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Back Happy Hour In Hell
Chapters (60)
  1. DAW Books Presents
  2. HAPPY HOURINHELL
  3. Copyright page
  4. Contents
  5. Dedication
  6. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  7. prologue
  8. one
  9. two
  10. three
  11. four
  12. five
  13. six
  14. interlude
  15. seven
  16. eight
  17. nine
  18. ten
  19. eleven
  20. twelve
  21. interlude
  22. thirteen
  23. fourteen
  24. interlude
  25. fifteen
  26. sixteen
  27. seventeen
  28. eighteen
  29. nineteen
  30. twenty
  31. twenty-one
  32. interlude
  33. twenty-two
  34. twenty-three
  35. twenty-four
  36. twenty-five
  37. twenty-six
  38. twenty-seven
  39. twenty-eight
  40. twenty-nine
  41. thirty
  42. thirty-one
  43. thirty-two
  44. thirty-three
  45. thirty-four
  46. thirty-five
  47. thirty-six
  48. thirty-seven
  49. thirty-eight
  50. thirty-nine
  51. forty
  52. forty-one
  53. forty-two
  54. forty-three
  55. forty-four
  56. forty-five
  57. forty-six
  58. forty-seven
  59. forty-eight
  60. epilogue

Then I spotted it. It wasn’t easy, because it was almost the same color as the stone—a long thread only a little brighter than the great blocks of lava in the wall—snagged on an edge about waist-high. I reached out and lifted it gently with my finger. It was very fine thread, something that would have been expensive even on Earth, I guessed, but much more so here in Hell. It was almost the same length on either side of the snag, as though someone had held it by each end and draped it carefully in place. But if Caz had done it, what did it mean?

Of course Caz had done it. This was the woman who had managed to steal Eligor’s angel feather, and to sleight-of-hand her locket into my coat right under the Grand Duke of Hell’s pointy nose. She’d left the thread for me. She wanted me to use it to find her. I refused to believe anything else.

Another roar came from below. The seemingly defeated contestant with the slashed throat had caught his rival from behind, sunk his teeth into the poor bastard’s leg, and ripped out his hamstring; he might have lost the race but he was going to make certain his rival didn’t win either. The spectators, like most Hell-dwellers, were big fans of fucking up the other guy’s chances. They responded with cheers of approval as the two bloody bodies wriggled more and more slowly before coming to a halt at last, only a few yards from the finish. A squadron of large Murderers Sect demons with no-shit pitchforks was marching toward them, and I doubted either of the contestants was being retired to stud.

I didn’t bother to watch the very end. I was already on my way down the stairs, headed for the Night Market.

Saad the fence lifted the cracked lens he wore on a cord around his neck and squinted an eye. He held the thread up to get as much light on it as possible and examined it from several different angles, his pink spider legs tilting it up and down. Then he dropped it back into my hand.

“One handful,” he said. “Take it or leave it.”

“I don’t want to sell it, I want to know what it is—where it’s from!”

Saad licked his cracked lips with a tongue like a black garter snake. “I know. Cost you one handful to find out.” He gave me a harshly amused look. “You don’t think I tell you for free, do you? Hah! I don’t shit on someone for free.”