OBLIGATORY WARNING: R-HELL is for OLDER TEENS (16+) AND UP.
eye design R-HELL: Garden of Princes, or Demons Fall in Love Too
This fantasy is subject to change at any time.
R-HELL copyright © 2006-2010 kavila


Book 1 is coming out Summer 2010!		 eye design
1. UNEXPECTED TRIP
DAY 1: MORNING, CITY OF EERIE

"How am I going to make my credit card payment? This isn’t going to be enough." I stared at the two paper grocery bags I had filled to the brim. When you only get a couple dollars for a book you paid forty dollars for, that’s a lot of forty-dollar books you've gotta find, and I had already sold most of them days and weeks earlier. Sadly, I was down to the books that made me feel like I was selling significant body parts for food.

Reaching for the luggage carrier, I almost tripped over the thin rollaway bed mattress on the floor. Things hadn’t been going my way lately. My work hours were on the Titanic, but I remained optimistic. Hope was not some glitter-charged fairy in an itchy pink dress with a clear bright smile, but a wounded, howling, slobbering monstrous creature from the most wretched depths within that chased me out the door of my apartment.

My books now sat in a cardboard box on a rusted two-wheel luggage carrier. After jiggling the door to check the lock, I stashed my keys next to my driver's license in a front pants pocket.

Next stop was the trash bin where a discarded sofa leaned vertically on its side against the wall. I stooped to pick up a fly's banquet pizza box, and tossed it and my small bag of trash on top of the overflow. The bin usually wasn’t this full; somebody had to be cleaning out their roach palace to move.

My unwashed car waited across the street beneath a sycamore tree whose leaves were starting to brown as the weather turned colder. I crossed the street using the sidewalk closest to the junior high and dragged the luggage carrier behind me.

Then suddenly to my left, there was a black hearse that mysteriously hadn’t been there a second ago. Before I lost consciousness, my final thought was, Damn driver was speeding in a school zone!
2. THE FOREST PRIMEVAL
DAY 1: AFTERNOON, FOREST OF BEGINNINGS

There was a tan blob leaning over me—no, make that a ruggedly handsome man with pale yellow eyes waving a calloused hand in my face. He was asking questions in an unknown language, strange since I could i.d. most of your major languages from having grown up in a multicultural, multilingual environment, though I was hopelessly monolingual myself.

The bare-chested outdoorsman tried to get me to sit up. Should I be getting up when I've been hit by a car? This is not good first aid. The loose ends of his gray-streaked black locks tickled my face. The rest of his shoulder-length hair was held back by a narrow braided leather band that wrapped around his temples. He smelled fragrantly of sagebrush, of the desert.

I was covered with blood spatter but felt no pain. Due to shock, perhaps? Still yet another mystery: I wasn’t sitting in the middle of an asphalt-covered street—or on a leaf-strewn sidewalk—or anywhere in the master-planned city of Eerie. Unsteadily, I scrambled up from the tall grassy field with majestic trees all around.

Besides the unfamiliar clothing and the sudden geographic relocation, something else was wrong. My body had changed in a fundamental way. With trembling hands, I stripped off my shirt: I'm flat-chested. While I had never really outgrown a training bra, I was not that flat. Furthermore, this heavy hanging sensation down south. No way, Jose. No-no-no-no. I must’ve hit my head crazy-hard; it was cracked wide open. And talking about my head, what about these bony things on top…HORNS?!

I took a breath, and then another and another and another after that. Hyperventilating, I tried to calm myself and become Buddha: Of course there was a sensible explanation for all this. Where's the narrator?

The hunter fella tried to sneak away as I contemplated my navel and other things in orbit around it. Without hesitation, I followed the Good Samaritan and his glistening broad back and the swords and shoulder leather sheath that shielded his back, stopping only when he did.

Glaring over his left shoulder at me, he barked something: "DETTE KYE, CHIBITO!" From the tone, I guessed he wanted me to scram. The loner meant business.

"I don't care what you said!" I chirped. Given sex and family tree differences, my new voice didn’t sound much different from my old one. "I'M GONNA KEEP FOLLOWING YOU!" I said more boldly.

I was a little miffed, because wasn't he supposed to keep helping me, at least leave me at the edge of civilization? He didn’t hear my complaint as he had already ditched me.

"WA-A-AIT! Come back here! Don't run!" And my stomach was grumbling, "Hamburgers! French fries! Me hungry! You not feeding me! Food. Seek refrigerator." Unfortunately, its exhortations might as well have been in Hunter-speak because I had bigger problems to solve.

