Hell Bent (Alex Stern, #2)

by Leigh Bardugo

“For fuck’s sake, Cosmo, get away from that.” The cat was sniffing around the pool of vomit. “Help me out here.” And Cosmo, as if he’d understood, did something he’d never done before: He leapt into her arms. She tucked him carefully against her, hiding his singed fur. “The barbarians are at the gate,” she whispered. “Let’s do this.”

Rich, beautiful, used to getting her way. The kind of girl Darlington would date if he had no taste.

“I know who you are.” She tried to soak the words with equal parts disdain and disinterest. “He doesn’t want you here.”

“He’s in Spain,” Alex said. “And he’s seeing a therapist now. Setting boundaries. You should think about that.”

Pussy. Candy-ass. How did I ever raise a son like you? You didn’t even have the balls to face me, just kept me drugged up and helpless, but I got you in the end, didn’t I? Cosmo squirmed in Alex’s arms. She raised a hand and waved. “Bye-bye,” she singsonged.

“Thanks, Cosmo,” Alex murmured as the cat leapt from her arms and pranced toward the back of the house to hunt. “And you.” She shoved the old man out of her mind with all her might. He appeared in front of her, bathrobe flapping, his naked, emaciated body peppered with white hair. “That was a one-time ride,” she said. “Don’t think about trying to hijack this particular train again.” “Where’s Danny?” the old man growled. Alex ignored him and marched back to Dawes and Turner.

Through the window Alex saw a narrow stretch of park, the leaves of its trees not yet ready to turn, but she was back at Black Elm, feeling its pull, the way it demanded love, lost in the loneliness of the place.

Until Danny had set him free. That was why he’d survived in hell, not just because he was Darlington, steeped in knowledge and lore, but because he had killed his grandfather. It didn’t matter that his grandfather had asked him to do it any more than it mattered Dawes had smashed in Blake’s skull to save Alex’s life.

He’d been Black Elm’s protector, and he was still the only one who could defend

Dawes flexed her fingers on the steering wheel, then nodded. “We keep going,” she said. “We keep going,” Alex repeated. To hell and back.

Mercy put her head in her hands. “How do they get away with this? Isn’t Lethe supposed to stop this kind of thing from happening?” “Yeah,” Alex admitted. Mercy shoved back from the table, her tray rattling as she snatched up her bag, fresh tears in her eyes. “Then you stop them, Alex. You make them pay for this.”

“Then keep searching,” Turner said. “Find something I can use.

I need you and your demon boyfriend for the work I can’t do.”

And the Peabody was one more place where Darlington’s presence was too close—the real Darlington, who belonged to New Haven as much as he belonged to Lethe or Yale.

“This was my hiding place,” he’d said as they walked past the Age of Reptiles mural, “when things got bad at home.”

But now that she’d been in Darlington’s grandfather’s head, seen his memories of a little boy lost in the dark, she understood why that boy would come here, to a place full of people and noise, where there was always something to read or to look at, where no one would think twice about a studious kid with a backpack who didn’t want to leave.

“I know what this is,” Turner said. “What the actual fuck.” Dawes winced, and now Alex understood why she had worried about having Turner here. “This thing wasn’t built to find criminals,” said Turner. “It was made to find runaway slaves.”

They should have been safe here, but some asshole from the societies used magic…” He stumbled over the word. “This is what your magic is for, isn’t it? This is what it does. Props up the people in power, lets the people with everything take a little more?”

She remembered standing in the kitchen of Il Bastone, screaming at Darlington. “Where were you?” she’d demanded. “Where were you?” Where had Lethe and all of its mysteries been when she was a child in desperate need of saving?

Darlington had heard her that night. He hadn’t argued. He’d known she wanted to break things and he’d let her.

“We can go,” Alex said. “We can smash this thing to dust.” It was...

“Don’t worry,” said Turner. “I’ll be back with a sledgehammer.”

“Alex?” The voice was soft, nervous. She peered into the gloom. “Tripp? Jesus, is that ice cream?”

That explained the backpack full of food, but Alex wondered why Tripp hadn’t just lied on his application to whatever investment bank or trading firm he wanted to work for in Manhattan. The Helmuth name would open every door, and no one was going to raise questions when a third-generation legacy wrote B.A. in Economics, Yale University on his CV. But she wasn’t going to say that. Tripp was just dopey and sincere enough that he wouldn’t consider an outright lie.

“Man, Stern. I knew you were all right.” “You too, buddy.” Alex offered up her knuckles for a fist bump and Tripp beamed.

