The Infernal Games

  The Infernal Games

  Reed Logan Westgate

  Copyright © 2020 Reed Logan Westgate

  All rights reserved.

  To my beautiful daughters, Emma and Lyriel, it truly is never too late to chase your dreams.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Bryan, for taking the time to read everything I have ever written I cannot thank you enough for your support and belief in me.

  Kyle, for all the feedback on character development and creation thanks for playing along.

  Amanda, for putting up with me no matter how much I fussed or ranted in the middle of the night during this process.

  Jeff T and Liv, a special thanks for a late evening call to break the tie.

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  Prologue

  Chapter One | The Lost And Forgotten

  Chapter Two | The Hungry

  Chapter Three | Hunting The Hunter

  Chapter Four | The Man Who Breathes Death

  Chapter Five | The Devil’s Trap

  Chapter Six | Pride And Prejudice

  Chapter Seven | Cruel Intentions

  Chapter Eight | The Necropolis

  Chapter Nine | The Dream Eater

  Chapter Ten | Cat And Mouse

  Chapter Eleven | Power Of Choice

  Chapter Twelve | The Devil You Know

  Chapter Thirteen | A Safe Place

  Chapter Fourteen | Walking The Dreamland

  Chapter Fifteen | A Ghostly Intervention

  Chapter Sixteen | The Darkest Hour

  Chapter Seventeen | Taming Of The Fae

  Chapter Eighteen | The Devil You Don’t Know

  Chapter Nineteen | Mystery Of The Mist

  Chapter Twenty | The Hermit Of Turtle Island

  Chapter Twenty-One | The Shallow Grave

  Chapter Twenty-Two | The Cold Grasp Of The Dead

  Chapter Twenty-Three | Requiem For The Death Eater

  Chapter Twenty-Four | Council Of Magic

  Chapter Twenty-Five | And They All Fall Down

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  Valeria walked briskly through the busy corridors of Boston General hospital, her black Versace heels clicking on the floor in rhythm with her determined strides. Her hair was pulled back in a professional yet simple black ponytail with a red ribbon tied in a slender bow, which matched the thin red wire frames of her glasses. The fluorescent lighting of the hospital didn’t do any favors for her pale complexion, but with her porcelain doll-like features, her flawless skin didn’t really need flattering lighting to look its best. With a trim, form-fitting black blazer over a red blouse and a matching black pencil skirt, she was all business. That didn’t stop the lewd stares from the men she passed in the hall or the suggestive snickers as she passed. Being a succubus, her presence was like chum in the water to the endless supply of desperate and crude males human society seemed to churn out like lemmings. If she had more time, she would have eagerly fed on one of the simpletons, gorging on their organs in a delectable feast, but today she was here on a mission.

  She had been called by Malek, her demonic patron, for an important assignment, and given her recent failures to collect souls, it was imperative that this meeting went well. She had been in the Earth Realm for nearly a decade already, but since she had crossed from the lower infernal planes, her soul collection had been... lackluster. She was far behind her peers, which was embarrassing considering the ripeness of the humans occupying the United States of America. She was pulling numbers one would expect from one stationed in Sweden or Iceland. They were perfectly respectable for a small, humble population, but this was the United States of America—the epicenter of free will. The entertainment industry itself was a boon for demonkind; thanks to the brilliant creation of reality television by the current North American arch-demon, even talentless slobs had a chance at fifteen minutes of fame, which made for easy pickings for her kind.

  Valeria had gone hungry after being assigned to a lowly government social services division. Unlike the better positioned scouts in politics and entertainment, she was left with the socially inept dregs of society, the people who lacked ambition, and generally speaking, those who lacked ambition seldom made deals for their souls. It was outrageous the number of vessels just moping around the Earth Realm in a foggy haze, lost to the tedium of the daily grind. Humanity made her sick deep down in her bowels. All the potential of souls, but few ever harnessed their abilities. Most just went about the monotonous grind of their lives, burning out their lives until the final flickers of light were extinguished. They seemed perfectly content to soak up the lies and live in a mundane haze. They marveled at their science and technology, which allowed them to become fat, lazy, and further isolated from each other.

