Hunting in Hell by Maria Violante Page B

would be an excellent way for you to die, following him into a world of his own making.   It was a mistake the first time, and I doubt your survival was a result of your own skill."   Her voice was growing louder, and De la Roca could not remember when she had seen the Mademoiselle so agitated.   "We will not be so foolhardy.   In his own plane, he is the strongest he could ever be.   Worse, he may have rewritten certain rules.   What if Bluot will not fire, or if gravity does not exist?   How will you fight him then?   In a third plane, you will at least have the advantage of knowing the playing field and working with familiar tools."
    "But what—"
    "There is no more time for questions!   Either I send you now, or you find your own way!"  
    "Fine," said De la Roca, her voice a blade of ice.   "I will do it as you wish."
    "It is not as I wish .   It is the only way to do it."   Immediately, the Mademoiselle sat.   Clouds started to gather over her head, swirling around with a velocity that spoke of their master's urgency.
    De la Roca watched them form.   Strange, how something that was once so extraordinary is now commonplace.   She waited until the rain fell.   The cold drops stung, and she wondered if the change in temperature had more to do with the destination or the rainmaker's state of mind.
    The door opened, a circle of light that leapt from the floor and spun with wild magic.  
    "Go on, I will not be able to hold it long!"
    De la Roca mounted Alsvior, and together they stepped through.
    * * *
     
    The Mademoiselle sighed.  
    She knew from the hurt expression on De la Roca's face that the sudden outburst had hurt her, but it was a necessary evil.   Her trust was precarious it best, and the spell-caster needed to act before the mercenary had time to fully reason through the situation.   So strange, the sides of her we see.   With humans, De la Roca was a terror, a God.   But among demons?  
    A lost child, perhaps?
    At the very least, Laufeyson had made it easier.   His treachery, and De la Roca's preoccupation with the man, made the Mademoiselle look trustworthy by comparison.   She didn't know what the son of Laufey wanted with the mercenary, though, and that was a bit troubling.
    Still, it's a long-shot.  
    A lot was riding on Thyrsus.   While it was true that the demon had been missing from these realms for centuries, his exile had been self-imposed.   Every demon (or angel) old enough to remember could recall the time before the madness had taken him.
    He was called Huginn then.   Which name suits him better, really?
    They had all been present when he had torn the rift, leaping away from Earth and fabricating a world of his own design.    Finding him would not be a problem.
    The rain had slackened slightly during her brief reverie, but it intensified again as she prepared to open the second door.
    Should I be sorry for my lies today?   A hint of grief threatened to overtake her and steer her away from her mission, but then she remembered the risk.
    Better a liar than a dead woman.   Quickly, she created the circle and walked through.

 
    Seventeen
     

     
    T he world was cold and dark, with a curious crackle of electricity that seemed to stir through the air with her every movement.   At first, the Mademoiselle felt nothing else out of the ordinary, and she wondered if she had chosen incorrectly.
    What creaturessss does this animal creatures what does this be?
    She sensed the words rather then heard them, their strange timbre stoking real terror in her heart for the first time in nearly a thousand years.  
    Remember why you are here.   She braced herself.   Remember your freedom.   After all—you set this ball in motion, and you can't go back now.
    "I have come with a gift for you," she called out, willing the tremble out of her voice.
    Gift? Thyrsus a giftening silver gold virgins a sacrifice wine Thyrsus.
    The forceful madness of the words pressed against her mind in