Hell To Pay by Matthew Hughes

Author:Matthew Hughes [Hughes, Matthew]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: fantasy, urban fantasy, hell, Chesney Arnstruther, superpowers, demon sidekick, hellish adventure, sell your soul
ISBN: 9780857661647
Publisher: Angry Robot
Published: 2013-03-07T00:00:00+00:00

“We’re here to see Poppy Paxton,” Chesney told the butler when he answered the door.

“Miss Paxton is not receiving,” the man said, as if from a great height.

“I believe she will be happy to receive us,” Chesney said.

“Be that as it may, my instructions are…” The rest of the sentence was lost as the door closed in Chesney’s and Simon’s faces.

“I’d have that slave whipped,” the magician said.

“He’s not a… Never mind,” Chesney said. “Xaphan, I think we need to do this the quiet way.”

“Any way you say, boss.”

“Where is she?”

“In the glass room with all the plants.”

“Is she alone?”

“Yeah.”

“OK,” the young man said. He told the demon to have them appear in the room outside Poppy’s field of vision, as if they’d just walked in. Then he asked Simon how long a cure would take.

“It never takes long,” was the answer.

“Like the old man with the stroke?”

“Yes.”

“Then, Xaphan, if anybody else in the house is heading for the conservatory while we’re in there, you arrange for them to be distracted.”

The demon nodded and took a puff on its cigar. “Distracted they’ll be.”

Chesney was about to say, “Let’s go,” but instead he thought for a moment, then added, “When I say ‘distracted’ I mean that they just thought of something else they needed to do. Not that something jumped out of a closet and scared them half to death.”

“Oh,” said the fiend. “That kind of distracted.”

“Yes, not the kind that will have them waking up screaming for the rest of their lives.”

“Gotcha,” said the demon. “Now?”

“Now.”

The plant-filled room was humid, the air heavy with vegetative odors. Xaphan eased them into the space behind a huge spreading fern near the old French doors. Chesney could see Poppy sitting in a white wicker chair underneath a potted palm. She was looking up into the fronds, vague puzzlement on her face.

“I distracted her, too,” the demon said.

“Good,” said Chesney, then to Simon, “Come on.”

They stepped out from behind the fern and crossed the floor. Poppy’s gaze came around and found them. If she was surprised, it didn’t show.

“Hello, Poppy,” Chesney said.

She cocked her head at him. “Have we met?”

“I used to work for your father.”

“Oh.”

She looked down at her hands. After a while, Chesney realized that she wasn’t going to look up again unless she had a reason. “This is Simon,” he said. “He might be able to help you.”

She looked up. “To do what?”

“To get better.”

“Better than what?”

Chesney had spent almost all of his life without experiencing guilt, even though he was raised to his late teens by one of the world’s most skilled practitioners at the inducing of remorse: his mother. Letitia could have conducted master classes in the art of making people feel just awful. His autism had insulated him. Now, for the first time, he was confronted by the evidence of a wrecked life, for which wreckage he was largely responsible.

A bubble rose to burn the back of his throat. He found it hard to speak, and even harder to meet the young woman’s wide-eyed gaze.

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