Hell Bent (Alex Stern, #2)

by Leigh Bardugo

But we might just as well understand the story to posit this question: “Isn’t it a merry thing to cheat death?”

She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Dawes. You don’t know how sorry I am. But the car doesn’t matter. I matter. You matter. And I promise we’ll get it back. I just … I just need a little grace right now.” After a long moment, Dawes said, “Okay.” “Okay?” “Yes. For the time being. I’m sorry I was rude.” Then Alex did laugh. “You’re forgiven. And you should swear more, Dawes.”

“I don’t know,” Mercy said. “But if magic is real, I want to make a good impression.”

In Darlington she’d seen what grief over that loss could do to someone, but maybe the same mourning lived inside her too. The terrible knowledge that there would be no secret destiny, no kindly mentor to see some hidden talent inside her, no deadly nemesis to best.

That was the truth of magic—blood and guts and semen and spit, organs kept in jars, maps for hunting humans, the skulls of unborn infants. The problem wasn’t books and fairy tales, just that they told half the story, offering up the illusion of a world where only the villains paid in blood, the ogre stepmothers, the wicked stepsisters, where magic was just and without sacrifice.

Alex was embarrassed to feel a pang of jealousy at that proud look, another unpleasant reminder that she was the interloper here.

“I believe I should take the role of scholar. Given Turner’s religious leanings, he can take the office of priest.” “I can be the soldier,” Tripp offered. “You’re the prince,” said Alex. “I’m the soldier. I’ll walk first.” “That means you’ll also be the one to close the circuit,” warned Dawes. “You’ll walk that final stretch alone.”

She was the one who had let the hellbeast consume Darlington in that basement. She’d be the one to close the circle.

“What we’re doing is considered theft,” said Dawes. “We have no reason to think hell will give up a soul easily.” Tripp gave another nervous laugh. “Like a hell heist.” “Well…” Dawes mused. “Yes, that’s accurate.” “If it’s a heist, we should all have jobs,” said Tripp. “The thief, the hacker, the spy.”

“We do need to move fast and stay on our guard,” said Dawes. “Until the two parts of Darlington’s soul are brought together, we’ll be targets.”

“It’s precious,” Alex said. The dream of a world beyond ours, of magic made real. The way through the wardrobe, and maybe back again.

He was standing close to the circle’s edge, gaze locked on her. He was the demon she remembered, naked, monstrous, beautiful. Not the young man she’d spoken to in her dream.

“We’re coming to get you,” she said. “You need to be ready.” “I can’t hold on much longer.” “You have to. If … if it doesn’t work, we’ll come back to strengthen the protections.” “You can certainly try.”

“As you like, Wheelwalker. You choose the steps in this dance.” Alex wished that were true. She had the powerful urge to draw closer, but the fear inside her was just as strong.

“Was it you in the dream? Was it real? Is this?” His smile was the same as it had been in the dream when he said, “This isn’t the time for philosophy, Stern.”

“Why are you doing this?” he asked. The demon’s cool voice wavered, and he was only Darlington now, scared, desperate to find his way home. “Why risk your life and your soul?”

And Dawes loved Darlington. He’d been her friend, one of the few who had bothered to take the time to know her and too dear to lose because of that.

But what was Darlington to Alex? A mentor? A protector? An ally? None of those words seemed sufficient. Had some soft-boiled part of her fallen for the golden boy of Lethe? Or was this something less easily named than love or desire?

His sleeves were rolled up, and she’d been uncomfortably distracted by the shift of muscles in his forearms. She’d done her best to inoculate herself against Darlington’s beauty, but sometimes she still got caught off guard.

“We stand between the living and the dead, Stern. We wield the sword no one else dares lift. And this is the reward.” “A chance at a painful death?” she’d asked. “Heathen,”

“You didn’t turn away. Even when you didn’t like what you saw in me. You kept looking.” Darlington’s gaze shifted and flickered like firelight. Gold and then amber. Bright and then shadowed. “Maybe I know a fellow monster when I see one.”

Maybe they were just two killers, cursed to endure each other’s company, two doomed spirits trying to find their way home. Maybe they were monsters who liked the feeling of another monster looking back at them. But enough people had abandoned them both. She wasn’t going to be the next.