* * * * *

During a break at a cool stream, Hunter stuck around, but impatiently paced back and forth along the bank. I studied my reflection and stared with dismay at my porcelain horns; they looked to be permanent head accessories. At least my cute face hadn’t changed much. Same black bangs and black hair, which was going to need a cut soon. Maybe a couple inches off, so it barely touched my shoulders.

I scrubbed and rinsed the blood from my unfortunate torn shirt. It was better than not having anything to wear. The frilly long-sleeved shirt was made of a sturdy off-white material with embroidered white-satin rectangular designs. Pretty fancy for peasant fashion and impractical for outdoor wear.

"I wonder what happened to the owner of this shirt." Which was awkward of me to say seeing as how I not only possessed the shirt, but the whole kit and caboodle. Hunter nodded as though he understood my words. "From the amount of blood and these holes, I would think this person was stabbed." I regarded Hunter with troubled eyes. Could he have…?

After handing me a couple strips of jerky to gnaw on, Hunter lost me where the forest thinned out to miles of dry brush and rock. I saw no other people or even animals. In the distance rose a formidable wrinkled wall of a snowcapped mountain range. Bent over from overexertion, I waved to Hunter's disappearing back and wheezed, "Bye, bye, I hate you." He probably figured I would be okay from this point on; the best scenario was he would send back help on hoof or wheels.

When I straightened up, I saw a gigantic vulture circle overhead several times. That bird is large enough to carry a person away. I hustled back toward the safety of the forest.

Despite the nagging ache in my lower leg, could it be shin splints?, I hesitated to stop because I needed to find shelter. The buttery soft leather boots I inherited were very comfortable, so that helped.

I followed a gurgling stream to a bright hollow where it pooled. The surrounding moss-covered boulders provided a windbreak. If I tied together saplings and covered the frame with grasses and fallen leaves, I would have a hut to protect me. As for food, aside from the jerky, I wasn’t sure what I could pick and eat without poisoning myself.

I shaved a sturdy twig to a sharp point against a boulder to use as a weapon and for digging, and quickly gathered a pile of rocks for throwing at whatever scared me during the night. While I had not seen any threatening creatures yet, the predators I knew of at home came out at dusk to hunt.

The great weight of the day sat on me. Too much new business and no coffee. A car had hit me, and I had ended up in in an alternate universe stuck in some horned alien’s body. That's horned alien, not horny! I didn’t know being in a coma could be so messed up.
3. QUEEN REGINA (OR PRINCE REDD) WILL COME FOR YOU
DAY 1: EVENING, HELL-OF-THE-WORLD'S-SORROWS

"He has the luck of the Shadow Queen," muttered Prince Redd after he had dispatched Trance’s messenger with a quick sword stroke. He paused a moment to contemplate his reflection in the dripping sword: his noble phallic horn, scintillating red hair, and deathly pale skin, quite unlike Storm, the youngest son of Queen Regina. His half-brother had cowardly escaped yet another assassination attempt. His half-brother Prince Storm had escaped yet another assassination attempt. MURTA! Who had rescued him? Certainly not THEIR mother. However, if Grand Heaven were involved, there would be complications.

Several soldiers had seen Trance—Prince Redd's chief assassin—shove his sword through the youngest prince’s chest. There had been a brilliant flash of light, and then Storm was gone. A bewildered Trance was left behind with a blade ominously painted with royal blood, his hunting cleaver still sheathed. But surely, Prince Storm of Grand Hell was dead.

Nevertheless Prince Redd, the ruler of Hell-of-the-World's-Sorrows (aka Hell-of-Sorrows), was not one to take chances. Demon princes were not to be killed off so easily, without extreme mischief, even though Storm was shamefully only half and not wholly demon. If the head was not quickly severed and separated from the body, you couldn’t be absolutely certain of death. There had been instances of unsportsmanlike cheating where a demon prince had been resurrected. Redd impatiently waited for the day his brother’s shriveled head would rest in a curse-inscribed black box on a shelf in the royal bedroom.

He booted his pet skulloctopus. Small at just under ten feet, the tyke responded to its master’s care by squirting a stream of thick black ink, which it then smeared down the steps away from the bleached coral throne to play with the cooling dead messenger.

Since Prince Redd could not get within killing distance of their mother Queen Regina, he had turned his deadly gaze toward her heirs. There were five besides himself.

Prince Thunder, the second oldest after Redd, was vigilant and surrounded by powerful and influential friends. That brother had taken over the government of Hell-of-a-1000-Deaths, a greatly feared state within Grand Hell. His consort was Aries, a war god. Their union was strong and unassailable. Fortunately for Redd, his brother had his hands full with the richly violent entertainment of his own kingdom. Furthermore, Thunder had shown little interest in the prize of the throne of Grand Hell having always assumed that his ambitious older brother would inherit it.

