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Thankfully, once we were inside, things seemed to be a little less bleak. It honestly reminded me of a pub you might see in a historical movie. A few folks were dancing to a simple folksy band, and the smell of fried fish and chips was heavy in the air. The bar was a wooden square in the center of the dimly lit room, and a man with three teeth danced with a snake-like woman just beside it. Her long tongue forked out every few steps, licking up the man’s salt-and-pepper stubbled cheek. Several demons of varying shapes and sizes were on the splintered and cracked barstools, and pipe smoke hung like a haze. What can best be described as a tavern wench was serving everyone tankards of frothy drinks and platters of food. She had a steel collar around her neck, and I wondered if her servitude was forced.
“Come on, let’s grab a seat,” Gabe said, seeming to loosen up a little. His shoulders eased up, and the hard lines of his face appeared to relax.
We grabbed a booth in a shadowy corner, still doing our best to stay away from the crowd. The woman wordlessly walked over, and her eyes skimmed over my own collar. Gabe quickly ordered us some beers and two tureens of stew. In no time at all, the woman plunked a serving tray onto the table and walked away without a word. I supposed that a circle based on greed and avarice probably didn’t have the friendliest customer service.
“Eat up,” Gabe said as he doled out the plates from the tray. “We still need to find a place to stay for the night. After dinner, I’ll ask the barkeep what he has available upstairs.”
I sniffed the stew tentatively first and didn’t detect anything weird. Slowly, I lifted a spoonful to my mouth. As soon as I tasted it, my body flooded with warmth thanks to the stew’s temperature and how savory it was. It felt like blood was finally moving in my veins again, and my lifeless, numb feeling ebbed away.
“This is surprisingly good!” I exclaimed, then shoveled another spoonful of the stew into my mouth. It was hearty and warm, with a decent amount of spice and chunks of tender beef, potatoes, and carrots. A heel of crusty sourdough bread was on the plate with it, along with a small tub of creamy homemade butter. I paused, the third spoonful halfway to my lips. “Wait, please tell me this is beef and not like… a racist mother of two or something.”
Gabe laughed. “No, you’re safe. Hell gets all the best chefs. People think Hell is eternal torment, and it is, but some folks really find their niche here. Anthony Bourdain has a restaurant in this circle that gets reservations even from Heaven.”
I considered his words for a second, then shrugged. “I feel like I should be more shocked by that than I am.”
After we’d drained our soup tureens, Gabe motioned for another round, and it wasn’t long before the tavern wench plunked down two more foamy tankards of dark, heady brew. I hadn’t even realized I’d chugged down my first one while I’d been eating.
For the first time, Gabe seemed almost normal, and he hummed along as the band played a familiar tune. It took me a moment to recognize it as an old sea shanty that had become popular on TikTok. I smiled at him, and he smiled back sheepishly.
“Sorry, my pops always said I couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket.” He laughed.
“Well, singers are overrated, anyway.” I snorted. “Trust me. I’ve lived with musicians.”
He laughed again, then nodded. “Got us a lot of musicians in Hell. Seems like a bad career path.”
“You have no idea!” I laughed, then hiccuped accidentally. The hiccup repeated itself, then ended in a long, jaw-cracking yawn.
“Oh, boy, the beer sorta went straight to my head,” I said sheepishly with another big yawn. “And the whole… transported to Hell thing probably didn’t help. Oh, and I never really got a full night’s sleep since…”
“It’s all right, I get it,” Gabe said as he stood up. He dropped a thick gold coin onto the table, then offered me a hand up. “Let’s get you to bed, Sleeping Beauty.”
“Is that before or after your time, Mr. West Side Story?” I teased.
“It’s a children’s book, Marnie,” he said sharply, though he quirked an eyebrow bemusedly. “When I said I didn’t read books, I didn’t mean I was that dumb. Come on, let’s see about that room.” He winked. “I think I can manage to figure that out.”
I rolled my eyes good-naturedly but accepted his hand and let him pull me up. He settled his hand gingerly against the small of my back and led me toward the bar. We were within a few feet of it, just between it and the door, when the door banged open loudly, the sound of it like a gunshot. The band stopped playing abruptly, and all the patrons turned to see what new arrival had made such a racket.
The demon in the doorway was hunched yet wiry, like a bent sapling. He may have originally been six feet tall, but with his bend, he was no taller than me. His skin was a sickly shade of grayish-brown, with a texture that looked like it was covered in third-degree burn scars. His hair was a greasy mop of tangled strands. The horns that stuck out of the mess weren’t anything impressive, just a couple of twisted nubs that protruded from his forehead like gnarled thorns. He had beady, bloodshot eyes that darted around the room like he was constantly sizing up his next mark.
And then they landed on Gabe.
“Gabriel,” the demon said in a raspy voice. He smiled wickedly and bared his yellowed, uneven grin. The smell that wafted off of him was gag-worthy, and I took one stumbling step back.
“What’s this?” the demon said as his eyes darted to me. He then took a long drag from the cigarette he had clutched in one hand. His nails were dirty and jagged like he’d been using them for more than just scratching an itch. I tried not to think about where the stains underneath them might have come from.
“Athranog,” Gabe said stiffly.
“What? Nothing else for an old friend?” the demon practically purred. “Not even a brew? I’d love a beer with you and your new friend.” His beady eyes sparkled.
“Not an old friend,” Gabe said tersely. “More like a coworker.” He wrapped his arm tighter around me, nearly clutching my back now. “Come on, Marnie. We’ll find somewhere else to stay.”
Athranog tsked his tongue, sending out another wave of fetid breath. “That’s not very polite, Gabe. I hope any mutual friends of ours don’t hear about this.”
Gabe simply nodded and dragged me forward, nearly lifting me off the ground as he strode toward the door. Athranog, thankfully, did nothing else. He just kept his beady, twinkling eyes trained on me greedily.
“Athranog,” Gabe simply said as he shouldered past, making it more than clear the conversation over.
Behind us, the bar was quiet enough to hear a pin drop.
