Hell's Bells Read online

  Hell’s Bells

  By K.B. Draper

  Published 2021 K.B. Draper, LLC

  Copyright © 2021 K.B. Draper, LLC

  Cover art by Nick Freeman, Out Foxed Media

  Edited by Elizabeth Andersen

  ISBN 9798593772138

  www.kbdraper.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any form without permission from the author.

  To Stacy: Thank you for helping me bring this all together and for all the “what if” chats. I couldn’t do it without you.

  To Kris: Thank you for the writing dates and the gentle nudges and support. And fine, my next story, I MIGHT try to do the fluffy, love, heart stuff that you are so fond of, but I refuse to use all your girlie parts words—you know the ones.

  To Elizabeth: Thank you for putting your special smarts onto all this chaos.

  And to Kasey: Thank you for helping me fight the real-life demons.

  Author’s Note:

  From its conception, I’ve planned this story to be a trilogy. But now that we’re standing here staring at the end of days, I’m honestly having a hard time letting go. I connect, on some level, with every single character I write, even the background ones. But there is something special about AJ. She has wrapped herself around my heartstrings. I don’t know if it’s the hard and soft mix of her persona, the extra sass level she brings, the unwavering commitment to make things “right” even when it comes at a great sacrifice to herself, or her quirky habit of naming weapons (and a few body parts) after aging pop stars. *Shoulder shrug.* Probably all the above.

  All that to say, who knows, I guess somewhere down the road if AJ has more story to tell, we’ll make sure we get it told. But for now, ya better buckle up, Buttercups, ’cause I have a feeling it’s going to be one HELL of a ride.

  Chapter 1

  “It’s been seven hours and fifteen—” I began to croon in my best, which so totally isn’t anything like Sinead’s voice before I was backline chorused by two groans of annoyance. “—days,” I finished just for spite because I’ll admit it, I’m in a mood. An I’m-flipping-bored-so-when-is-this-flaming-asshat-going-to-make-his-move kind of mood. Or it’s PMS. I double-checked, ticking off days on my fingers. Yeah nope, it was the waiting on Lucifer to drop the apocalypse bomb thing. Mostly. There was also a self-imposed slow your roll on the Oreos thing going on too that had me a little itchy, but otherwise I was pretty sure it was the A-bomb thing.

  “Every hour for the last fifteen days was all leading up to that little moment, wasn’t it?” Ashlyn asked.

  “Duh. I’m really surprised you didn’t click on that one sooner.” I tsked in mock disappointment. “I thought you knew me? I thought we were in sync? Not the boy band, but partners in soul and mind—”

  Ashlyn responded by chucking a couch pillow at said mind. I blocked it, of course, ’cause I have mad skills like that, as you’d expect since I’ve got this whole demon hunter gig going on. And just a quick P.S. Ashlyn and I clicked on so many levels, specifically a hundred and nine ... nope, just thought of a new one ... a hundred and ten naked ones. I was just bored, and when I’m bored, I get annoying. I know this about myself.

  Head down, eyes on his keyboard, where they’d been the last (see earlier song inspired time reference), Danny offered up a “Thank you” to Ashlyn. I rewarded his blind backing by Frisbeeing the pillow in his direction. He also blocked it because he’s got some fairly mad skills himself. I mean, I’m sorta next level, but to be fair, he was flying solo, where I’m super-juiced with his great-times-three grandpa’s magical—and there is no way to end that sentence that doesn’t sound super icky. Let me digress since apparently, we have all the time in the world before the ultimate evil diva shows up to start this party. We’ll get to that part too, but I’ll start at the beginning and hit the highlight reel.

  Oklahoma, circa a dozen years or so ago, when the grandparents took my sister and me on a summer vacay, which was their normal summer MO. However, this particular trip had a little side bonus of getting me out of town after the “unfortunate incident” or UI for short, not to be confused with an actual medical UI that happened outside Winnipeg on which I won’t expand beyond that it involved too much Fireball Whisky, a shady swing set, and a stripper named Cyni-buns. This, no need for meds UI, involved my then on-again-off-again, later determined to be demon-infused high school girlfriend, who’d “leapt” from a bridge into a river. I hadn’t been able to save her. Spoiler alert: I may or may not (totally do) have a smidge of emotional baggage from said experience.