As for his youngest brother and rival Prince Storm, only recently had Redd learned that Storm’s father was Captain Olympus of the Angeles Royale. They were elite swordsmen who protected the powerful court of Grand Heaven, a contemptible kingdom on the other side of the neutral territory Purgatory.

This cleared up why Storm had been brought up away from the the intense scrutiny of his mother’s liberal politics and court, under the pretext he had a health condition alleviated only by the healing hot springs of Darkvine, near Oni Mountain. Storm had remained forgotten until Redd had deep-sixed three other foolish, careless, and less-sheltered siblings.

Survival of the fittest was the law of the land. Queen Regina, the Shadow Queen, had won the throne after a vicious bloody battle with her older brother, the former King Claudius. She had been particularly sadistic and vengeful against anyone associated with him, such that the memory of that period dissuaded anyone from plotting against her. "Queen Regina will come for you if you don't behave" was a common threat not just to children but to adults as well.

There is currently no King of Hell. It is rumored Queen Regina killed and ate him. The kingdom of Grand Hell had been peaceful, relatively speaking, until Prince Redd started stirring things up. The steady stream of refugees from Grand Hell into East Purgatory was largely due to the anticipation of what a regime under Prince Redd would be like, in addition to the extra swordplay practice Redd’s generals and armies had been getting in during their havoc-filled extended field trips

I might as well get a good workout in because I'm obviously not going to get any sleep tonight. Trying to maintain an upbeat attitude in the face of adversity, Prince Redd asked for a braided leather whip and a riding crop. With a lighter step, he headed toward the wailing dark dungeon.
4. REUNION
DAY 3: AFTERNOON, FOREST OF BEGINNINGS

Since two days ago (count the belt marks), I had managed not to get too sick by observing what the crows stole from each other, what the tree squirrels nibbled on, and what the mule deer were grazing, which is no guarantee of safety, but it confirmed that this offshoot of reality acted very much like what I was used to. Coma or not, I had to be careful. I rubbed at a mild rash on my left hand and arm caused by a poisonous plant I had never encountered before.

Noise on my left made me reach for my digging stick and shirt; I slithered behind a large boulder. A figure came into view on the opposite side of the bank. It was Hunter, to my immense relief. Stepping up next to Hunter was a large gray wolf or dog. Its ears twitched nervously.

I stood up to greet Hunter. Something small shot out toward me. I didn’t have time to duck, to think, so I swatted the winged rat into the pool.

A furious teenaged boy with a really hairy chest rose sputtering from the water: "STORM! BAKAHTAROU! PORWI?!" He shook the water out of his honey blond hair which ended in dark roots. Drops sprayed everywhere. The boy in dark gray shorts continued to curse me.

After I got over my initial shock―go ahead, keep the weird stuff coming―I apologized. "Sorry, I didn't know my coma included hairy vampire boys. I’m not an easy lunch, if that’s what you’re mad about. Vampires. Sheesh. What will the sandman come up with next? Wolfmen?"

Batboy stopped mid-tantrum, puzzlement and dismay dripping off his cute face. Stress-busting hee-haws broke me up. The vampire turned to Hunter for an explanation, while Wolfie transformed into a rockstar pinup with silky silver locks that fell past his chest; a pale gray velvet wizard’s robe covered the good parts. Another shape-shifter. I stopped laughing for a moment. Was Hunter one, too?

"Don't come any closer." I cautiously backed up as they approached, and I took a defensive position with my puny digging spear.

Hunter easily wrested away my stick and belligerently broke it in two in my face. "You traitor." I jabbed my finger at him. "Do you know how long it took me to make that?"

Vengefully, Batboy wrestled me to the ground and held my wrists behind me as Wolfie played concerned doctor. Relaxing a little when he couldn’t find any injuries, Wolfie checked my eyes again and sniffed the air around me. As he held my head between his hands, a bolt of electricity bit my brain.

"Owww! That hurt! O-o-oh," I moaned.

"I think we can understand each other now."

"Wolfie, did you have to do that?" I pulled my hands free to support my fried tingling head.

"I wasn't sure it was going to work. 'Wolfie'—Prince Storm uses that name for me, too. The same Prince Storm whose body you've borrowed." He was trying hard to be pleasant. "I’m Prince Storm’s bodyguard, as is Grayson here." Batboy was standing beside him. "That's Vulture." Vulture waved from the boulder he was leaning against; his strong, lean physique was positioned to best advantage. "Now, what are you doing in Prince Storm’s body?" Wolfie's smile faded.

"I’m sorry." I was apologizing a lot for things that weren't my fault. I got to my feet without help. "I’d give Prince Storm his body back if he asked for it." PRINCE Storm's body. I'm a PRINCE. Weird, but cool. That must mean there's a castle somewhere awaiting my arrival.