She found herself fantasizing about a life not only without fear but without ambition. She would read, and go to class, and live in an apartment with good light. She would feel curious instead of panicked when people mentioned artists she didn’t know, authors she’d never read. She would have a stack of books by her bedside table. She would listen to Morning Becomes Eclectic. She would get the jokes, speak the language; she would become fluent in leisure.

“Darlington vanished, I saw it happen. Not just his soul, his body too.” One moment he’d been there with her, a scream on his lips, and then he was gone, along with the sound of his cry. There’d been no echo, no fade, just sudden silence.

Alex stared at Dawes. Pamela Dawes, who had saved her life more than once and who was prepared to walk side by side with her straight through the gates of hell.

“Yes,” Alex snapped. “And I’m not going to apologize for it. She’s the one who fished me out of my own misery last year. She’s the one who called my mom and made sure I was okay when you were holed up at your sister’s house watching old sitcoms and hiding under the blankets.” Dawes ducked her chin into her sweatshirt and Alex felt instantly terrible.

“I don’t want you to get hurt.” “Because you’d feel guilty.” “Because I like you!” Alex shouted. She forced herself to lower her voice. “And yes, I’d feel guilty. I rescue you, you rescue me. That’s what you said, remember?”

Mercy stuck her hand out. “Mercy Zhao, roommate and bodyguard.” Dawes shook it. “I … Pamela Dawes. Doctoral candidate and…” Alex sighed. “Just say it.” “Oculus.” “That’s a really good code name,” said Mercy. “It’s my office,” Dawes said with as much dignity as she could muster. “We’re not spies.”

“You’re Virgil now. It’s your call.” Alex threw up her hands. “Fuck it. Mercy Zhao, welcome to Lethe.”

What must be understood is that demons are creatures of appetite. So though their powers are virtually without limit, their understanding is decidedly more constrained.

But while the knuckles’ provenance is shaky, the magic is not, and this most useful gift was added to the armory in 1998, in celebration of Lethe’s centennial.

“This is real life,” Alex reminded her, holding up a glue stick. “The stuff with Lethe … that’s the distraction.”

Alex threw herself through the window with a loud crash and felt the prickle of glass slicing her skin. Then she was running.

she didn’t want to be alone.

Alex nearly burst into tears when Turner actually picked up. “Stern,” he said, his voice flat. “Turner, I need your help.” “What else is new?” “Can you come get me?” “Where are you?” he asked. “I’m not sure.” She craned her neck, looking for a sign. “Darien.” “Why can’t you call a car?” She didn’t want to call a car. She didn’t want to be near another stranger. “I … Something happened to me. I need a ride.” There was a long pause, then sudden silence, as if he’d turned off a television. “Text me your address.” “Thanks.”

“Do you want me to stay with you?” the teacher asked. “Would you? Until my ride gets here?” “You’re going to be okay.” Alex managed a smile. “Because I seem like a good kid?” The teacher looked surprised. “No, kiddo. Because you’re a killer.”

“What happened to those people back in Los Angeles?” he pushed. “Helen Watson. Your boyfriend Leonard Beacon. Mitchell Betts. Cameron Aust. Dave Corcoran. Ariel Harel.” The same thing that happens to anyone who gets close to me.

“You believe what you need to, Stern. But I know what I saw when I walked into that room back at Black Elm.” “What?” Alex asked, though some part of her desperately didn’t want to know. “The devil,” said Turner. “The devil trying to make his way out.”

She hadn’t been afraid, truly afraid, in a long time.

She climbed the stairs to the ballroom, and Darlington was there, in the circle, but

he was her Darlington,

just as she remembered him the night he’d disappeared from Rosenfeld Hall, handsome, human, dressed in his long...

“There are two of you,” Alex said. “There have to be,” Darlington replied. “The boy and the monster. I am the hermit in the cave.” “I saw everything. In your grandfather’s memories. I saw you try to survive this place.” “It wasn’t all bad.” Alex felt her lips twist. “Of course it wasn’t. If it was all bad, you could just let go.” “When did you get so wise, Stern?” “When you went on sabbatical to purgatory.”

“No. Never. They turned the power off, after I inherited this place. They thought they could freeze me out.”

“Is this real?” she asked. But Darlington only smiled. “This isn’t the time for philosophy.”

“Tell me how to reach you.” “Come closer, Stern. I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

“Galaxy Stern,” Darlington said, his eyes flashing gold, “I have been crying out to you from the start.”