Chains creaked as we descended into dank darkness. My eyes adjusted to reveal cinderblock walls coated with algae. Nothing in Crescent City survives the wet air.

Rougarou hummed that awful music from outside, apparently carefree as a summer picnic. I, on the other hand, kept my palms resting on the pearl grips of my Peacemakers the whole way down.

“Lighten up,” he said. “You’re going to love it.”

“Just remember—”

“I know,” he cut me off. “You’ll feed me silver.”

The lift stopped, and a grate cranked open.

Don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this. A large cavern of roughhewn stone, like a cave, surrounded us.

“What are you playing at, Roo?” I asked, hands drifting closer to drawing.

“Wait,” he said, ominous as could be.

Water dripped from all over, streaks of mildew coating every surface. Roo’s breathing echoed in the chamber. It brought a chill to my core.

A chill?

Then I heard it—the soft pitter-patter of feet from somewhere. Could’ve been anywhere the way the sounds reflected in this place.

“Roo…”

“Wait.”

A figure emerged that looked like another child, but as it drew closer, something was off. What I mistook for the silhouette of unruly hair came clearer into focus, revealing pointed ears and a set of horns. A third set of spikes coming up from the center of its head, I could now tell was a pair of wings folded behind its back. It was cold blue—almost white. The color of Hell itself.

My chest caught fire, the black badge-like mark there burning with a ferocity I hadn’t felt in a long while.

The creature came to a stop several yards away. He—and there was no mistaking his naked form—stood about three feet high at best. A potbelly hung over his manhood, but there was still more to see than I would’ve ever asked for.

“What the fuck is this thing doing here?” the creature asked.

“He’s a friend,” Roo responded. “Cowboy, meet Fazar, Prince of the Imps.”

I started to speak, but the imp cut me off.

“Very fucking funny, you shitty excuse for a fucking dog.”

Thing had a mouth on it. One with a lot of small, sharp-looking teeth.

“Gimme your fucking fingers,” the imp said.

“Excuse me?” I asked.

“Protocol,” Roo explained. “A test to see if we are who we say we are. Humans and heavenly hosts aren’t allowed below.”

Roo held his finger toward the imp, and I followed his example.

Fazar waddled closer, grabbing Roo’s wrist and dragging his hand toward his mouth. A long, bifurcated tongue shot out and wrapped around Roo’s finger. Then, he slurped the digit beyond his teeth. Blood trickled out of the corner of his lips while Fazar groaned in ecstasy, sucking on it in a back-and-forth motion.

“That’s enough,” Roo said.

Slowly, the finger slid loose, and Fazar shuddered.

“Your turn,” the imp said to me.

“You know, I don’t think this is what I signed up for,” I said.

“Quit being such a baby,” Roo said. “Give the little bastard your finger.”

An icy cold grip took my wrist, as if my bones were frosting beneath my skin. I sucked in a deep breath when Fazar’s tongue spindled around my finger.

I often long to feel something, but now that I was, I’d have gladly given it up again. Visions of death and despair flooded my brain. Wasn’t quite like a Divining, but it had the same feel. I saw Rosa shivering in the bitter cold, and I was too stunned to do a thing about it. I saw Father Osgood, my former mentor growing up, rattling his fist in the air as if calling down the wrath of Heaven. Ace Ryker, eyes like a blizzard, laughing, and finally, my vision was cut unregrettably short by a hacking cough.

My spiritual eyes opened—for my physical ones had never closed—and Fazar hunched over, gagging and dry heaving, puffs of dust billowing out.

“What manner of fuckery is this?” he said between gasps.

Roo laughed. “This is James Crowley, the one and only.”

“You brought a fucking Hand of God here? Fazar demanded. “Are you out of your shit-for-brains mind?”

“Relax, Fazar,” Roo said. “I told you he was a friend, and I meant it. Besides, what harm can he do downstairs?”

Fazar wiped his mouth of bile that wasn’t there. He gave Roo a look that carried with it the disdain of a million years.

“Just get the cart,” Roo said. “Quit wasting my time.”

“This whole city might work for you. But I fucking don’t.”

Despite his words, Fazar walked a short distance before stopping. His wings extended, and it was impressive. Where this little imp stood half my height, his wings covered a distance twice that. Then, with a snapping like a whip, they flapped, and the ground rumbled.

Rock split, and a mining cart and track rose from the newly formed gorge.

I eyed Roo, who just stared with a stupid grin plastered on his mug.

