LITMIR.BIZ

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surveyed the damage, desperately seeking a thick black tome. He spied it in the corner, off by itself. As if waiting for him.

      He dashed for it even as the sorcerer came around the corner, his hands glowing brighter. Quinn had a feeling that if he was hit by another wave of magic he wasn’t going to be getting up so easily. He’d crossed paths with the sorcerers before, but this one’s magic seemed much more powerful.

      Ducking to grab the book, he barely missed being hit by a large orb of green. It crashed into the wall just above him. Liquid green sparks rained down on him, burning holes in his skin. He sucked in a breath to deal with the pain and shoved the book into his satchel.

      If he could just make it to the kitchen, he could escape out the back. He had an escape route planned in advance. One he’d practiced repeatedly. He’d dash across the yard, out the back gate, down the alley and over the fence of his neighbors who had two dogs he’d already made friends with. After going through their yard, out the front and down another block, he’d get to the old junker he had sitting there. The keys were sitting on the right front wheel, under the fender.

      But the thoughts were moot. Just as he reached the archway to the kitchen, he felt the impact on his back.

      Quinn catapulted forward. Luckily he had the presence of mind to put his hands out, so he didn’t land on his face. But he did manage to smash his knee against the kitchen island as he fell. Dark, searing pain surged over his back, up his neck and over his skull. His vision wavered.

      He tried to gain his feet, but dizziness seized him and he collapsed to his knees, agony bursting through the one he’d just battered. “Damn it!” he yelled.

      He half crawled, half pulled himself on his stomach, toward the back door. But it was pointless. He was down.

      “Admirable, Strom. But face it, I have more power than you do.”

      Quinn rolled onto his back to see the sorcerer limp into the kitchen, the little goblin trailing behind him.

      “Loir, grab the bag.”

      The little green creature shuffled past the sorcerer to where Quinn was sprawled out on the kitchen floor. He clutched the satchel to his chest. “Touch it, goblin, and I’ll bite your hand off.”

      The goblin grinned at him, showing off four rows of pointed, razor-sharp teeth. “Not before I bite yours off, first.”

      The sorcerer laughed.

      The goblin reached for the bag, but Quinn wouldn’t relinquish his hold on it. The creature dragged one sharp talon across the back of Quinn’s hand. His skin split open, bubbling with infection.

      “Jesus!” he dropped the bag and cradled his injured hand. The pain was intense. It made his head swim. Nausea filled his mouth.

      The creature took the bag and handed it to the sorcerer, then shuffled in beside its master.

      The sorcerer pulled open the leather bag, and withdrew a Holy Bible. He smiled when he saw it. “Cute.”

      The sorcerer opened it and flipped through the pages until, Quinn imagined, he came across Quinn’s hiding spot. He’d hollowed out pages of the book and set the key inside.

      The sorcerer tossed the Bible aside, and held up what he’d found between the pages. It was the key. The key that had been entrusted to Quinn to keep hidden. The key that unlocked the Chest of Sorrows, which contained a book that could end the world.

      The sorcerer closed his hand around it. “Thank you, Quinn. Give my best to the demon horde when you get to hell.” He turned on his boot heel and glanced down at the goblin. “Make it quick. We have places to be.”

      “Next time we meet, sorcerer, I’m going to bury that blade in your neck and watch you bleed out,” Quinn said.

      The sorcerer shook his head with a little smile at his lips. “So much drama, exorcist.”

      He hobbled out of the kitchen and Quinn could hear his steps through the living room and out the front door, leaving Quinn alone with the little assassin.

      The goblin tilted its head and looked at Quinn. “I have longed to meet you, Quinn Strom.”

      “Is that right?” Quinn cradled his hand to his chest. The infectious bubbling hadn’t stopped. The wound had widened and blood joined the phlegmy green liquid oozing out of his hand.

      “You are most famous in hell.”

      Quinn imagined he was. He’d exorcised hundreds of demons back to the fiery pits. He imagined he was hell’s Most Wanted. He wondered if there were posters of him nailed to the walls. He hoped they got his good side.

      The goblin neared him, regarding him curiously. “Are you afraid to die?”

      Quinn boldly met its gaze. “No. Are you?”

      “Is there anything you want to say before it happens?”

      He nodded. “Yeah, who was that sorcerer bastard?”

      “His name is Richter Collins.” It smiled, then reached for him.

      The goblin squeezed Quinn’s head between its mottled green hands. Quinn could feel the scaly skin on his cheeks. It leaned down and looked him straight in the eyes.

      “I will not kill you. She would hate it and I will not do that to her, although you have done worse to her, I think.”

      “Who are you talking about?”

      “You know who. The one you wronged. The one you loved, once upon a time. I am one of her loyal servants.”

      “And she sent you to get her revenge?” he spat.

      The goblin shook her head. “No, to save you, stupid man.”

      Before Quinn could respond, everything went dark.

       Chapter 3

      “Who has the key?”

      “I’m sure I don’t know what you are talking about.” Daeva pulled at the brown leather straps binding her to the iron chair. They were secure and she didn’t think any amount of wriggling was going to get her out of them. The torture room—there really wasn’t any reason not to call it that—was small and stifling, with no color anywhere except the dark brown stains on the stone that could be nothing but old blood.

      Her torturer loomed over her, a maniacal gleam in his inky black eyes. “Don’t bother. You can’t escape. Where would you go? Topside?”

      “Well, you can’t blame a girl for trying, now, can you?”

      He circled the chair that was bolted to the stone floor, leering at her, cleaning under his talons with the tip of the silver blade clasped in his hand. She wondered when he was going to use it on her. Likely after the theatrics. Lord Klaven did enjoy his drama.

      “You’d like to go back topside, wouldn’t you, Daeva?” he sneered. “To live like a human.”

      “Better than living like an animal like you, Klaven.”

      He chuckled, and it chilled her to the bone. “But you are like me, Daeva. I remember the fun we used to have together.”

      “That was millennia ago.”

      “True.” He leaned into her face, and she could smell the rotten meat on his breath. “But they were so deliciously twisted that I remember them like it was yesterday.” He licked his lips. “You were one depraved woman.”

      “Were is the operative word here. I’m not that person anymore.”

      “True.” He straightened and regarded her with contempt. “Now you are weak and human tainted.” He sniffed the air. “You still smell like the exorcist, even after all this time. Did you steal some of his clothing when he sent you back?”

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