Hunting in Hell by Maria Violante Read Free Book Online Page A

mercenary was the only entity, demon or otherwise, the horse had ever warmed up to, one might even say she was slightly jealous.   Might.
    "So, what brings you to my neck of the woods?"   She snorted again.   Pico's greatest arboreal achievement was a lone strand of cacti, and she seemed to enjoy telling the joke every time they met.
    "I think that matter is best left for another, more private time and place."
    The Mademoiselle nodded once, her face growing serious.   "How unpleasant."   She gestured at the bar.   "I won't be able to get away until I shut this place down, so how about joining me for a drink?"   She gave the mercenary a garish, sloppy wink, and the three patrons laughed.   Apparently, they had been following the conversation.
    De la Roca leaned in and cast her voice lower.   "How is it that they don't mention him?   Can they not see him?"
    "See who?"   She followed De la Roca's gaze toward Alsvior.   "Oh, the horse?   They see him just fine, don't you boys?"
    "What horse?" asked one of the men, his voice elevated enough to ring off of the walls of the saloon.   The other two immediately erupted into laughter.
    "Those boys, they've seen a lot of things over the years.   As long as they keep their mouths shut, I keep their drinks free.   Ain't that right, boys?"
    The three men hooted and hollered, raising their glasses before throwing them back and draining them.
    "Damn drunkards," muttered the Mademoiselle, low enough that there was no risk of being overheard.   "Alright, Alsvior, go find yourself someplace open to stand or sit, and don't you dare break any of my chairs on the way over!   And can't you pick a smaller form, for Pete's sake?"
    Immediately, he shifted into a more appropriate size.
    "Hey," said one of the men, "That's a neat trick!   Can he do a donkey?   Or a unicorn?"
    He hadn't finished laughing before Alsvior bit him.
    * * *
     
    "So, what's all of the fuss?"   The Mademoiselle was cleaning the bar, mopping up wet spots with a damp rag.   De la Roca marveled at that.   It's like she enjoys the exertion.   She was sure the demon could have flicked a finger and accomplished the same task—if not by herself, then by proxy.
    Perhaps it's like cleaning my gun.   Always unnecessary, she still did it faithfully every night.   It was a kind of worry stone, a signal that all was well in the world.   Perhaps this is the same.
    Alsvior had curled up under a tall table, his legs tucked under him.
    "Aren't horses supposed to sleep standing up?"   The Mademoiselle's question was punctuated with an odd half-smile, and De la Roca couldn't tell if she was kidding or not.
    "He's not exactly a normal horse."
    "That may be so, but he's pretty cute.   You're just a big puppy dog, aren't you?"   She pursed her lips in a soppy, ridiculous fashion, pitching her voice up into a whispered squeal.
    As if he heard, his ear flicked and he neighed gently.  
    Not for the first time, De la Roca was astounded by the Mademoiselle's humanity.   It was as if she retained feelings that De la Roca had long ago lost, an absence that the mercenary didn't notice until she came to Pico.   Maybe it's because you live the life of a killer and not a bartender.
    She reached into herself, intent on using the lamprey's kevra stone, but the Mademoiselle laid a firm hand on her arm.   "You know my rules.   We don't do that sort of thing in here."
    De la Roca was about to protest, but the buxom woman continued, "Don't give me a reason to throw you out.   I'm far older and far stronger than you could ever imagine, and I get the feeling you didn't drag your ass all the way to Pico for some watered-down, piss-warm beer."   She released De la Roca's arm.    Incredibly, it felt cold and hot at the same time, and tingled as if it had fallen asleep.  
    "Actually, it's quite cold," said De la Roca, sending her mind back up, away from the depths of the stone.   "And not exactly the swill you make it out to