Hell Bent (Alex Stern, #2)

by Leigh Bardugo

I’m coming to get you, Darlington.

Darlington as she remembered him, as he’d been in her dream, handsome and human in his long, dark coat. No horns. No glowing tattoos.

“Please,” he gritted out. “Can’t … stop.”

When Darlington spoke, she’d seen the whole scene waver—the ruin of Black Elm, the bruised sky, Darlington himself.

Darlington didn’t look up, but he spoke that word again: “Please.”

When he looked up, his eyes met hers, and in them she saw the anguish of ten thousand hours, of a year lost to suffering. She saw guilt in them too, and shame, and she understood: That golden demon was Darlington too. He was both prisoner and guard here in hell, tortured and torturer.

“I knew you’d come,” he said.

The box rattled in her hands. She could feel him in there, feel the vibration in her palms. His soul. She was holding his soul in her hands, and the power of it coursed through her, too bright to contain. It had a sound, the ring of steel on steel. “I’ve got you,” she whispered.

She’d promised Darlington she would get him out.

Darlington was fighting the wolves, and he was neither demon nor man but both. His horns blazed golden as he wrenched one of the beasts off Turner and hurled it into the rubble. It yelped and fell in a heap, its back broken.

“Go,” he said, voice deep and commanding. “I’ll keep them at bay.” “I won’t leave you.”

“Go,” Darlington insisted.

But Alex couldn’t. Not when they were this close,

not when she’d held his soul i...

“Please,” she begged. “Come with us. We can—” Darlington’...

“You found me once, Stern. You’ll find me again. Now go.” He turne...

I am without energy or will to record what has happened. I know only despair. There is but one word I need write that may encompass our sins: hubris.

“Black Elm isn’t Lethe property. And someone has to take care of Cosmo. Of both of them.”

They should be gathering at Il Bastone, healing up for the next fight, making a plan. She thought of the house waiting for them. Did it know what they had attempted? Was it wondering why they hadn’t returned?

“Are you still with Tripp?” Alex asked. Her voice was thready and breathless. “Get to Il Bastone.” “We’re not allowed at Il Bastone.” “Dawes, just get there. And get Turner and Tripp there too.” “Alex—” “Just fucking do it! I brought something back with me. Something bad.”

Alex recognized them all. She’d seen them in hell. All of their victims. All of their demons.

“If Anselm could have locked us out, he would have.

This is our house.”

Alex saw the signs. They were all shivering with the cold. Tripp had dark smudges beneath his eyes, his usually ruddy cheeks gone sallow. She had never seen Turner anything less than immaculate, but now his suit was rumpled and there was stubble on his chin. They looked haunted.

Literally. I think it drained away his hope and stole his life.” “But you said Reiter was, uh … a vampire.” Tripp whispered the word, as if he knew how unlikely it sounded. “Vampires are demons,” Dawes said quietly. “At least that’s one theory.”

“Shit, Dawes,” said Tripp, grinning as if Spenser and every other bad thing had been forgotten, “can you please just come stay in my loft and make me fat?” Dawes rolled her eyes, but Alex could tell she was pleased.

A salt sculpture of a snake nestled in the palm of her hand, sleeping in a circle, its flat head resting against its body.

“How do you know all of this?” Alex asked. “I was a really lonely kid. The advantage to being unpopular is you get a lot more reading done.” Alex shook her head. “Boy, did you come to the right place.”

cat?” Turner asked, peering at the sculpture in his palm. Dawes released a sob and pressed her hand over her mouth. “Not just any cat,” Alex said, feeling an unwelcome ache in the back of her throat.

There was a scar across one of the cat’s eyes, and there was no mistaking that indignant face. The ritual had chosen Cosmo as Darlington’s guardian, although she doubted that was the cat’s true name.

“The alternate spell requires that I remove someone’s tibia to stir the pot.” “No, thank you,” said Turner. “I can make it fairly painless.” “No, thank you.”

Alex remembered the address moths Darlington had used to remove her tattoos, a gift he’d given her, an attempt to show her that the uncanny might be good for something other than causing her misery. This was the cozy magic of childhood imagining. Friendly spirits offering protection. Cats and snakes and winged beasts to stand guard over their hearts.

She tucked the salt Cosmo into her pocket, beside the Arlington Rubber Boots box she carried with her everywhere now. She nee...

But she was alive and Hellie was dead and she was going to protect what was hers—even if she didn’t deserve it, even if it might not be hers for much longer. “This isn’t your life,” she said to the thing that wasn’t Hellie. “And you are trespassing.”

This is my home, she vowed, and nothing will take it from me.

“Now that I know magic is real?” Mercy had put on a vintage pajama set and slathered her face with cream. “No way. But wouldn’t it be easier to come and go with all of this Lethe stuff if we didn’t have to worry about Lauren asking questions?” “I’m not in Lethe anymore,” Alex reminded her. “Neither are you. And we’re being hunted by demons.” “I know, but … I can’t just go back to not knowing.”

“Just do it, Virgil.” Dawes had never called her that. Alex managed a shaking breath.

“Hellie told me I stole her life,” Alex said. “That I should have been the one to die, not her.” “That isn’t true!”

“It isn’t true, Dawes. We have to keep saying it until we believe it.” It was just too easy to let those words take hold.

She looked at the Grays in front of her. Not just any Grays. Harper Arlington and Daniel Arlington IV. Darlington’s parents.

She remembered Darlington in the dream, human and heartbroken. I don’t know how to not love them. Apparently he’d figured it out.

Darlington crouched in the wreckage, his horns glowing, his golden eyes like searchlights. He looked bigger than he had before, his back broader. He growled, and in the sound she heard a word, maybe a name, but she couldn’t make sense of it.

Darlington roared, the sound like the thunder of a subway train. He slashed at the floor, leaving deep trenches in the wood. She thought of the claw marks in his parents’ chests.

It was Darlington who called her Stern.

And yet the lure was right in front of me all along. I just had to put his damsel in distress. Of course he came running.”

Because he was their killer. Because she was a killer too. Harper and Daniel Arlington shoved their way out of her body, leaving her weak and breathless.

She ran toward Darlington. He lay naked on the stairs, the glow from his markings dimming, the jeweled yoke bright against his neck. The burn was black and cut across his chest. Her snakes lay in charred, wriggling heaps, scorched by Anselm’s fire.

“Come on, Danny. Stay with me. Tell me how to fix this mess.” Darlington’s golden eyes opened. Their glow was fading, turning milky. “Stern…” His voice sounded distant, a bare echo. “The box…”

The Arlington Rubber Boots box was in her coat pocket. She kept it with her always.

“I’ll hold on as long as I can. Get to hell. Bring my soul back.”