“Well, what the fuck are you waiting for?” Fazar barked.

Roo clapped his hands, looked at me, and said, “Well, what the fuck are you waiting for?” before stomping off toward the imp and his cart.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Well, what the fuck was I waiting for?

* * *

The ride down took forever. It twisted and turned, once nearly flipping completely upside down. When it was through, we stepped off, and Fazar raised his middle finger to us before darting off again.

“Fazar’s a bit bitter,” Roo said. “Was next in line to lead the imperial forces until his brother, the king, had a child. Fazar got caught trying to smother the babe and was sentenced to exile on the surface. As you can imagine, life above ground for something like him never ended well. Luckily, I found him. Gave him a job. Gave him something worth living for.”

“Yeah, you’re a real saint,” I said.

“You got just the right amount of self-righteous judgment to work for the Throne, you know that? C’mon. Through here.”

Roo led me to a massive stone door marked in some language I couldn’t read. He stretched out the same finger Fazar had just performed fellatio on, and a sharp claw shot out. With it, he traced a line over a few of the symbols, and the door cracked open.

A wave of noise hit me with the force of an angelic choir—but what awaited us inside was far from Heaven. That burning in my chest never let up, not for a second, like I was surrounded by an army of Nephs.

One look and, it turned out, I was. Rougarou wasn’t lying. Beneath the Arlington House was something otherworldly. The room we now stood in was as large as a shipyard. Vaulted stone ceilings, flickering lights everywhere, more colors than a circus. Card tables and roulette wheels filled the hall—a casino for all things not exactly… human.

“Been a long time since you’ve been our way, Crowley,” Roo said, stepping off. “We’ve built a place of our own in the South, me and Tourmaline.”

“You’re working with her?” I asked.

“Took a few street brawls, but we have an agreement. Was her idea. A place where nobody’s got to hide what they truly are.”

“You didn’t think to mention that?”

“Didn’t I?”

Nobody hiding was for damn sure. Vamps sat in booths drinking from chalices filled with blood drained from their cattle—humans who dedicated their lives to being living, walking, beverages. They get addicted to the pain and the power, or so I hear.

Something I could only think to describe as a gnome—though I was sure it wasn’t—dealt a round to a pack of werewolves in human form. Ain’t hard to spot them usually. Their skin was saggier than it should’ve been at any age, stretched to the point where it’d never return to its former elasticity. A stone gargoyle took sledgehammers to the stomach while others bet on how many hits it would take before he cracked.

Mutants and Nephilim galore. Half-men with horns or four arms. Witches. Warlocks. All the kinds of things Shar had sent me hunting at one point or another—gathered under one roof. Get me a stick of dynamite, and I could earn myself a year’s vacation in a second.

Did she know this existed?

I’d never know. As I surveyed the room, I noticed one thing was entirely absent: reflective surfaces of any kind. Even the roulette wheel was made of wood.

I’d never be able to make a move. The power radiating from all around the room was palpable. And just like upstairs, there were dividers and curtains beyond which I could feel raw energy emanating. There were old things here. Things that could erase me with the snap of a finger.

This wasn’t good. We Hands of God take extra care not to find ourselves in situations where we are grossly outnumbered.

“Relax, you’re with me,” Roo said as if noticing my apprehension. “Besides, see those?” He pointed to an archway carved in Luciferian etchings. “Those evoke the full power of Hell. This place? Heaven couldn’t touch it if it wanted to.”

So engrossed was I by the upside-down crosses, five-pointed stars, and goat skulls, I bumped into someone. Something clattered on the stone floor. A bone. I followed it up to a skeleton wearing a tattered dress, holding a tray of white cake.

“Watch where you’re going!” a man snapped. A Necromancer—not in hiding. My least favorite Nephilim, right there and unafraid. And why would he be? If what Roo said was true, I couldn’t touch him here.

The Necromancer—a short, pudgy fellow with too much cheek and not enough beard—rushed over and replaced the bone on his skeletal pet. He spoke to her in a purr-like tone, as if she was his girlfriend… Shit, she probably was.

We squeezed on by, and raucous cheering took over as the primary sound.

“But this is why this place really exists,” Roo said with a wry grin.

We crossed under the sigil-marked archway to a pit sunken into rock at least twenty feet deep and covered in rows of charred iron spikes. Silver killed most Nephilim and demonic things, but iron—iron was for the Underdark creatures—the fae, the wisps, the banshees, and boggarts. On this level were three tiers of standing room and benches. An arena.

