House Infernal by Edward Lee (19 page)

Ruth laughed. "What a male whore!"

"Don't laugh too hard, Ruth. During your stint on earth,
you'd had sex with five hundred and forty-seven men."

"BuIIsh-"

"And another seventy-six women. So your tally's got
me beat by a long shot."

"Fucker. And you're faker than me anyway. Priests
aren't supposed to have sex."

"I didn't become celibate until I got into the seminary.
But before that? I was a sinner extraordinare. When I was
in Vietnam, we'd go on leave to Bangkok and I'd hop
from one bordello to another. Man, oh, man, was I a piece
of garbage. But then I found God, and if you let Him into
your heart, He forgives everything."

Ruth chuckled. "If He forgave everything, he wouldn't
have dropped your ass in Purgatory instead of Heaven,
would he?"

"Good point. There are catches."

"Yeah, that's real fuckin' fair. You're gonna get to
Heaven one day, but I'm stuck here. And you can kiss my
ass and so can God. It's bullshit, man. My sins are no
worse than yours and you fucking know it."

"You're right, but there's a difference, Ruth. Every time
you turned a trick or lied, cheated, or stole, or whatever ... each and every time you knew it was wrong. But
you were never sorry for it, were you?"

Ruth huffed. "No."

Alexander fell silent.

She jabbed a finger. "But you can bet your hypocritical Catholic ass that I am now. But that doesn't matter, either,
does it, holy man?"

"Quit crying, Ruth. Trust me, nobody gets the opportunity you're going to get if we pull this off."

She smirked with cynicism. "And what if we don't?
What if we fuck up royally?"

"Then we're both in deep shhhhh ... Deep stuff."

"And if we do pull it off, you go to Heaven?"

"Yeah. That's what they said anyway. And a thousand
years late, you go to Purgatory ... if you're a good girl."

Ruth glared. "You didn't tell me about that part. I'm not
real good at being good."

Alexander smiled cockily. "A thousand years is plenty
of time to redeem yourself and prove a worthy servant of
God."

This just sounds like more and more jive, Ruth thought. But
what did she have better to do? "So why are you buying
me new clothes?

"Because you need a job."

Ruth groaned. "I'm not good with jobs either, man.
Conning people, ATMs, dope dealing, sure. But really
working? You got the wrong girl."

"Actually, Ruth, you're the perfect girl."

"How the fuck do you figure?"

"Your own pride is the answer. You're not just goodlooking, you're great-looking."

Ruth couldn't help but be flattered.

"The Human Damned weather fast in Hell. You're a
cinch to get the job. With your body and this outfit, I can't
see them not hiring you. Very few inhabitants can afford
an outfit like this, only the very upper-crust of the aristocracy. Trust me."

She rolled her eyes. "What? A strip joint?"

"No, no. Just ... trust me."

Ruth hated it when men said that. Did it matter that he
was a priest? Probably some secretary shit. "Well, I'm just
telling you. I've never held a regular job for long."

"Don't worry, you'll probably only be working this job
for about an hour."

"What the fuck?" she said, dismayed. "You're spending two grand on clothes so I can work for a fucking
hour?"

The torso's head leaned forward. "She's coming back!
Keep your voice down!"

The tooth curtain clattered, and in walked the Succubus. She held up odd garments on a hanger covered
with a plastic bag. "Turn around, miss. I'll dress you."

Ruth snatched the hanger away. "I'll dress myself. Now
get lost, will ya?"

The Succubus scowled and looked to Alexander.
"That'll be all for now, thanks," he said. She whisked out.

"How do you like that monster-dyke? I just might kick
her can before we shove off."

"Not a good idea, Ruth. She's a state employee, and
since she's also a Succubus, she'd more than likely suck
your innards out through your mouth and consume them.
Then she'd drain your blood for the shop's distillery, sell
your breasts to a Body Boutique, pawn your ovaries to a
Hexegenic Vendor, and trade what's left to the District
Pulping Station."

Guess I won't be kicking her can.

"Try the bra on first," the priest suggested.

She held it up and gaped. "You gotta be shitting me!"

If Alexander had had hands, he would've been rubbing
his temples by now. "Just ... try it on."

