Dead & Godless by Donald J. Amodeo Page A

Adrenaline numbed the aching burn in his
legs, but for how much longer?
    He
rounded another bend and lightning pealed, the flash splitting the sky with a
deafening crack. Corwin froze. Less than a block ahead, a horde of shadowy
figures was charging in his direction. Somehow they had cut him off. He
pivoted, thinking to double back, but the view behind was no better.
    “Shit!”
    From
somewhere nearby, a girl whispered in an urgent tone.
    “This
way!”
    She was
hidden in a side street, a gap in the left-hand wall that had gone unnoticed.
Without waiting for a response, she fled down the path.
    A
second lightning bolt crashed and sheets of icy rain began pelting the city as
he dashed after her into a shady alley that was even more claustrophobic than
those before. The girl was prying back a loose span in the corner of a
chain-link fence. Corwin couldn’t see her face, but there was something about
the bounce of her auburn hair . . .
    “Mary?”
    “Through
here!” she called and disappeared through the hole.
    Corwin
crouched, pulled open the fence and hastily squeezed through, the chain links clinking
as they sprung back into place. Soaking wet, he hugged his knees to his chest
and huddled behind a length of sheet metal. No sooner had he gotten out of
sight than the alley swarmed with thugs. Boots stomped past his hiding place,
close enough to splash him. There couldn’t have been fewer than twenty men.
    “He
had to have gone this way,” shouted one of them.
    “Find
him!” snarled another.
    Corwin
held his breath. Not moving a muscle, he waited as their footsteps faded into
the night, until the only sound left was the incessant patter of the rain.
    When
all had been calm for several minutes, he let out a long exhale and finally
turned to take a measure of his surroundings. There wasn’t much to see. Whether
or not his savior had truly been Mary, she was gone now. Corwin stood alone in
the dank recess of a dilapidated building. It extended for maybe twenty feet before
dead-ending beside a pair of tin trash cans. A lone doorway loomed in a pool of
golden lamplight.
    Might
as well give it a try, he figured.
    Every
other door that he had come across in this bleak maze of alleyways had been
obstinately locked, but for once the knob didn’t resist. Corwin eased open the
door and stepped through . . . into the rear corner of The Cosmic Cup.

9
    Apples and Razor Blades
    “Well, what do
you know?” Ransom poked his head through the restroom door. “There really is an
alley back here!”
    Corwin
followed him and stepped out onto a cobbled road. Wintry daylight shone down,
snowflakes drifting lazily in the frosty air.
    “No!”
His gaze darted left and right. “This is all wrong!”
    “You
were expecting a different alley?”
    “A
whole different city!” said Corwin emphatically. “For one thing, it was a
stormy night. All the buildings were modern. There was concrete and graffiti
and that bum whose ass I dragged off the train tracks!”
    The
foreign city in which he found himself now bore little resemblance to the one that
he had just escaped. The architecture reminded him of something out of a
Victorian era, with elegantly masonry, steep roofs and smoking chimneys
everywhere on display. Tall, narrow windows were crisscrossed with strips of
black iron that fashioned the windowpanes into exquisite patterns. A light
blanket of snow dusted the rooftops and windowsills, but along the center of
each road the ground was curiously dry. So too were his clothes. As a frigid
breeze nipped his skin, Corwin noticed gratefully that he was no longer sopping
wet.
    “I
hadn’t expected them to make a move so soon,” muttered Ransom.
    “Who
is them?”
    “The
prosecution. It was no lie when I told you that your trial would be a close
one. The other side is convinced that your soul belongs to them, and demons
aren’t known for playing by the rules.”
    “Let
me get this straight,” said Corwin. “There’s a demonic law firm