Hunting in Hell by Maria Violante

Cantina, leaving the horses by the door.
    He waited for as long as he felt was prudent, and then as stealthy as any cat, he strolled over and peeked in the door.   The first drops of rain had already begun to fall.   Alsvior was watching him intently.   Startled, Laufeyson felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Something was wrong here, something important.  
    It was dark in the Cantina, the clouds blocking out the sunlight, the electric lights still off.   Still, he could see fairly well, and this much was clear—De la Roca and the Mademoiselle were gone.
    He dashed inside, alarm bells ringing in his head.   Suddenly, there was a whoosh , as if the air in the room had become pressurized.   Lightening flashed, flooding the room with brightness.
    His heart sank.   This isn't the Cantina.   It was a good façade, true, but the edges were too crude, the fiction lacking and threadbare in places.  
    He sat down and flicked his fingers to manifest a cigarette, but one did not appear.
    Damn .

 
    Sixteen
     

     
    " I fell asleep thinking that he had been my lover, but then I dreamed about the Angel.   When I awoke, it was as if his seed has been uprooted.   My memories were recovered, at least partially."   She stared at the ground, her expression heavy.   "I suspected that you had stolen the other stone, at first.   That was incorrect."
    The Mademoiselle nodded sagely.   If she was offended by the implication or the lack of apology, she did not show it.   "I thought Laufeyson might try something, though never something as drastic as this."
    "But why?"   Her torrential frustration threatened to overcome her.   How much longer will I be kept in the dark?   Forever?
    "I don’t know."   The Mademoiselle was quiet, almost contemplative.   "I have not returned to Hell for many years.   All I can tell you is that there are strange forces at work, and I doubt any of them have your best interests at heart."
    She looked around the room.   De la Roca watched as her gaze pause on the artifacts of her earthbound existence—the liquor bottles, the polished glasses, the many stools stacked upside-down on tables.   "When I was first ordered here, I railed against it.   My infraction had been so minor, yet the punishment so severe!"   She sighed.   "Yet after much time passed, I realized that I had grown fond of this place, of the weary travelers and the simple pace, of the smiling faces of humanity."  
    Her wave was airy, almost dismissive.   "As for my God, my angels?   I have not heard from them for many years now."
    "Perhaps," said De la Roca, her fingers trailing over the rim of a glass, "They have no use for you now."   It made sense to her, but she had not expected the Mademoiselle's face to crumple.
    "If that were true, I would very likely be dead."   Her voice was steady, but De la Roca could hear a dark current of pain underneath, an undertow to a lake that appeared placid.  
    De la Roca sat in silence for a moment, unsure of how to proceed.   Finally, she just decided to change the subject.   "What did you do with him?"
    The Mademoiselle smiled, cat-like.   "He is on another plane, one gifted to me a long time ago by another demon.   I have saved it carefully for such a time as this.   It won't hold him long, of course.   He has very powerful friends, and an Eye of Muninn besides."
    The Mademoiselle cast her eyes to the floor, and De la Roca became aware of a weight in the room, a current that had flowed unnoticed.   It was tangible, thick and hungry, and now that it had been exposed, it would not be ignored.   She could feel her brows coming together, her jaws tensing.    "What is it?"
    The Mademoiselle met De la Roca's stare.   The mercenary was shocked to see that the expression had bled completely out of her pretty face, leaving behind a visage that was white and deathly.
    "The gun.   Can I hold it?"   Her voice rustled like leaves.
    De la Roca's hand moved toward the