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“That’s great and I hope you have a nice drive home, but we’re losing the others. Let’s just ease back a little, okay?”

She looks back, her wings moving restlessly. I don’t think angels are used to being in such closed-in places. For all her talk about wanting to get into the fight, I think she wants out of this nauseating, brambled puke garden more than we do.

Bill and Candy are scratched pretty nicely when they catch up. Bill is breathing hard. It has to be toughest on him. A damned soul, this kind of torment is designed to make him as miserable as possible. But Candy isn’t looking so great either. I’m glad I gave her my old coat. At places it’s ripped all the way down to the motocross pads. She’s breathing hard.

“You okay? Want to slow down a little?”

She shakes her head.

“It’s just this mist. I can’t get a good breath. It’s making me dizzy.”

I look back at Hesediel.

“Maybe you were right. Getting out of here fast might be the best move. Let’s keep going, but take a chance and move a little closer to the road. We’ll get better air over there.”

No one argues with that. Hesediel cuts over to the right a few dozen yards and the rest of us follow, trying not to fall too far behind.

We hear the sound of a van going down the hill. As it passes, we can just make it out through the trees. I was right. The air is better over here, but we’re still too deep in this shaggy shit pit to be seen. We keep moving.

Finally, there’s a break in the tree line ahead. Now we move slowly again, getting right to the edge of the forest. We’re to the side of the mansion, almost around back. Hesediel looks fine, even with a couple of scratches on her perfect face. But Candy and Bill are pale and panting.

“Let’s rest here for a while. We need to check out the scene to get an idea how many guards are around.”

All Candy and Bill can do is nod. They walk back a few yards to a clear patch of filth. Bill slides down the side of a tree, ripping his shirt on some thorns. Candy drops down next to him, landing on some stinking flowers. Hesediel and I follow the tree line to the front of the house.

What we see is just peculiar. Outside the mansion, four Hellion guards don’t even pretend to patrol the place. Their rifles are slung low on their shoulders, the muzzles pointed down. They pass Maledictions and flasks of Aqua Regia around the circle like they’re on a corporate playdate without a care in the world. Hesediel frowns at me. I shake my head because I don’t have a clue what’s going on either.

I whisper, “Maybe there are more inside?”

“There are sure to be more, but if they’re like these miserable creatures, we won’t need a fire or a Gladius. We’ll send them running with a sharp rap on the nose.”

As we watch, the front door opens. A couple of more Hellions come out, but they just join the others drinking and smoking. Hesediel and I move around so that we have a better view of the front of the mansion. We have a few more boring minutes, but it’s worth it, because we find out why Moe, Larry, and the other Hellion Stooges are in complete fuck-off mode.

A small man dressed all in gray comes outside. His name is Arwan and he and his men saved my life in Kill City.

Back home, people call them Grays or Gray Folk. They’re not like the Sub Rosa or Lurkers. They come from a whole different ancient line of hoodoo. No one even knows if what they do can be considered regular magic. The don’t use spells or potions or clever puns. They simply will things to happen and they happen. They’re like weird little forces of nature. Also, they fight like ninjas with a finger jammed on the fast-forward button. I owe them a pretty big favor after Kill City and I wasn’t able to pay it back at the time. I don’t know why they’re here, but if I can clear my ledger, I’ll worry about what they’re doing in Hell later.

It takes another twenty or so minutes for the Hellions to stop fucking around. A couple of them go back inside the house and the other four wander off to pretend they’re doing their jobs. There’s a pretty good chance that Arwan could kick my ass in a straight-up fight, but I hope it won’t come to that. He’s a warrior, but he’s also a hustler, and that works in my favor.

I motion for Hesediel to move back farther into the trees. She gives me a what-the-fuck face, but I wave her off. When she’s back far enough, I get as close to the tree line as I dare and sort of whisper-yell.

“Arwan.”

He looks around.

“Arwan.”

He zeroes in on my voice and stares for a minute. Then he laughs at me. He takes his time wandering over.

“Do my eyes deceive me or is it the welsher come calling?”

“Arwan, what the hell are you doing down here? You look like you’re still alive.”

“Of course I’m alive, you dolt. And so are my men.”

“Then what are you doing in Hell?”

“I told you when we last met and you cheated us out of our bargain, the Gray men go where there’s paying work. We’re not scrounges like some I could mention. Now you tell me, what is a silly bastard like you and that angel hiding over there doing here?”