  Her stomach rumbled as she navigated through the busy hospital corridors, making her way to the elevators in time to catch the nearest one just as the doors were closing. A young man dressed in faded blue scrubs nearly tripped over his cart of breakfast plates to hold the door for her. He smiled awkwardly and scooted to the side of his meal cart to allow her to enter.

  “Sorry about that,” he clamored apologetically. “Breakfast run for the patients.”

  “Smells delicious,” she replied through a smile as fake as her acrylic nails. “Floor 13, please.”

  The young man clumsily pressed the button for the thirteenth floor and chuckled nervously to himself. His smell of weed and hormones filling her senses causing her stomach to knot. He was in his early twenties, not particularly handsome, with short brown hair and light stubble. He wore black crocs on his bare feet, and she wondered if they were standard issue like the scrubs or if the stoner actually liked reeking of sweaty feet. He was a loser, born and bred. She could smell the sweet hint of desperation and failure wafting off him like a heavy perfume.

  “You a shrink?” he finally asked, his voice cracking on the last word.

  “A social worker,” she replied with a half-smile. “A word of advice, however: Shrinks don’t like being called shrinks.”

  “Of course,” he said with another nervous stoner chuckle. “Do social workers like dinner? I mean, of course you like dinner... would you like to get dinner together?”

  “That’s sweet,” she replied, eyeing the young man like a predator seizing up its prey. He caught her eyes. Obviously misunderstanding her intentions, he blushed and flashed a school-boy smile that probably worked wonders at the local dive bar. “Yes, I’ll join you for a bite. Want to meet down at the lobby when your shift is over? Maybe I can bring you back to my place for a home-cooked meal?”

  “Ye... Yeah.” The boy smiled from ear to ear, practically brimming with pride. The elevator dinged on the tenth floor, and he looked at the corridor as if it had betrayed him. “Tonight. Six o’clock.”

  “It’s a date.” She smiled as the boy hastily pushed his cart down the corridor, so very pleased with himself that he never stopped to even offer his name. So much the better for Valeria; her dinner didn’t need a name. The elevator lurched into an ascent once more as she debated broiling his heart or sautéing it with some garlic and butter. She made a mental note to pick up more oregano on the way home as the elevator dinged, signaling arrival on the thirteenth floor. The heavy doors slid open, and she entered into another corridor and proceeded to the open area ahead.

  She stopped for a moment in the waiting room, taking in the area with a deep breath. It was sterile looking, with bland furniture and matching bland end tables littered with magazines that were months old. The television glowed and flickered from its high perch on the far wall, left on the local news channel. The receptionist sat behind a plain white desk, busily typing away on a computer terminal in the empt
y waiting room. She wore a thin black pair of wireframed glasses which only seemed to highlight her plump face in the most unflattering way. With a short brown pixie cut and clothes obviously purchased from the clearance rack at the local big box store the succubus found the pedestrian woman’s ensemble woefully unrefined and struggled to suppress a sneer of contempt. The sterile smell that seemed to linger in the hospital filled Valeria’s nostrils, and she longed for something more pleasant.

  “Excuse me,” Valeria beckoned. “I’m here from the State Department.”

  “Oh, you’re here for the pickup?” the receptionist replied from behind the monitor, never stopping for a moment from her work to even make eye contact.

  “Yes. Has my associate already arrived?” Valeria asked with a sticky-sweet voice. She hated this part, being nice to your food source. It was humiliating. She could split the woman asunder with barely an effort and gorge on her organs in delight, so weak and frail were these humans, mere sheep. Instead, she was exchanging pleasantries and smiles, engaging in the charade.

  “A Mr. Stillwater checked in a short time ago,” the receptionist answered curtly. “Through the door and then to your right. Third door on the left. Observation room three.”