"WHO…ARE…YOU?" thundered Wolfie. His auric force bully-pushed me.

That made me mad. They were being unfair judges. "I’m Kitty. And I’m a GIRL, stuck in a BOY'S…, no, a PRINCE'S body," I grinned back evilly.
5. ECLIPSE
DAY 3: DUSK, FOREST OF BEGINNINGS

If Kitty's soul was here, then where was Prince Storm's? In Kitty's body? There was nothing to do but to protect Storm's body until he returned. If they could locate the body, that is.

Kitty had disappeared while they were eating dinner. Storm's body had started to become transparent much to Kitty's great distress until she was no longer there. Gone. Grayson had already searched by air and hadn't spotted anything worth investigating.

The mercenary Vulture had left to finish whatever work he had taken on. He would keep his eyes and ears open for Prince Storm. It may have entertained Vulture that a girl inhabited the body of Prince Storm, the number one target on the crazed Prince Redd's hit list.

On the other hand, was Vulture lining up his next assignment? They would pay copper coins for information; Prince Redd would pay gold bars—for a body—dead or alive. A walking and talking Prince Storm was a political problem for him.

"What do you think happened?" asked Grayson. "Royals can instantaneously teleport themselves to wherever they want to go. But Kitty just sorta faded away." He threw tea leaves into the conjured pot of boiling water. While he wielded better-than-average magical talent, Grayson was humbled by the knowledge and experience of Wolfie, and Wolfie's teacher had been none other than the infamous bogeyman Thorsdagr.

"Storm’s body must be psychically and physically unstable." Wolfie smoothly brushed hair out of his face with an elegant hand and fed twigs to the campfire; warmth licked back. "The prince might show up again the same way he disappeared." Normally Wolfie and Grayson would have teleported to their missing charge, but Kitty's presence disrupted the link.

"Will it be Prince Storm…or Kitty?"

A loud sigh escaped from Wolfie. Grayson raised an eyebrow. "The other possibility is Prince Storm and Kitty are both dead, and the stream of time is flowing again as it should." A vision of Prince Storm's headless body flashed through Wolfie's mind; a vision of what might have been. He frowned. "Witnesses say they saw Trance run his sword through Prince Storm. That man wouldn't have missed the prince's heart." He paused. "Kitty herself had thought she had died in her own world, the Hidden World."

"We're searching for two people then."

"One bodynapper…and one body," Wolfie hesitatingly corrected.

Grayson looked up at the faint stars in the murky night sky. "I hope we find Prince Storm soon. He's such a wimp." Grayson mentally checked off the many times he had had to save his prince from harmful political mischief. Prince Redd was the latest and most serious threat; he had lived up to earlier predictions. "I want to do one last fly-around." His bat wings popped out.

"Save your energy. I trust you were thorough the first time, and we're not the only ones searching for him. Queen Regina has scouts hunting for her son."

"I didn't think she cared."

"She has some love for the half-demon. But more than that, the machinations of her sons amuse her."

As they fell silent, the steady chirping of crickets rose around them. In the morning they would resume their search. What they would find, if anything, they weren't sure.
6. GET A JOB IF YOU WANT TO EAT
DAY 4: DAWN, EAST JUPITER GROVE

I had teleported to Jupiter Grove, a major commercial and tourist area in the expansive region of Purgatory between Grand Heaven and Grand Hell. The River Styx ran through the middle of the city, splitting it into two sections, east and west, the east side being the less prosperous side of the river. Guess which side I woke up on. This much I was told by a talkative security guard who shooed me out from beneath a large bridge.

My stomach grumbled, motivation enough to go looking for work. Tips for a job interview: proper appearance, attire, and attitude. I finger-combed my hair around my horns. My shirt had been mended earlier by Grayson. He was of the opinion that his magical repair was no more fascinating to watch than wrinkles being ironed out. Attitude, I'm working on it; some things don't change so fast.

"HELP WANTED" read the sign in the window of Toadman’s Scrolls & Gifts. I could actually read and understand the odd curlicue lettering. Another thank you to Wolfie. I should have continued down the road, but at the time, I didn’t know any better.

"You’re from Grand Hell, aren't ya? It ain't too hard to figure out from your horns." Toadman slapped away a bead of sweat rolling down his leathery green cheek. He wiped puffy hands on the navy blue shop apron that tied behind his flabby neck and waist. "We're seeing a lotta refugees these days."

I dropped my hand from the smooth horns on my head. One more thing to get used to. "I suppose you're right, Mr. Toadman." Was there a painless way to shed the horns?

"I've got a cap you can use." Toadman must've read my mind. "Won't hire you if you don't wear it. People don't much like demons 'round here. Heck, I don't like Hellions much either, but you work cheap and hard. And you, you're not too bad-looking. Know what I mean." He chuckled.