Two hands twice the size of 'a human male's had been
linked at the tips of the middle fingers. A glittery strap
dangled off each wrist. Furthermore, the hands were covered with hair brown as almond skin, and from each fingertip sprouted a talon like a bear's.

"It's a Hand-Bra, Ruth," Alexander detailed. "Probably
a Lycan-Pimp. All werewolves in Hell are either prostitutes or panderers."

Ruth held the bra away from her as though it were a
flap of rotten meat. "A bra made of werewolf hands?"

"Yes, Ruth. And, please, keep your voice down. You can
get a bit shrill-it's giving me a big headache. Now, just
try it on."

"I'm not wearing a bra made of fuckin' werewolf hands!"
she yelled, her face turning red.

Alexander closed his eyes, staving off an outburst of his
own. After a few seconds, he said very quietly, "Ruth. I've
explained over and over. Things are different here.
They're opposite. You may be repulsed by the nature of
that garment, but all the same, here in Hell it's highfashion. It's the most expensive bra a woman can wear.
You'll be admired. You'll be envied. More important, it'll
further us on our mission."

"Fuck the mission! I'm not wearing a bra made of fuckin'
werewolf hands!"

Alexander's torso almost flopped over at Ruth's cannonade of objection. "Stop being selfish. We're working
for God right now-"

Ruth laughed gutturally. "Oh, well, in that case, God
can wear the bra made of fuckin' werewolf hands!"

"And as I've told you, God will reward you for your
service if we complete this mission. The fact of the matter
is, if you refuse to wear these garments, you won't get
hired at this place I'm taking you to. Then you'll have to
spend eternity in this evil city."

Blackmail. Oh my God I can't believe this bullshit! She
stared at the hideous brassiere for a while longer, contemplating the word eternity, then contemplating the stuff
she'd seen in only one day of being in Hell.

Ruth ground her teeth and put the bra on.

"Perfect fit!" Alexander said.

The pads of the paws felt atrociously warm. And when
she'd finished tying the straps, the furred fingers slowly
constricted and began to gently knead her breasts.

Ruth didn't bother yelling anymore. It could serve no
practical purpose. "These hands are still alive, aren't
they?"

"Yep. They've been incantated with a Longevity Spell.
Fifty-year shelf-life. Why do you think the bra cost so
much?"

Ruth shuddered at the awful sensation.

"Now," Alexander said, "it's time to try on the
Tongue-Skirt.-

When Ruth finally walked out of Lilith's Womens &
Demonswear Annex #5315, she felt more nauseous than
the time she'd downed ten Jager Bombs at the Beach
Lounge in St. Pete and then followed them up with five
tequila oyster shooters.

"You're a good, strong girl, Ruth," the priest said from
her back. "Lots of resolve, full of self-sacrifice. I'm proud
of you."

Puck, she thought.

The Tongue-Skirt, by the way, was exponentially worse
than the Hand-Bra. Stitched together from tongues of a
variety of Demonic species, it, too, was still alive, each
tongue quivering over Ruth's bare skin the instant she
stepped into the skimpy garment. The tongues were
mostly brown and black, but there were also a few pink
Human tongues included in the living fabric.

"Thanks for not making me wear that evil shit out of
there," she said, huffing along the spongy Pestiferous
Street South. After the fitting, the priest had allowed her
to re-don her Living World clothes. The new garments
were put in a fancy bag.

"Don't want any denizens seeing you in the stuff,"
Alexander said. "They'd pulp us and steal the clothes."

Great. "And if somebody pulped us," she said wanting
to get it clear, "we still wouldn't die?"

No, we wouldn't. If our bodies were completely destroyed, our eternal souls would be reassigned into the
nearest life-form. Look over there-that red tree."

Ruth saw some brownish-black thing swelling from the
size of an avocado to the size of a grapefruit. Did it have
little legs underneath?

"If your Spirit Body was completely destroyed," the
priest went on, "your head crushed, your brain mashed,
and your heart diced, then your soul would slip into that
thing on the tree. It's a Caco-Tick. They like tree sap, but at night, they sneak into the Ghettoblocks and hunt for
sleeping Humans. They sink tubules like dialysis needles
into your brain stem and suck out all your spinal fluid. It's
their favorite meal."

Ruth stumbled on, her flip-flops slapping soft pavement. Everywhere she looked-the rot-caked town, the
hideous passersby, the bloody sky full of stinking black
smoke-just made her sicker and sicker.

