff?”

  He has a point. “Then I have to run upstairs to get something to put it in. Grab that book and I’ll be right back.” I point to the leather-bound book that sits at the foot of the hearth. Its gilded pages glint in the firelight, and if it’s possible, it looks even more ancient than when I brought it to Lilah to complete my last mission for her less than a week ago.

  As I’m making my way around the corpses and out of the room, Runner calls, “What is it?”

  “The Codex Malum,” I call over my shoulder. When I’d murdered ten or so criminals to get it, I hadn’t realized the text had been part of the Counterfeit City underworld that ran under the noses of a human like me. Former human, now. Goddamn Lilah for not telling me what I was getting myself into.

  “I don’t like the sound of that,” he responds, and I get the feeling that it won’t be the last time he says that if he decides to keep hanging around with me.

  I don’t know this place well enough to waste time searching, so I make my way up the grand staircase to the second level and return to the room where I first broke into Lilah’s mansion: a makeshift greenhouse with a glass ceiling that gives me a flawless view of the twilight sky and the full moon overhead.

  All manner of plants and flowers grow and bloom, stretching their spindly limbs toward the ceiling and casting strange shadows on the floor. I give the greenery a wide berth, as I’m fairly certain each and every thing growing here is some shade of poisonous, and move toward one of the long tables that stretches through the center of the space. Bowls, burners, and beakers are strewn across its surface, and after a bit of looking around in the dim light, I finally find a silver vial with a cork stopper.

  Racing back downstairs, I find Runner holding the Codex Malum at ar
m’s length. The minute he sees me he practically jogs over. “It won’t bite you,” I say. “It can’t do any damage unless you read from it. I think.”

  “And yet, I’d prefer if you held it.”

  Waggling the vial at him, I maneuver around him without taking the book. “Just one sec…” I need to take care of the lowball glass first.

  Heat from the fire warms me as I move toward the mantle. The liquid in the glass swirls, bits of silver inside sparkling like stars in the night sky, and I am hypnotized as I gaze at it. I’m not sure how long I’ve been staring when Runner says, “What did Lucifer say to you when he summoned you back?”

  Hearing the name of the Devil snaps me from my reverie. “That he’s keeping me on his payroll for my own good.”

  Runner snorts with derision. “Gray. Come on. Do you really believe that?”

  “I believe that it’s partially true, which makes it the worst kind of lie. I can’t wholly dismiss it.” I pick up the lowball glass and begin to tip its contents slowly, carefully into the vial. “You seem to have a special, angry place in your heart for him specifically. What did he do to you?”

  Behind me, there is nothing but silence. Finished pouring, I plug up the vial with the cork stopper and turn to Runner. He’s staring down at the book, forgetting that it scares him. Eyes unfocused, he’s deep in some memory that paints his features with sadness and regret.

  Tucking the vial into a pocket inside my jacket, I move to him and gently take the book from his hands. “I’m sorry, that was personal. I shouldn’t have asked…”

  “Lucifer took my wife from me. Not as in she left me for him, but she…” He trails off as if the pain that’s evident on his face has stolen his breath and his will to continue. “She’s gone. We still have a chance with you. So,” he gestures to the book, “where are we headed with that?”

  His smile is broad but doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and I can see him work to box up the memories he’d let overtake him just now. “Mina’s,” I respond.

  “Excellent. I could use a drink.” He bounces on his feet, and I get the feeling that he’s as eager to get out of this house as he is to put distance between us and our conversation about his wife. “Shall we?”

  The edges of the room start to blur and darken, and a white-hot stinging sensation radiates from my wrist.

  “What is it?” He asks.

  “I don’t know.” I glance down at my arm to find that the brand Lucifer gave me is changing from black to an angry red. “It hurts…”

  Runner snatches the book from me. “He wants you back. I’ll meet you at Mina’s.” The room is a pinprick in my vision now. The last thing I see before it drops into full darkness is the sadness that Runner hasn’t quite managed to erase from his eyes. I vow in that moment that when I escape Lucifer and Pandemonium for good, I’m bringing Runner’s wife with me.

  2

  THE DEAD HEX

  I’d like to say I’m getting better at that teleportation thing the Devil insists on doing to me every time he wants to send me somewhere or call me back to him, but that would be a lie.

  I’m back in Pandemonium lying face-up on the floor of Lucifer’s lair. Not the office, though, or wherever we conducted our previous business. Here, skylights are carved into the cathedral ceiling above me, and outside, ash sifts down onto the glass from clouds veined with red lightning. The room is lit with flickering firelight, both from torches affixed to the walls and from a large fireplace at the wall a couple dozen feet to my right. A massive canopy bed sits to my left, the interior shielded by thick, black drapery.

  I have to admit that Lucifer’s bedroom is the last place I was expecting to end up when he summoned me, but I’m too irritated and achy to really care. Twisting my arm, I press my branded wrist to the cold stone beneath me and let out a sigh of relief as the burning subsides to a dull ache.

  The soles of Lucifer’s shoes crackle and spark on the stone floor as he approaches. He stops at the top of my head, popping into my field of vision to peer down at me from above. “You’ll get used to that,” he says with a smirk.