  Back to said summer vacation on a Native American reservation. I will short-script this part: I snuck out, made friends, drank corn alcohol, ran across Danny, a.k.a. Dyani Whitefang, sitting center stage of a drum circle ready to undergo a sacred ritual, which would pass the ancient hunter spirit from his grandfather to him. Insert me again, fueled by my insatiable curiosity and seven too many chugs from the jug. I stumbled literally and figuratively—absolutely not on purpose —smack dab into the middle of the right-of-passage ceremony. And just like that, wham-o, blam-o, I was super-infused with a shot of demon hunter or as I now lovingly like to refer to him, “Norm.”

  I spent the next several years trying to right my wrongs, trying to evict Norm from my human apartment complex and into Danny’s, but fate and some ancient prophecies had other plans. Some of which I had just recently learned during my little trip to the ultimate land down under, and I’m not talking about Australia, because that would’ve been awesome. Kangaroos. Koalas. But no, we’re talking the real deal, h-e double hockey sticks, hell. Which, if you would like to know, comes complete with demons, fire, and a big, uber-creepy, dark castley thing, which I kind of destroyed. Sorry. Not sorry. Oh, and I killed the Queen of Hell, who kidnapped a little dude named Apoc, short for Apocalypse, but we’ll get to that fun name game in a bit. Sure, Apoc was her kid, but there were extenuating circumstances. One being she was a total bitch. In that form anyway. There’s kind of a Disney malevolent good-turned-villain backstory thing going on, but whatevs. Timing.

  Apoc was his given name, well given to him by me, because of his own sucky fate as the love child of an angel and a demon. Also prophesied or prophe-sighed; it all depends on whether you are a “glass half full” or a “fuck the glass, give me the bottle” kind of person. Anyway, Apoc was specifically created to have his own starring role in the destruction of Lucifer. Insert me again. I went to get him in hell, a lot of demony stuff happened, yadda yadda, I got Apoc back, killed the queen, then no-goed Lucifer’s little offer to fill in for the recent queen vacancy by shooting him in his dangly pant peppers. Oh, and I stole his dog. I know, I know, it should totally be a country song.

  Anyway … yeah, that’s pretty much the down-low on this shit show and how I came to be here twiddling my thumbs with Danny, Robin to my demon-fighting Batman, and my main love squeeze and righteous badass in her own right, Ashlyn. Now we’re just tres amigos sitting here in Grand’s, Danny’s fo’ realz and my adopted G-pa, double-wide, waiting for the big bad to bring it. Errrk! *Record scratch* Oh sorry, rewind. I should also mention Michael, who’s also chilling ground-level at the moment. Michael, fallen angel and baby daddy to Apoc, who we all thought was dead after Round 1 with his ex, the queen, until I found him in hell meat-hooked from a ceiling and totally … umm, rhymes with “plucked.” Let’s see, what else … I feel like I’m forgetting something important. Yeah, I don’t know. I’m sure there’s something
else, but whatever. The important thing to know at the moment is that I’m bored, there’s an upcoming apocalypse, and tomorrow is the all-you-can-eat chicken-fried steak night at the diner down the road. So yeah, whichever comes first, we’ll deal with it.

  “I’m going for a run,” I stated, partly because I thought it prudent to be in primo shape for the upcoming battle royale and, well, again CHICKEN. FRIED. STEAK. NIGHT. I mean, girl, pleeease.

  “I’ll go with you,” Ashlyn said as she stood and headed for the back bedroom.

  I smiled at her eagerness. In the short time since she had joined our band of merry men, Ashlyn had been pushing herself hard both in physical strength and endurance training. Add in weapons and hand-to-hand with Danny and me and yeah, meoooow. I watched her and her toned backside start down the hall.