  “Thank you,” Valeria said with the same sticky-sweet tone as she made for the door.

  “Don’t forget to sign in,” the receptionist reminded her firmly, finally looking up from her terminal to reach for a clipboard and slide it to the end of her desk.

  “Of course,” Valeria replied with a hint of frustration showing through her false smile. She quickly signed the next available visitor slot and spun the clipboard around, sliding it back to the receptionist. The woman eyed it before reaching into a drawer and producing a bright orange tag with the word “visitor” written in bold black text. Valeria reached down, retrieved the tag, and clipped it roughly to her black blazer before passing through the door.

  The hallway was nondescript, looking identical to all the other hallways in the building. It had the same dull glow of fluorescent lights bouncing off eggshell-white walls, which were marked with scuffs here and there from gurneys. The occasional scenic painting hung on the wall in some vain effort to make one remember that there were things of beauty beyond this bastion of death and disease. Hospitals were a foreign concept to demonkind. They didn’t gather their sick and dying in some vain attempt to prolong the inevitable. Instead, in the infernal planes, when a demon was sick or dying, it was common courtesy to devour the creature before its frailty and weakness spread.

  Valeria passed quickly to the third door and grabbed the latch. A pulse of dark energy shot up her arm, setting her nerves ablaze in tingling bolts. Already from the hall she could feel the overwhelming presence of her patron, Malek. He had been in the Earth Realm since the witch trials in Salem, in which he had been instrumental, culling the herd of covens that had immigrated to the New World thanks to the false promises of religious freedom. He was now responsible for demonic affairs for the entire New England seaboard. As was the demon way, he eyed advancement in the hierarchy of the dukes of hell and was always entangled in a myriad of schemes and plots to ruin a rival. She could feel his impatience oozing through the door, a seething, malignant evil, and she knew it was going to be a rough encounter. With a deep breath, she turned the knob and entered observation room three.

  It was dimly lit in contrast to the neon lighting of the corridors. Four chairs were lined up against a table before a large one-way glass window. Standing in front of the chairs with his back to the door was her patron, Malek. His jet-black hair was cut nearly to the scalp in the back and slightly longer on the top of his head. Dressed in a black power suit, he appeared like a Wall Street tycoon, complete with a chiseled frame and a gold Rolex watch. He was taller than most men, with broad shoulders and a natural aura of strength that made other men shrink in his presence. Without so much as a turn in her direction, he extended his hand to his side, outstretched in a motion for Valeria to join him before the viewing glass. She stepped forward quickly, looking through the glass to the observation room beyond. It looked like every other room in the psych ward, with soft white padded walls and no decorations. A brown-haired girl sat slumped and bandaged in a white plastic chair at a matching white plastic table.

  “This one,” Malek began, his voice smooth as velvet with a deep resonance. He could coax a nun into his bedchamber with that voice. It resonated within her being, carrying the full weight of his infernal power. She could feel each word in her chest reverberating as if it were being bellowed into her by a speaker at a heavy metal concert. “I want to add her to my collection.”

  “Okay,” Valeria agreed, not seeing anything of value in the brunette waif slouched over at the plastic table.

  “Not for eating, Valeria,” he corrected, and the words echoed with magic deep within her. The command of the infernal being became an order engraved in the very core of her essence.

  “Not for eating,” she repeated.

  “This one, the girl, will do nicely,” he continued, never taking his eyes from the brown-haired girl. “You will be responsible for her upbringing.”

  “I am to be her nursemaid?” Valeria dared to ask. It wasn’t an insult, rather a clarification of what role was expected of her.

  “You have been in the Earth Realm for quite some time now,” Malek mused. “Yet, your collection of souls is comparable to the meager imps and lesser beings of the area. Why is that?”

  “A failing on my part, my lord,” she replied quickly with a bow of her head. “It has taken me longer to get acclimated to the Earth Realm than I had anticipated.”

