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Then he felt himself moving, but not in any specific direction. Smooth sailing so far. Within
the next few seconds he should be stepping out into a dull brick arrival room at Hilliard
Portal Company s downtown headquarters. After that, he would take the C line to his
apartment near the university, and assuming the alchemy grad student to whom he d sublet
Hell Cop: Red Sands 109
the place hadn t turned everything to lead, he d be asleep on his own couch before the
evening news was done.
Then abruptly the portal went black, and Michael felt himself drifting. Adrenaline
pumped through his muscles. The portal had failed, leaving him in the black between
worlds, helpless. He took a deep breath. Most portal disturbances lasted less than a minute,
he told himself. All he had to do was stay still until the power was restored. He calmly began
to count the seconds.
One one thousand.
Two one thousand.
Something or someone slammed into his body. His bag flew off his shoulder, and he
felt the contents spilling out onto his feet, but heard no sound. He felt cloth, then something
heavy and wet.
Demonic power surged up inside him, and Michael pushed it back down. The portal
would react, no matter how small his endowment of demonic magic might be. He could end
up anywhere.
The rushing feeling started again. And with it came the silver suffusion of light.
Seconds later, the light dissolved into the white cinderblock walls of Hilliard s Portal, Inc.
The two technicians who were running the portal gaped at him. Michael looked down,
hoping that his things had made the journey with him.
Then it was his turn to recoil in horror.
At his feet lay a corpse. The man s body had a round red burn in the center of his
forehead, like a wound from a shock-volt pistol. Blood streaked the man s face. Laying atop
the man s chest, among Michael s dirty button-up shirts and frayed boxer briefs, was
Michael s own shock-volt.
110 Nicole Kimberling
His heart raced, blood pounding in his ears. What must the technicians be thinking
now? Michael looked back up at them, smiling and raising his hands in what he hoped they
would perceive as a harmless gesture of supplication.
Hi there, guys! Michael said. You wouldn t believe what just happened.
One of the technicians, a short, bald man whom Michael remembered from his
departure trip, almost started toward him, but was pulled back by his taller partner.
Don t approach the demon! The technician slammed his hand down on a button and
a red curtain of containment spells sprang up between them. Restraining spells seeped into
Michael s skin, numbing him like a shot of novocaine.
A woman s voice penetrated the thick atmosphere.
Traveler, there is no need for alarm. Please do not try to move as this will cause the
spells to constrict. The Parmas Metropolitan Demonic Unit is on the way. Please excuse the
inconvenience. As the women went on to repeat this same message in three common
demonic languages, Michael lost the ability to move or even blink.
The technicians fled the room. Through the wide portal-station windows, he could see
them in the hallway outside, dead-bolting and demon-sealing the door behind them. A red
light in the hall ignited and whirled while sirens like fire engines alerted the entire building
that Michael and his dead companion had arrived. A crowd of gawkers gathered outside,
pointing at him and the dead body.
He wanted to kick it away, but was held fast, feeling its sickening weight against his
leg. He felt no heat and wondered how long the man had been dead. And how had he gotten
into the portal in the first place?
He recognized that he was, again, distancing himself from him emotions, but he felt
this was good since his primary emotion seemed to be fear, verging on panic.
The crowd at the window parted. And then he saw them -- six cops walking two
abreast, towering over all but the demonic employees at Hilliard s.
Hell Cop: Red Sands 111
Military-trained sorcerers in full riot gear with shock-volt machine guns and no sense
of humor. Hell cops. They spread out in an arc in front of him, shock-volts trained on him.
Visors down. He could see his own frightened face reflected in the curving surfaces.
A plainclothes officer followed soon after. Like all hell cops, he was tall and built like a
tank. He had skin the color of strong coffee and a bull-like neck that seemed barely
contained by the neat white collar of his dress shirt. A tan sport coat rested over his left arm,
and he carried a tranq bitebox in his hand. Michael wanted to tell him that there was no
need for tranquilizers -- that he would come peacefully. He exerted his telepathy, focusing
out past the boundaries of the spell cage that held him.
The spell cage contracted around him, crushing even the air from his lungs.
Please don t attempt to use any magic, Mr. Gold, the plainclothes cop said. He moved
so that Michael could make eye contact. The cop s irises were hazel, and he had thick,
curling lashes. He held up a badge where Michael could see it.
I m Detective Argent. We d like to ask you a few questions about your trip, so we re
taking you down to the station.
Michael reflexively tried again to exert his telepathy and this time lost the ability to
swallow.
Mr. Gold, I need you to stop using magic for your own safety. The spell cage is
automatic and can kill you. Just relax and let us get you out of it.
Yeah, right, you ll get me out. More like knock me out&
For a moment, the cop almost seemed to hear his thoughts. He smiled slightly and said,
This might sting.
He pressed the bitebox against Michael s neck, and he felt two fangs stab into his flesh.
Paralyzing demon venom pumped into him. Probably from a cabrasha demon, though he
couldn t be sure. He should remember to ask one of the adnihilotoxicologists about bitebox
venom later.
112 Nicole Kimberling
The cage of spells vanished, and Michael fell forward onto Argent s round shoulder, his
face against the freshly laundered shirt. Argent s arms closed around him, holding Michael
up with no apparent effort.
Michael s fixed stare fell on the tiny sailboats decorating Argent s blue tie. They
seemed to bob on a silken sea. For a moment, Michael thought it might be an enchanted tie.
Then he realized he was just passing out.
Hell Cop: Red Sands 113
Chapter Two
The Enyalios Station holding cells were really just a series of cages in a damp and
cavernous basement. Animals and sentients were all together with the more humanoid
demons, crammed together in one chain link cage. Not the place to be a sissy half-breed, still
groggy from being biteboxed, and according to the drunken centaur sitting next to him, as
pretty as a palomino.
All Michael s research had shown that among demons, only losers came to this plane of
their own accord, and his cage mates seemed to verify that hypothesis. An angry towering
devil with ram s horns and cloven hooves bellowed about how he d been framed. A trio of
pallid and smelly undead slumped together in the corner by the toilet, whispering.
The other cages held demons that could more accurately be described as monsters:
extra-planar megafauna summoned into this world to be used as beasts of burden or for blood
sports. A shivering, canoe-sized reptile that looked like a snake with legs cowered back from
the fluorescent light bulb. A giant spider carrying a passel of cantaloupe-sized spiderlings on
her back intermittently spat viscous black liquid at the patrolling guard.
114 Nicole Kimberling
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