  Yeah, I should probably go help her pick out an outfit. I’m thinking something naked since naked accentuates her eyes. I started down the hall, but pulled up short when Ashlyn turned and faced me, her finger up and twirling. “Put it in reverse, Sinead. I don’t need your help.” The way she emphasized the word “help” made me think she didn’t find me helpful at all. I scoffed. I thought I’d been rather helpful in the shower this morning. Twice helpful to be exact. “I know what you’re thinking and no. Run now, then whatever that smirk …”—another swirl of a finger, but this time at my face—“… is about, we can do that later.”

  “I was just going to help you pick out an outfit,” I offered, with all innocence, rainbows, and kittens in my voice.

  “Nice try, McFly,” she said, stepping into me and slipping her arms around my neck. “How about this?” She nipped at my jetted-out lower lip, which sent zippy do da messages to my naughty bits. “I’ll pick out my own outfit, we’ll run, and if you behave and aren’t too exhausted from me beating you, then I might let you take off my outfit.”

  “My skill set does lean more to the taking off versus the picking out,” I offered as she nipped at my ear.

  “Agree,” Ashlyn said, leaning back as she tugged on one of the strings of my worn-out SPD hoodie, which had seen better days since my time at the Seattle police academy almost a decade ago. “See you outside,” Ashlyn said, spinning me away and pushing me back down the hall.

  “Denied,” Danny teased, never looking up from the screen of his laptop.

  “Delayed, not denied,” I clarified, flicking his computer as I passed. “You want to join or are you going to stick here doing the geek stuff?”

  “Geek stuff,” Danny answered. “I have some leads I’m trying to run down.” Translation: Danny was convinced there’s some secret Raiders of the Lost Ark something out there that’d give us a leg up on downtowning Lucifer again. That is, if he ever decided to show his pretty face. “Plus, Michael and I are supposed to go a few rounds later.” Danny finally brought his eyes up to meet mine after I went incommunicado for a few beats. I smirked. He glared. “Fighting,” he clarified.

  “Is that what the boys are calling it these days?”

  Danny’s eyes went roller coaster loop de loop, ending their ride back at his computer.

  Five minutes later, Ashlyn and I stood at the edge of Grand’s small reservation and our current Motel 6. “Mile head start?” Ashlyn asked as she caught her ankle behind her to stretch one thigh, then switched to stretch the other.

  “To the highway and back?” I asked.

  “Works for me,” she said as she bent down to touch her toes.

  I took in the sight. “That works better for me.”

  Ashlyn straightened and slapped playfully at my shoulder. “Meet ya in the shower?”

  “Yes, please.”

  She gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and took off. “First one back gets the loofah,” she yelled over her shoulder.

  I growled low in my throat. Damn her. She knows my devotion to skin care … hers, of course. Mine was more of a “cool it’s still attached” kind of a relationship. I looked around while I waited for Ashlyn to hit the mile mark, which would only take about five and a little change. I took in the summer sky, its brilliant blue a perfect backdrop to the fluffy white clouds that slowly drifted by as if they didn’t have a care in the world. It must be nice. I closed my eyes, letting the sun’s warm rays heat my skin. I tried to soak in the sereneness vibe, as my vibe of late was pre-tuned to the chaos and fear channel, the side effect of knowing about an impending apocalypse.

  A sharp bark brought me back from my dark thoughts and I turned to see Six, my on-the-lam hellhound, jogging toward me. He was in his mini-me version, which was still intimidating. He’d been enjoying the river again as his underbelly was a mass of mud-slicked hair. He’d adjusted well to this above-ground life, especially the food, refusing all forms of dog food and electing instead to belly up to the breakfast, lunch, and dinner table with the rest of the crew. “Hey, not-so slim shady.” I greeted him with a head rub. “Want to take a run?”

  He lowered himself to the ground, covering his eyes with a paw.

  “Ashhhllyyyn is already out there …” I crooned, using the crush he had developed on my girl to sway him. His paw came off his face, and both ears went full sonar at the mention of her name. He sat up, looking in the direction I pointed. “First one to catch her gets her—” And he was gone. I saw a blur of fur and tail. “Cheater!” I yelled after him. His return bark came from about a hundred and fifty yards away.