The way Toadman was stupidly gaping at me, I hoped Toadman's ideal woman wasn't another guy. Great, sexual harassment. But back to the business at hand. "How much do you pay for a day's work?"

"The pay is seven scales a day. If you need a room, I have closet space you can rent upstairs for seventy scales a month. If you don’t have the money, you can work for your rent and I’ll take it out of your pay." Suddenly, Toadman’s eyes focused on my left shoulder, and his hand lifted up as though to grab.

My fearful step back startled the fly. "Uhm, when can I start, Mr. Toadman?"

Toadman stroked his greasy mini-pageboy cut. His hair was such a dark shade of green it was almost black. "Follow me to the back." He waved to an old bony mutt with patches of fur missing. "Ash, watch the store." The ugly white dog reluctantly picked itself off the floor and padded to the front. "She’s a good bitch, always does what she’s told. If she bothers you, just kick her away."

Don't step on Toadie's tail, I reminded myself as I watched the thick stub sweep the thinly straw-covered stone floor. A beaded curtain doorway led to the back, a storage area half as large as the front of the store. On the right was a cluttered desk where Toadman did his bookkeeping. Next to the upright nameplate that read "Wartback Toadman IV" was a large snack jar of Celebrity brand's fly-and-bug mix.

"That's the bathroom." Toadman pointed to the left of a small round table with two chairs. Just inside the bathroom to one side, Toadman grabbed the store's uniform off the pegs and said, "Here’s your shop apron. Your cap. Your responsibility to make sure they stay clean." The faded blue apron had spill stains on it. "What’s your name?"

"Storm. My name's Storm," I blurted out without thinking.

"Sounds like bad luck," Toadman huffed.
7. FIRST DAY IS THE HONEYMOON
DAY 4: LATE MORNING, TOADMAN'S SCROLLS & GIFTS

Using Prince Storm's name wasn't a very bright idea since someone was trying to kill him, but it couldn't be helped now. It was possible the name "Storm" was as common here as "Tom" or "John."

I studied the rows of storage shelves as the creepy Mr. Toadman rampaged—I meant rummaged—through his desk for a pencil. The nearest shelves were filled with woven baskets, ceramic kitchenware, wooden knickknacks, and against the farthest wall were cubbyholes of book scrolls and wall scrolls. I saw regular page books as well, but they were few and ornate.

Style, another of Toadman’s employees, was in the store helping a customer when Toadman and I walked out. After the customer left, Toadman snarled. "This morning you were late again, Sty!"

"Really? Lemme tell you a sad story. I helped an old lady cross the street. So what does she do? The hag whacked me with her bag."

"Serves you right for your last ten misdeeds."

The sassy redhead then turned to me, his split-ends sweeping strong athletic shoulders. Momentary surprise crossed his face before a customer service smile wiped it away. "Who’s this? New boyfriend?"

"Smart ass." Toadman motioned to me. "Storm, this here's Style. He's demon tribe like you." Style lifted his cap to show off his horns. I showed him mine.

"I’ve got pretty wings, too. Wanna see? Out they popped."

"Oh! Wings huh." Oka-a-ay. Now, was I getting paranoid, or was Style staring at me with more interest than he should have? Was he like Toadman? A remote, silly possibility came to mind: Style was a soldier for Prince Redd.

"Have we met before?" I was not confident I would get a truthful answer.

Style stepped in closer. "No, but you look like somebody I know. The resemblance is uncanny, but that guy wouldn't be here…," Style jerked his thumb at Toadman, "working for him!"

"GET YOUR BUTT BACK TO WORK!" Toadman hollered. "Earn your wages. We've got a customer. Storm, your cap."

Style laughed, turning away to flirt with the female customer who had just walked in. "Welcome to Toadman's Scrolls & Gifts! Can I help you find anything?"

Toadman patted my arm to get my attention. "Let me show you what’s behind the counter." We went to the right of the discount sales table at the front of the shop. "Here are the bags, Storm." He pointed to a shelf beneath the counter. "Never use a bag larger than you need. The larger bags cost me more money."

A street urchin darted into the store and grabbed a paperweight before shooting back out. Ash took off barking, while Toadman reached for his throwing ax hanging on the wall behind me.

"THIEF!" Toadman shouted in warning to passersby. The blade hit its target. A woman shrieked in horror. Actually, that was me.

Justice was swift in Jupiter Grove. "You're such a girl!" Toadman smacked me hard on the ass as he went to retrieve his ax.

"Looks like extra work today," said Style over my shoulder. I jumped.
8. TEMPTATION
DAY 4: LATE AFTERNOON, TOADMAN'S SCROLLS & GIFTS

Style was eyeing me again.