Dawes had somehow chosen the exact spot where Alex loved to sit and read and fall asleep with her boots on the grate of the heater. How many times had she looked out at the courtyard through the wavy glass of the windows without knowing she was looking at the gateway to hell?

Alex was in Lethe sweats. She didn’t know what this night would bring, but she was tired of losing perfectly good clothing to the arcane.

Dawes cast a desperate glance at Mercy and handed her the silver pitch pipe. “Watch over us,” she pleaded. “Run if you have to,” Alex said. Three. Their eyes met and they clasped the sides of the basin.

The Descent

Because she was the problem. She had always been the problem. The only real sinner in the bunch.

But Alex was the real thing. She’d taken a bat to Len, to Ariel, to all the rest, and she’d never lost a minute of sleep over the things she’d done. Something on the other side was waiting to claim her.

She was supposed to order pizza. Maybe she should cook instead. Alex had been heading upstairs to shower. They were grieving.

Together.

Wrong place, wrong time. But hadn’t she locked the door? And why was it still open? Where was Alex?

“A survivor,” Darlington had once said, admiration in his voice. “Rough around the edges, but we’ll see if we’ve mined a diamond, won’t we, Pammie?”

Pam’s first impulse had been to feed her. But the way you’d feed a stray, carefully, coaxingly, never from your hand.

Although she never asked anything of Dawes. She never gave her orders or made demands. She cleaned up her own messes and skulked around like a rat who was afraid of being noticed by the barn cats. There was no Could you do me a huge favor and whip up something so I can surprise my roommates? No Can I throw a few extra things in the wash?

Darlington had muttered his complaints about the girl, but then that night when they’d gone to Beinecke, everything had changed. They’d come back and smashed ...

She’d found them passed out in the parlor the next morning, but to Alex’s credit she’d stayed and tidied up right alongside Darlington.

She heard dishes crash from the kitchen, then a cry from above. Alex.

But God, she did not want to climb these stairs. She heard men’s voices, then Alex. She sounded furious, and so scared. Alex never sounded scared.

Why did she feel like a stranger in this house she’d spent years in?

She wasn’t made like Alex or Darlington. She was a scholar. She was a rabbit, timid and defenseless, no claws or teeth. Her only choice was to run. But where would she run with Darlington gone, the dean, Alex? Who would she be if she did nothing?

She wanted to believe she wouldn’t miss any part of her sad, wasted life, but she would miss this; she’d miss Alex. The longing for her, for one more moment of warmth, for one more breath, hurt worse than anything in life had.

Because Alex meant it. Alex still believed something good was bound to happen, had to happen to them.

Let me in. The thought comes from nowhere, a natural thing: She sees a door, and so she wishes to walk through it. Alex hears her. Hellie knows this because Alex says, “Stay.” Let me in. Is it a demand? Alex extends her hand. Hellie is ready. She is pouring into Alex. She is baptized in blue flame. The sorrow is gone and all she knows is how good the bat feels in her hand.

She doesn’t want to die. Not really. She just doesn’t want to feel anything anymore because everything feels bad. She wants to find her way back to this moment, to the sun, and the crowd, and the dream of her own potential. There is no worry about college or grades or the future. It will all come easy as it always has.

Alex is standing in an orchard full of black trees. Hellie wants to warn her not to eat the fruit that grows on them, but she is already floating, fading away. Not even a shrug now. Going. Going.

He wasn’t quite looking at her; in fact, no one was. None of them were making eye contact. They’d fallen through each other’s lives, seen the crimes they’d committed, big and small. No one should know another person that way, Alex thought. It’s too much.

“Alex,” whispered Dawes. “You’re … you’re on fire.” Alex looked down. Blue flame had ignited over her body, a low, shifting blaze, like the forest floor in a controlled burn. She touched her fingers to it, saw it move as if caught up by her touch. She remembered this flame. She’d seen it when she faced Belbalm. All worlds are open to us. If we are bold enough to enter.

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s go find Darlington.”

“Where exactly?” asked Turner. Alex met Dawes’s gaze. “Where else?” she said.

“Black Elm.”