  “Which part?” I say, rolling over and pulling myself to my feet. The floor still feels like it’s swaying beneath me and I reach out to use one of the posts on Lucifer’s bed to get my bearings.

  “Both the summoning and the tell-tale burn,” he replies, fastening a button on the cuff of his dress shirt.

  “Does it ever hurt less?”

  He arches an eyebrow at me. “No.”

  Of course it doesn’t.

  “I’m the Devil, Gray,” he continues.

  It was a stupid question.

  “I delight in your misery.”

  “It’s not that bad,” I retort, my temper flaring. Not wise to get angry at Satan, I’m sure, but here we are.

  “Is that a request for more?” he asks. He’s finished buttoning his other sleeve and glances back over his shoulder at me as he moves toward a large, black armoire that sits against a far wall. “Because this is kind of what I do, and I’ve gone quite easy on you. What you’ve been through is nothing..”

  Feeling more steady I release the post and stand without aid, stiffening my spine and throwing my shoulders back. The last thing I want is for him to see any weakness in me. “You must’ve called me here for a reason.”

  “And you’d like to work off your debt to me as quickly as possible, yes?” he says, his words muffled by the cloth as he rummages through what looks to be an endless supply of black suit jackets.

  Yes. I want to scream it at him until I go hoarse. This is a conversation I shouldn’t even be having. I should be back on Earth… the real Earth, not this Counterfeit City bullshit with its nightmare creatures lurking in every shadow and its magic running through the streets and its never-ending twilight sky. I need to be working off my karmic debt to society, not running jobs for the Devil. When I brought Lucifer the Dagger of the Fallen, and Lilah, no less, I should’ve earned my freedom and my chance to be good. My chance to see David again. Instead, the Devil did what the Devil does, which is twist our bargain into a deed of sale for my soul.

  And I have nobody to blame but myself. That’s why I don’t scream at him. It’s my fault. His offer at giving me a chance to make up for the evil deeds done during my human life and somehow end up with more good than bad on my final spiritual tally, once I completed my mission for him, of course, blinded me to the fact that I was entering into a deal with a creature that would never let me win. The Father of Lies.

  Well, he’s not the only one who can lie. Lilah taught me that and a whole lot more, and when I get out of here I’m going to leave this place nothing but smoldering embers and ash.

  “I need you to bring me the Dead Hex,” he says matter-of-factly as if I should know what the object is.

  Seeing as how I’ve been a part of the Counterfeit City for about a blink of an eye and that expectation would be absurd, I silently wait for more information. He continues to paw through his clothes until finally selecting a black blazer with silver threaded through in thin-slice pinstripes. He shrugs it on and turns back, blinking in surprise.

  “You’re still here.”

  “Where would I go?” I respond. “I don’t even know what the Dead Hex is.”

  He rolls his eyes at me in dramatic exasperation. “How is that possible? You’ve been part of the Counterfeit City for over a week.”

  “Running a job for you while dodging demons and werewolves and…” I trail off as he waves a dismissive hand at me.

  “The fact that you’re calling them werewolves instead of Lunatics tells me all I need to know. Werewolves,” he mutters. “Do you want everyone to know that you’re new?”

  Again, I bite back my anger. My next stop is Mina’s and she’s promised to give me an education in all things Counterfeit once I deliver the Codex Malum. This back-and-forth with Lucifer won’t be an issue again.

  “So,” I say, gesturing for him to continue, “the Dead Hex…”

 
“…Is a ring made of cold iron.”

  “Like that you’d wear? Or that you’d toss.”

  He stares at me as if I’m dull. “Are you being willfully obtuse?”

  “Like you said, Lucifer, I’m new. The more information you give me now the less I have to scramble for it later. And do you know what scrambling does? It takes time. Do you want the ring as soon as possible? Or do you want it after I’m finished researching what it is, where it might be, how to get there…”

  “Stop talking,” he says, holding up a palm to me as if he’s a crossing guard and I’m not allowed to approach. “The Dead Hex is a ring that you’d wear. But not you, specifically. Don’t touch it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I said so should be enough,” he huffs. “Trust me when I say that it’s better for everyone if it’s not out on the streets for just any Counterfeit to stumble onto. So, bring it to me and don’t touch it in the process.”

  Trust him. Right. I’m not going to get any more from him, though, so I say, “Bring you something I can’t touch. Check. Where is it?”

  “Gray, how much use are you to me if I have to do all of your work for you?” he asks, moving to the ornate, gilded mirror that hangs next to the black-lacquered door to the room. Smoothing his obsidian hair back, he grins at his reflection, quite pleased with what he sees. I wouldn’t be surprised if this is where the term handsome devil came from. He is the most striking man I’ve ever laid eyes on, and oh do I want to strike him.

  “You managed to survive your first venture out into Counterfeit City,” he continues, “but if you’re going to thrive here you’re going to need to take some initiative to learn the customs, nomenclature, et cetera and so forth. Imagine that you’ve moved to a new country. You wouldn’t expect the locals to drop everything to educate you, would you? No. You’d take that upon yourself. Just do it quickly. A wrong move here won’t get you lost down a quaint little street, it’ll get you killed. Again.”