"Turn left here."

She saw a street sign that read PITUITOUS BLVD., and
turned.

"And now are you ready for some good news?" the
talking torso asked from her back.

"How good can it be in this fuckin' puke bucket of a
town?"

"We're finished in Rot-Port. We'll never have to come
here again."

"Cool!" Ruth's gait gained momentum. It was good
news. "Where are we going next?"

"To-well ... another District."

"Yeah? What's it called?"

"And it's pretty close, too."

"Cool, but what's it called?"

"There are other Districts we could go to in order to
achieve the same purpose, but they're farther away. Big
hassle to get to," the priest continued.

"I gotcha," Ruth said. She was starting to get annoyed.
"But-"

"And I can guarantee that there's not a speck of rot in
this District-"

Ruth stopped. Her blond hair flew when she jerked her
head back. "What's the place fucking called?"

The priest paused on his harness of Demonic belts. Was
he reluctant to tell her the next District's name?

"It's called Sewageton."

Sewage? Ruth thought.

"The Waste District."

"You fucker!" Ruth bellowed.

"But we'll only be there a little while," Alexander has tened to say. "There's only one thing we have to do. Then
we can leave."

Ruth watched a steam-car full of Imps chug by. They
were eating Demonic baby heads off sticks like candy apples. Sharpened spikes jutted from the vehicle's front
grill-

For a moment, Ruth entertained the idea of jumping in
front of it, and taking the priest with her. But then I'd just
turn into a fuckin' tick, she remembered.

Utterly disheartened, she asked, "What do we have to
do in Seuaageton that's so important?"

Alexander beamed behind her. "That's the place where
I get a new set of arms and legs."

"What a wonderful girl, so full of initiative," " Mrs. Newlwyn complimented.

Venetia looked over her shoulder and saw the tall, statuesque woman striding out of the kitchen entry. "Good
morning, Mrs. Newlwyn. I thought I'd get right to work
after I got up." Venetia had taken it upon herself to resume the masking tape duties downstairs. She saw now
that she was nearly to the last window.

"But you missed breakfast," " the older woman paused
to say.

"I know. I fell asleep later than I'd planned to." A semifib. The real reason she'd skipped breakfast was because
last night's bizarre experience had stolen her appetite: the
dream and, of course, the word on the wall beneath the
plaster.

I was tired, that's all. I saw the word beforehand and just
thought the voice in the dream told me what it was. Then,
Damn it.

In spite of her conviction that it all was just a dream,
she'd called her mother anyway.

And asked her to do a Web search of those two names.

Thomas Alexander, a priest from Virginia, and Ruth
Bridges from Florida.

And it'll be nothing ...

Mrs. Newlwyn offered a stem smile. "Don't let yourself
get run-down, dear. All this hard work, in this heat? Don't
take your youth for granted. It's one of God's greatest
worldly gifts."

"I know," Mrs. Newlwyn." Venetia pulled off another
strip of tape. "But I won't miss lunch, that's for sure."

"Okay, then." The older woman retained the stern
smile and walked quickly back to her business.

"You'd think she was your own mother," Dan said,
coming up behind her. He wore jeans, sneakers, and his
black cleric shirt and Roman collar.

"Hi. And yeah, there is something maternal about her. I
like her. She's like an old-fashioned schoolmarm."

Dan looked down the long wall. "You've finished taping all the windows. I was going to help you for a few
minutes."

"Just a few minutes?" she joked.

"I have attic duty, remember?"

Venetia smiled at the recollection. "Yes, thanks to your
rapier wit." She looked to her left and saw that no more
windows needed taping. Then she noticed Dan. He appeared disconcerted. "How come you're not your usual
slyly smiling self?"

He seemed to chew a thought, as if he didn't know
whether to elaborate. "Just saw something funny last
night."

"Funny?" She stowed the tape, brushed off her hands.
"You're not laughing, are you?"

His eyes drifted to a window. "After I butt-faced myself
in range of Driscoll's ear, I went to my room. Wasn't that
tired so I read some of Paul's Gospel-easily the best
writer of the Apostles."

"I'm partial to John but I do agree. Paul's expository
skill blew everyone else away." She continued to note his
odd expression. "So..."