"What now? You miss the friend I look like that much?" Better irritated than scared after this morning’s excitement.

"No, it’s just that your skin is unusually clear, like a Hevin's. I can see your veins."

"A heaven? What?"

"Did a carriage hit you or somethin’?"

Yeah.

"Y’know, a Hevin, our rivals from Grand Heaven."

"Oh, I must’ve misheard you."

"Let me clean out your ears for you then."

I held him at bay with my broom handle. "Knock it off! We’ve got work to do."

"You’re no fun."

"I haven’t been. It’s not a new revelation." I concentrated on sweeping out a back corner, scaring a large, long-legged spider into a crack. Style would have killed it, but I don’t see the point. Without bugs, the food chain would collapse; without us, the world as a whole might be better off. Humans were the real cockroaches of the universe, demons included.

I lay down fresh clean straw on the floor, while Style raked the old into a basket. Although the store’s customers were an unusual variety, I would say it was a fairly normal workday, and because we were busy, the hours went by quickly.

"Do you need a place to stay tonight? The floor at my mansion is free, if you don’t mind the smell at the city dump." Style pulled out a scroll and placed it in an adjacent cubbyhole where it belonged.

I blinked. "Sure. That'll help me out a lot, especially since I’m new in town." Things were starting to look up. I wouldn’t have to sleep under the bridge. A job and a place to stay. I picked up my sweeping.

* * * * *

Toadman left early, so Style locked up. Surprised me that Toadman entrusted him with the store. As we walked out into the cool night air, I was distracted by the red glowing globes up and down the street. Style gave me a weird look after seeing what had my attention. "Haven't you seen flower lanterns before? Or are you looking for a ripe one to pick?"

"No, of course not!" From rooftops, balconies, and posts, the bulbous plant lanterns glowed, lights that were becoming noticeably brighter as evening turned to night. Their leafy green vines were conversely deepening in color to dark purplish hues.

I grabbed Style’s arm. "Style, that lantern’s got an eye. A real, human-like EYE!"

Style probably was having second thoughts about his crash space offer. "They’re just lanterns. Don’t get too excited. You don’t know who Hevins are. You’ve never seen a flower lantern before. What planet are you from?"

More demons were visible as we plunged deeper into the worst neighborhoods of East Jupiter Grove. Demon horns it turns out vary in number and shape. You could have one, two, or as many as three horns.

Mine were inconspicuous compared to the antlers on some. You'd think a prince would have a grand stately pair, but my horns were the same as Style’s, except for the color. His were a light shade of clay brown, and mine were porcelain white. Not that I was complaining; small was good and didn’t wreak havoc with my sleeping habits.

A street hustler grabbed me by the arm. "C'mon, honey. Hang ten with me. I'm better company than him." She winked graciously at Style.

"Uh, no thanks!" I squeaked as Style tugged me back hard.

"This one's mine," shot back Style. He smooched me on the lips. "He's mine, y'hear, ALL MINE!" Someone did a slow clap.

"Ewww. Stop it." Rubbing my lips to disinfect them, I pushed him away. "I don't do it with coworkers."

"You don't appreciate the taste of my champagne kisses?"

"It wasn't a very good year."

The hustler who had approached me now cuddled Style. "Didn't know you liked your toast buttered on both sides," she purred, teasing his red mane into tumbleweed. Was it my imagination, or did I see her tuck a note into his back pocket? Style slipped her tongue, while I checked out the scene around me, which wasn't much except for drunk-'n'-punk demons and their girls and guys.

As I made eye contact, I heard, "Want to do a three-way? We like your horns."

Before I could answer, Style grabbed my hand. "Let's go!" he laughed. I flew behind him, down Hustler Row, through a few dark alleys, until we reached a shack, one in an impressive sea of many, alongside a broad multi-humped garbage dump.

The smell couldn’t have been worse, but I would live. Having a place to sleep with a comrade was far more important. There was a quality about Style that reminded me of Grayson; they were both bats after all.

Style unlocked the weather-beaten gray door that had once been spattered with tomato. He creaked the door wide open and proclaimed, "Welcome to my mansion!" An orange flower lantern on a makeshift table in the left corner brightened the single-room shack. The table consisted of a broad wooden board sitting on short sturdy legs of bricks. You’d have to sit on the floor to make it work.

Style tossed, kicked, and shoved a small pile of clothing, blankets, and pillows into the right corner. Straw mats and an oddly shaped section of gray shag carpet covered the floor. A small taped window high and left of the door rattled in the wind.

"Reminds me of home." I didn’t mean it sarcastically.

"Here." Style pulled out an olive green shag pillow and a moth-eaten baby blue blanket for me.