  “Is that so?” Malek mused, bringing his hand up to rub his smooth chin. He turned, looking her over. His eyes were ruddy brown, at least for today, and he appeared no older than a human in his mid-thirties. He was attractive, with perfectly smooth skin and chiseled features. He could have easily been a model or an actor in this world, but he was so much more than that. He was a patron, the scion of New England, the head demon. He could unmake her with a snap of his fingers and banish her back to the Infernal Realm with a mere thought.

  “I am improving,” she added quickly. “I can do this task.”

  “I believe you will,” he replied with a smile, turning back to observe the battered brunette woman in the room beyond through the one-way glass.

  “What shall I be upbringing her for, my lord?” she asked boldly, looking at the whelp before her. Malek didn’t usually engage in this type of behavior, having far more important matters to attend to than picking up human strays.

  “Do you not see it? Her potential?” Malek asked inquisitively. “You haven’t developed the sight yet, have you?”

  “No, my lord,” Valeria said, embarrassed. Higher-level demons like Malek could see a person’s true nature and lineage, allowing them to gauge the value of a soul. “I am afraid I am still too young to possess the sight.”

  “She’s a bit of demon blood in her,” he replied dismissively. “Trace amounts to be sure, somewhere on the mother’s side it appears, going back generations. They manifest in her nature. She’s a Baku.”

  “A dream eater?” Valeria questioned skeptically. “Those are rare, but seldom of value; the dreams have probably driven her mad. That’s the problem with Baku. Few can withstand the horrors, and they become useless, gibbering idiots. It was much better when humans used shock therapy and insane asylums. At least that was entertaining. I wish I could have been here to see that, but now it’s all drugs and therapy. A shame, really.”

  “She fought a werewolf,” he added, turning to see Valeria’s reaction.

  “That explains the bandages,” Valeria replied. “Lucky to be alive. It let her go?”

  “She killed it,” he answered with a grin.

  “This runt?” Valeria asked skeptically. “She barely looks able to stand.”

  “She saw the lone wolf in her dreams,” Malek continued. “She hunted it down and killed it by harnessing the
nightmare energy.”

  “Harnessing nightmares?” Valeria inquired. “So she has a bit of magic in her as well? Something in her blood allowing her to control her Baku nature?”

  “Her father is a druid, a gate guardian, here in the Boston Grove,” he finished with a knowing smile.

  “Well I’ll be an angel’s tail-feather,” Valeria said, taking a closer look at the girl before them.

  “Precisely,” Malek grinned devilishly. “I want to add her to my collection.”

  “It’s a rare piece,” Valeria nodded. “What about the father? A grove of druids could be trouble.”

  “He left her here to teach her a lesson,” Malek laughed. “She was dragged in torn and battered, but victorious. In her delirium, she told the doctors she had killed a werewolf. Next thing you know, she is here in the psych ward on enough tranquilizer to knock out a pachyderm.”

  “And he left her here,” Valeria shrugged in disbelief.

  “No doubt he figures the tough love will deter her from hunting the things that haunt her slumber,” Malek replied. “He undoubtedly knows she can manifest the nightmare energy.”

  “It’s a part of her,” Valeria continued, seeing the potential. “She can’t stop, can she?”

  “No,” Malek agreed. “The Baku side of her consumes nightmares; the druid heritage stores the energy and allows her to access it. She is the most curious creature. More importantly, she can be shaped into something of more use to me. I want you to take her to Maine.”

  “Maine?” Valeria nearly choked on the words. “There’s barely anything but pine trees and lobsters up there.”

  “She’ll be isolated,” he added. “Away from the Boston Grove and yet still nestled nicely for safekeeping in my territory. You see to it she enrolls in a school. Make it look like she learned a lesson, and her father will be content.”

  “Pine trees,” Valeria sighed.

  “Maine is still rural,” he continued, ignoring her discontentment. “Plenty of ley lines. It’ll be a good place for her to grow into her abilities. You’ll be able to feed her a steady stream of things to hunt there.”