Men, women, and everything else gathered around the edges, and faces stretched into madness as they cheered. Women wearing leather bodices and dull metal chains took bets from patrons while big-ass gentlemen armed with clubs stood back to ensure no one took advantage of them.

I stepped closer to the wood railing separating us from the crowd. It seemed Beastboy had also found his way to Crescent City from Revelation Springs. Small world. With the fallout after my battle with Otaktay, many of the city’s inhabitants were displaced, and it had a lingering effect on those who made a living off big city shows. No doubt, his performance troupe had fallen on hard times after. It’s possible some of them even died when a chasm opened through the town square.

Below, Beastboy faced an enraged vamp. The young ones get like that. Jaws unhinge, and veins grow bright all around their faces. These were the kinds I was used to seeing—no true thought in their brains other than kill and eat. Beastboy took off at a sprint, using the wall as a springboard, and flung himself at the pale-faced vampire.

He was fast. And few things on Earth could move as quickly as one of the bloodsuckers. A point proven by the vampire’s next move. He ducked, lightning fast, gripped Beastboy by his furry tail, and flung him against the wall with enough force to break off chunks of rock.

The crowd moaned blissfully with delight. More money changed hands. Odds keepers hollered while their ladies made their rounds.

“That’s one of Tourmaline’s children,” Roo said, pointing down at the vampire.

“A kid, huh?”

“In some ways,” Roo clarified. “Those created by the elders grow in their craft until they can become lords of their own children.”

I almost scoffed at the word craft, as if he was discussing a woodworker or stonemason. In this case, the craft meant hunting and murdering humans for food.

The vamp dashed forward in a blur and drove a fist into the wall like a bullet. His fist chewed off more rock as Beastboy rolled aside, coming up in a fighter’s stance. He had moves. I’ll give him that. Recovering quickly, Beastboy went at the vamp with wild swipes, each of which the vamp evaded with ease.

A swift uppercut sent Beastboy soaring high above the gathered crowd. He landed on his neck with a sickening crunch that could be heard even from where I stood. The onlookers gasped, one part horror, one part thrill. Then the vamp leaped just as high and slammed down on him.

By some miracle of God or Devil, Beastboy hadn’t died—by the way he slashed with his claws, it seemed he hadn’t even been fazed by the fall. However, try as he might, the vamp was too much for him. The bloodsucker caught his arm, pushed his head to the side with the other hand, then sank his fangs into Beastboy’s exposed neck.

Blood gushed like a geyser. I winced. I had no love for the creature. Thing was a Nephilim but seemed to stay out of trouble with the White Throne. That had to garner a modicum of my respect. But my respect mattered little when faced with a nightstalker like this. He had no chance.

He howled as the blood drained, clawing and twisting to try and break free. The vamp pushed deeper, bending Beastboy like a twig.

I saw the move before anyone else. Beastboy arched his back enough to get his ridiculously powerful tail free and around the vamp’s neck. He planted his feet and pushed into a flip.

Long fangs ripped from his flesh as the vamp was pried free and launched to the far end of the arena. A nasty iron spike impaled the vamp’s chest, eliciting a bloodcurdling scream as his veins ballooned. He wriggled to pull himself off, but before long, those veins burst like new wine in an old skin. He hung there lifeless, dry as a raisin.

The majority of the crowd groaned and booed, making it obvious where the odds were placed. One lucky bettor cheered. A fight broke out across the way. Considering how wagers went in any saloon across the West, this would be worse in spades.

“Well, I’ll be. Tourmaline’s gonna be pissed,” Roo said. “Huge underdog.”

“I guess not today,” I said.

I moved closer to the edge. The Nephilim was on his knees, panting, blood leaking from his collar where he’d been bitten. A gate I hadn’t previously noticed opened, and a giant, hairy man trotted out to drag him out of the arena.

“This is all very exciting, Roo,” I said. “But I think we’ve wasted enough time.”

He sighed. “You’re right.”

When I turned to go, someone bumped into my side. Hard enough to make me wobble. “Hey—”

Fearing a pickpocket in a place like this, I whipped around. It was none too soon either. A boy rushed away, not even looking back. The strap of my rifle had been sliced. I went to catch it, and Roo shoved me as hard as he could. He gripped the gun as I tripped over the ledge. I bounced from spike to spike before landing on my back in the pit, surrounded by a cloud of dust.