I sat down near the table on the carpet and went to sleep almost immediately. In the meantime, Style uncrinkled the note slipped to him by his woman friend. There was a whiff of something burning; he got rid of paper trash fast.

At one point, Style gently stroked my cheek and brushed some hair out of my face, but otherwise he left me alone. I hoped my loud snoring wouldn't bother my host much.

* * * * *
The note to Style read: A Storm may be headed your way. Keep an eye open for a lost child. His parents are looking for him. The worst is feared, because the baby leash is torn. Style smiled to himself. "I think I've found him. Where's my reward?"
9. LOOKING OUT FOR STYLE
DAY 5: DAYTIME, STYLE'S SHACK

The shouts and curses of vagrants and junk dealers moving through the dump awakened me. What a romantic way to get up. I looked at Style beside me. He was cute when his mouth was shut. The lantern was a dim violet; its blunt leafy vine was taking on a healthy shade of green from purple. After relieving myself outdoors, where's the public potty?, I snuck back in for a little more shut-eye.

Style cracked open his eyes. "We don't have to go to work for some time."

"When’s that?"

"When the vine is full-green." He pulled his hair back and reached over for a blue clay cup on the table and drank. "Want some water?"

I emptied the cup and handed it back. I tried to go back to sleep. Style spooned me. "Let me warm you up. No wonder you can't sleep." His vigorous warmth chased away some of my anxiety about the upcoming day.

* * * * *

On our way to work, Style got me to laugh with his comments about the shops we were passing on Bridge Road. Bridge Road is named after the wide multi-arch Bridge to Heaven, which connects the poor man’s east side of Jupiter Grove to the rich man’s west side. If you are crossing over from the west, Bridge to Heaven changes to Bridge to Hell. It says a lot about who you are by how you talk about the bridge. Several bridges cross over the River Styx in Jupiter Grove, but Bridge to Heaven is the main span.

Breakfast was on Style. We each had carrot juice and a freshly baked baguette. Because he doesn't chew, he finished first and I ended up sharing.

Before we got to Toadman's, Style stopped. "Hey, are you listening, Storm?"

"Wha', did you say something important?"

He made a pig nose and grunted "oink, oink." Dashing ahead, he eluded my punch.

He was right. I hadn't been paying attention, distracted by a dreamy fragment of Storm's memories that had filtered through my consciousness, of a similar visit through town with his guardians Wolfie and Grayson. Thoughts of the fratricidal Prince Redd also fogged up my brain. Was I in danger in Jupiter Grove?

I caught up to Style and focused on the present. "Do you think Toadman will keep me on? The store doesn't seem busy enough to support another employee."

"He didn’t fire you yesterday."

* * * * *

Toadman greeted us at the front with his ax. Another fool had tried to shoplift, an act of compulsive stupidity given the harsh penalty. Scavengers were dragging the body away. Good. Mop-up wasn't a great way to start the day.

Style went to fetch our uniforms, while Toadman hung up his ax. "On time today, are we? Storm, you're a good boy. Give me your hand." He dropped seven copper coins into it for yesterday's work. "It’s an advance. I'm feeling generous today." Pinching my cheek, he cooed, "I wuv you, yes I do." Someone blew a raspberry.

I examined the shiniest copper. The heads side showed a haloed angel with a forest of trees behind her with the words "Empire of Grand Heaven" stamped above the serene scene. On the tails side was a grand sword with a mountain range behind it and the words "Empire of Grand Hell" stamped below that.

"Are you giving that to me for breakfast?" asked Style.

I had forgotten he was there. "No, but I’ll treat you tomorrow," and I pocketed the coin with the rest.

Eventually I got around to asking Toadman where I could rent a room, though I really wanted to stay with Style. Toadman’s closet was out of the question. "Is there an inn where they need extra help at night?" Toadman suggested I try some places by the river where the tourists hung out.

Style acted hurt. "Don't go," he begged. "Stay with me." He gave me puppy dog eyes. "If you’re going to give anyone money, give it to me."

My reason for renting elsewhere was to keep Style safe. I didn't want him too involved in case Prince Redd's reach extended to Jupiter Grove. I grimaced at the thought of scavengers carting away Style's body. "I'm trying to be independent."

"You're lying."

"Is it that obvious?"

"Is there a wanted poster with your name on it?" Style teased.

Bingo! But I just replied, "C'mon, do I look like a crook? They wouldn't even audition me for the part." I set down the mouseman figurine I had been wiping for dust and nervously looked out toward the street.

