Sixth Grave on the Edge(31)

“What?” I asked, my adrenaline level still high. My disbelief even higher. He wasn’t worried about the Twelve. He was angry with me. Me! What had I done now?

He shook his head and returned his attention starboard. When he spoke, his voice was low, calculated. “You did exactly what I said you would.”

“What? I have my soul. And my dignity. He didn’t get either one.”

“That’s debatable. You made a deal with him.”

“For the survival of humankind,” I said defensively. “Or something like that. Who are the Twelve?”

It took him a while to answer. Brooding did that. Took its time. Meandered. Wandered around, oblivious of the needs and impatience of others. It was kind of like a small child that way. Just when I was about to fill the uncomfortable void of silence with the theme song from Gilligan’s Island, he answered. Disappointment washed over me.

“The Twelve are most commonly referred to on my plane as the Twelve Beasts of Hell. But here on earth, they are most often referred to as hellhounds.”

“Hellhounds?” I asked, astonished. “For real? They’re hellhounds?”

“Yes. They were imprisoned centuries ago. It would seem they’ve escaped.”

I let a whistle slip through my lips. “Honest-to-goodness hellhounds. That’s unreal. Why were they imprisoned?”

“Have you ever met a hellhound?” He worked his jaw. “They’re unruly. Uncontrollable. They kill anything and everything in their paths. They were one of my father’s experiments gone bad.”

My fingers tightened around the steering wheel. “He created them?”

“Yes.”

“Like he created you?”

“No, not really. My father created me from his own flesh, which is why I am his son. He created no other being like me.” He gave me a sideways glance. “That’s not arrogance. It’s simply fact. One I’m not proud of.”

I was still busy trying to wrap my head around the whole hellhound thing. “Wait, what about the Dealer? You said he didn’t fall from heaven.”

“He was a slave, one of millions, also created by my father.”

“You called him Daeva.”

“Many scholars on earth believe Daeva and demons are one and the same. They are wrong. Demons, true demons, fell from heaven. They are the Fallen sons.”

“So, like, they’re purebred while the Daeva are, I don’t know, clones?”

“They are slaves. Period.”

I didn’t like that word unless I was using it to refer to Cookie. “You know, traditionally, slaves are simply an undervalued race of people. They are every bit as good and worthy as you or I.”

“Daeva are not a race,” he said, his voice hardening. “They are a creation of my father’s.”

“Why do you feel so much animosity toward them?” I asked, surprised.

“Who says I do?”

“Reyes, come on.”

“It’s complicated,” he answered at last. “When God first created the angels, they were referred to as the sons of God until he had one true son, created to lead humans, to clear their paths into Heaven. In that same sense, when my father first created the Daeva, they were called the sons of Satan until he had a one true son. Me. Then they were nothing but Daeva. They were not Fallen. They were not the sons. They simply were. And just as some angels became enraged by what they perceived as injustice from God’s favoritism of man over his own creations, some of the Daeva felt slighted when my father sought to create me. It complicated matters.”

“But you knew him? The Dealer?”

“Everyone knew him. He was a champion. He was the fastest and strongest being in hell, but he was a slave, destined to always be a slave. It was a position he didn’t care for.”

“I can’t imagine why,” I said, letting the sarcasm drip off my tongue. Then Reyes’s words sank in. “Wait, was he faster than you?”

Without looking at me, he nodded. I sucked in a soft breath of air.

“Stronger?”

After a lengthy pause, he said, “Yes. We never fought, but if we had, he would have won.”

I wouldn’t have been more surprised if a two-by-four appeared out of nowhere and slammed into my face. “So, really? He can beat you?”

“I believe he could have, yes, but that was in hell. This is a different plane with a different set of rules. Who’s to say what he can do here?”

“But why did you try to go up against him? If he’s that dangerous, why risk it?” When he didn’t answer, I pushed him, growing angry that he would risk himself so frivolously. “Reyes, why would you do that?”