  Six tail-checked me when I tried to pass him a minute later, pushing me back a good twenty yards, which gave him the space he needed to go full-scale. Supersized, he proceeded to play a mad game of New York cabbie, blocking my path anytime I tried to dart around him. That lasted for a good portion of our run until I decided to drop back a few steps and leapfrog his ass. It was a good plan all the way up until he backdoor stink-bombed me. Fun fact: Last night’s din-din was pot roast and cabbage, just in case you were curious.

  When my vision and lungs cleared, Six had shrinky dinked it back to normal-ish dog size and was jogging companionably alongside Ashlyn, her fingertips rubbing at his ears, while she praised him. “Good dog. Gooood dog.”

  I passed them both on an eye roll. I went another five miles while Ashlyn and Six did three. I found them again on the trail back. Ashlyn was taking a cooldown walk near the river, and Six was, not surprisingly, in the river.

  “Better?” she asked as I approached.

  “Better,” I said. I’d pushed it hard the last two miles, so I took up the cooldown routine alongside her. “I should probably let you know that I might have lost you in a bet of egos. I’m pretty sure Six owns you now.”

  She glanced at me, then at the dog playing doormat in the river. “I bet I can buy my freedom with a bucket of chicken.”

  “Throw in a family-size mashed potato and gravy, and I think you’ll have a good chance.”

  “It’s good to know one’s worth,” she said, sliding a hand into mine as we walked.

  We fell into silence as we walked along the river, each in our own thoughts. Mine now consisted of chicken and mashed potatoes with a side of pending apocalypse.

  Speaking of … a shift in the air had Norm flipping the demon hunter lights on, and Six’s zero to Defcon 1 stance had me pulling Ashlyn closer as I searched the area for threats.

  Ashlyn’s body stiffened against me, her eyes doing their own recon. “What is it?”

  “I don’t—” know was the genius end to that little statement as another … we’ll go with crackle, rippled through the air. I checked the sky; still clear and brilliant blue except for the perfect donut hole punched through an otherwise undisturbed cloud. “Six, you’re with Ashlyn,” I ordered, as I pulled my Glock, a.k.a. Barbra Streisand, from my waistband, her safety already off and ready to falsetto the shit out of whatever just Superman’ed itself through the clouds.

  I was already running as I tried to lock in on Apoc and Michael’s current location. I leaped the short wood fence, which separated the field and woods from the people part of the place. I cleared a
picnic table and skirted around a row of clothes flapping in the summer breeze, running wide to do a drive-by of Grand’s house. I knuckled the windows as I passed. “Danny! Rambo it up, we’ve got company!” Ten steps later, I heard the front door bang open, the rack of a shotgun, and booted feet hitting the dirt path behind me. I smiled. Aw, Danny. I seriously dug how he could go from super geek to super badass in 2.2.

  Grand merged into my side view. I glanced at him, and he gave me an “I’m right behind you” nod. Grand was pushing seventy, and even though he’d given up the hunter’s spirit over a decade ago, he was no poser. Plus, he had that whole “think before you act” thing going for him, something that has served him quite well. I’m tracking about 30/70, or 20/80 if you consider the breadstick basket at Olive Garden. I mean seriously, are those things not freakishly good? I have a theory BTW … garlic butter-flavored crack. I’m just sayin’.

  I adjusted my grip on Barbra, bringing her up to eye level a la SWAT-style, as I rounded the corner to the sandbox and mini-playground area the elders built for the kids. And Apoc’s new favorite go-to since our little return trip from the land down under. Again we’re talking hell, not Australia.

  I skidded to a stop, needing a second to take in the total WTF before me. Michael was kneeling in front of the hottest dude in the history of ever. And that’s saying something with the Rock, Jason Momoa, and the current down-in-the-dirt hottie with a banging body, Michael, in the running. Sooo yeah … this dude was a next-level fella with his brilliant white wings, blond hair, ivory skin, and drown-in-the-crystal-blue of his eyes. None of which, of course, would deter me from feeding him his own earlobes if he took one more step toward Apoc. Who, FYI, was completely undisturbed and unimpressed by the scene unfolding around him, as he was otherwise engaged in the act of building a sand castle. In his superhero-themed Fruit of the Looms.