Style came around the table and blocked my view. "All right, I know the score and I’m not winning. Living next to a dump isn't in the top ten of lifestyles of the rich and famous. You want better? Look, I've got a friend who owes me. Angelman lives on the west side. In fact, I'm having a beer with him tonight. I'll introduce you."
10. DON'T CALL ME RAINBOW
DAY 5: EVENING, NIGHT MARKET

"Rain. I thought we weren’t going to meet until later." Style was annoyed. He didn’t like being caught off guard. Rain and his solemn lieutenant Julio had cut us off on our way home. "What's the big hurry?"

The auburn ponytailed Julio spoke for his similarly long-haired boss. "None. We just changed our minds. We couldn’t wait to meet your new friend."

I instinctively moved to the side and behind Style, with one hand at the small of his back. Rain and Julio were giants in brownish gray capes and hunting boots. They projected auras of strength, power, and intimidation, not Disney friendly at all. Even the street people had moved away. I was getting increasingly anxious, especially when Rain ignored Style to stare down at me, his oddly glowing violet eyes piercing through a wall of dark blond bangs.

Style shrugged. "Okay. Storm, say hi to Rain and Julio…" I had taken off toward less well-lit alleys. "STORM! STO-O-ORM! He must've gotten cold fee…" Rain and Julio dashed past him, only to be slowed by rolling marbles, then nets dropped by drunk-'n'-punk demons used to protecting their own.

Out of earshot Style muttered, "Rain, you act more like a prince of Hell than a prince of Heaven." Style gave chase on foot. He had considered transforming, but catching up to Storm so quickly wouldn’t be fun. And why make it easy for the Hevins?

They reached the heart of the night market with its sweet-and-sour smell and quarrelsome noise. Vendors waved hats, held up bags, banged on pots and pans, and swiftly traded salted pretzels, fried crickets, and anteater tacos for copper coinage.

Cool evening breezes shifted the loose waves of Rain's pale bangs out of his eyes as they raked the scene from left to right. Customers and vendors alike turned to briefly gawk at the trio before getting back to business.

"Maybe we turned on the star power a little too much," said Julio to his boss.

Style gave them both a look. "You think?"

"We were supposed to be meeting one of the princes of Grand Hell. That wasn't the reaction I was expecting." Rain paused and decided to say no more about that. "Let's split up and meet back at my place when the lanterns turn yellow, two colors from now, with or without Storm. This changes everything. We've confirmed the youngest prince is alive."

As the towering Rain strode down the left side of the street, people tripped over themselves trying to get out of his way, sensing a great white shark in feeding mode in their midst. Hevins were rare in this part of town, and their presence had come to mean someone was in deep doo-doo.

"If either of you finds him first, our rabbit will die of fright," said Style looking up at Julio.

"Then you'd better find him before I do." An inconvenienced Julio made his way down the opposite side of vendor carts, tables, and tents, people parting for him as they had for his boss Rain.

* * * * *

In a littered corner of an abandoned theater's entranceway, off the commercial thoroughfare of the night market, I quaked, my nerves overwhelmed. "I want to go home, wherever that is." A tear trickled down my cheek, and then I started bawling. A stray dog joined in.

I almost missed the approaching footsteps. Too late. "Go away," I wailed, and I tried to wipe my eyes and nose clean. Rain squatted a few feet away.

My back wanted to press through the wall. When that didn't work, I shook the theater’s double front doors. They were locked and chained shut, but that didn't stop me from trying to pull and kick them open. "MURTA! DOUBLE MURTA!" I cried, repeating a curse I had heard often in Jupiter Grove.

"Hungry?" His strong but gentle voice made me turn. He pulled out a bread roll from a white paper bag. The bag had a drawing of a smiling demon child and a smiling angel child holding hands and eating cookies together.

My attention narrowed to the roll. I almost forgot about Rain. Glancing at him, I could see his eyes were completely tucked away behind his bangs. He didn't seem as threatening with his eyes hidden.

"Here. Take it while it's warm." His voice was calm and soothing.

I walked a few steps toward the half-kneeling man. Against my better judgment, I reached for the roll, and tugged it out of his fingers. I backed up quickly and ate his bait from a safe distance.

His intense eyes were starting to peek out, making me shudder. I wondered if I could squeeze past Rain's large frame back into the market area. I imperiously thrust out my hand for another roll, although the taste seemed a little on the salty side.

The corners of Rain's mouth turned up subtly. He slowly stood up, reached into the bag, and brought out a second roll.

Maybe I could fake him out and make a run for the border. But first, I leaned back against the theater and blinked several times to clear my blurring vision.

Rain quickly stepped over and caught me as I slumped. "You cheated," I slurred, and he chuckled. He must've put his own special seasoning on the rolls. Strangely, I wasn't too worried. Bundled in the giant's strong arms, I felt inexplicably safe; whereas when I had first looked into Rain's eyes, I had seen only the cold void of my grave.