Oops... my fingers slipped-16,000 times.

Kirsty is standing in a place she had never forgotten but always pushed hopelessly to the back of her mind. The halls of hell were yawning out before her, as if waiting for her return. Tentatively, she stepped forward, the sound of her boots echoing harshly in the near silence. Kirsty thought that she must be very far from the center to not hear the screams of the damned pulsing around her. Each step was tentative, Kirsty looking over her shoulder every so often to see nothing but darkness behind her. The path ahead was lit with a dull blue hue that seemed to come from nowhere in particular.

Her pace increased, her right hand remaining on the wall to keep her balance and remind her that these halls were a labyrinth in and of themselves. It seemed strange to Kirsty that she was calm, unafraid, when this of all places usually inspired such fear that she couldn't breathe. Nights of terror peppered her sleeping hours for years, dreams of such dark tortures that every psychiatrist she'd been to between the ages of twenty and thirty recommended in patient treatment. No one had ever believed her… until Trevor. Physically shaking her head of the thought, Kirsty pressed on.

Perseverance had become like a second nature over the last year. Once the detectives left and the insurance paid out and all of the formalities had been taken care of, she was left with nothing. Trevor had insisted that she stay home while he worked and her volunteer hours now seemed tedious. And from somewhere deep inside, Kirsty felt the need to protect rise on unsteady feet. In possession of one puzzle box, she could keep it safe from unknowing hands—but Dr. Channard had at least five or six more in his study. She couldn't let them fall into the wrong hands. This was when the trouble started.

It began with a break in, her house ransacked with nothing taken. She didn't know how she knew, but they had to be after the box. Kirsty kept it with her at all times, sitting at the bottom of her purse where she could reach down and feel the sharp angles periodically. After an unsuccessful mugging followed by an attempted purse-snatching incident, and then the theft of her old clunker of a car, Kirsty found herself mired in paranoia. She sold the house, sold the car, and stuffed all of her necessities (to include the box) into a duffle and took off literally into the night.

They followed her, but Kirsty grew careful and resourceful, using money when she had to and bartering when money wouldn't do. Libraries stories beneath the earth were her first home after leaving the city. She spent a week in Marrakesh, working her way through an anthology of the many depictions of hell. Her notes grew so large that she splurged on a tablet computer to save space. Her coat still sported a thick leather bound note book on the inner pocket, the weight resting against her chest, just in case.

The first box she discovered was rather easy to find, an elderly blind man in a small pawn shop took her old wedding bands in exchange. She was glad to be rid of them. The second box took six months to find, held hostage by a cyber punk in a subway system. He was startled when she asked about it and tried to run. Kirsty resorted to her taser to knock him down. His fear was evident, urine seeping through the thick material of his baggy pants. She relented after a moment, standing above him while he offered the box to her between sobs. The vision of him raising his hands to her in fear made her wonder just who he thought she was and what he thought she might do to him.

From there, she had two close calls—one running down the streets of a small German town until she settled into an all night pub of sorts and another throwing herself bodily off a bridge into the cold Greek waters of the Mediterranean. Kirsty didn't know how they were tracking her movements as she exclusively used cash, but no part of her wanted to know why they were chasing her down. That was, until they cornered her in the desert of Nevada, the dry wind pulling the moisture from her skin while she knelt in the sand.

There was no discernible accent as they spoke to one another, rifling through her duffle. She kept her eyes on the ground beneath her, working at the zip ties around her wrists. There was a reason she kept a very small razor tucked into the belt around her waist, and it was currently tearing slowly through the plastic while she waited for her captors to come up with nothing.

"The box," one of them said to her, hands miming the shape. "Where is it?"

Duct taped to the bottom of the monument in the middle of a graveyard three towns over. Three inconspicuous bulges at the feet of an angel.

Kirsty told them she didn't know what they were talking about and they hit her a bit, knocking the wind out of her. Internally, she wondered at the fact that the pain was not quite so bad once you got past the throbbing in her head. Warped by the events of her early adulthood and horrified by her own vengeful nature, Kirsty kept her mouth shut and denied over and over again. Just as she thought they might kill her, they received a phone call and they simply walked away.

She waited three months to go back for the boxes, taking the next plane out of the country and to the Caribbean. It was here that the heat and exhaustion finally took a toll on her and Kirsty rented a small apartment to take a short vacation. That was the last clear memory she had before she came to consciousness already standing in Hell.

Sounds were becoming clearer, the dry walls sending them in a roiling tunnel in all directions. Kirsty could hear the moans of the damned, the scrape of metal, and a soft tinkling melody that triggered memories of terror and pain. Again, she was struck by the lack of fear in her belly, the ever present urge to move forward. When she came to a crossroads, Kirsty stood in the middle and looked down each hall, unsure of where to go. One wrong turn here could bring her face to face with the disfigured face of a Cenobite. On their own turf, Kirsty didn't stand a chance of keeping her skin intact.

Finally, she sighed and picked a tunnel at random, her body dropping a little to change her center of gravity, just like she'd been taught. There was no way to stay in one place long enough to truly be trained in any martial arts, but Kirsty took as many kickboxing classes as she could one on one with trainers across the world. She only came to one or two sessions, but she always paid up front and in cash.

Pressing one foot down before picking up the other, Kirsty eased down the hall, the screams growing louder. She passed a large alcove where the stones dropped down into what looked like a steaming bath. Bodies writhed inside, one indiscriminate from the next, mouths forming loud exaltations that could not be described as either pain or pleasure. Uncomfortable, Kirsty kept moving forward.

The hall took a sharp right, and she peered as far down as she could before edging around the corner. From near the end of the hall, where the stone widened dramatically, she could hear the crack of a whip striking rhythmically. Listening carefully, Kirsty pressed against the wall, feeling the brick scratch against her back, catching her hair. She was grateful for the thick sweatshirt that protected her against the cool stone.

Another sound penetrated the darkness, a feminine laugh punctuated by another snap of leather cord. Kirsty squinted upwards, thinking that laughter was not something she found appropriate for Hell. Curious, Kirsty slid along the length of the wall until she could crouch down and look into the cavernous room. Gone was the dim light of the halls, a bright white shaft illuminating all but the very edges of the room. Leathers draped like curtains from the vaulted ceiling, piling heavily on the floor.

A form passed near her, long legs sauntering around. Kirsty pulled back, waiting a moment before she dared look again. Her eyes adjusted to the brighter light and she almost wished they hadn't. In the center of the room, bound by chains that wrapped around every limb, was her own personal demon. His pinned head was bowed so that she couldn't see his face, his knees spread to take his weight, hands placed calmly on his thighs. Kirsty dropped lower to the ground, wanting to turn back but increasingly fascinated by the sight in front of her.

A Cenobite circled the being that at one time held her very life in his hands. It wasn't until it took a turn around the far end of the room that Kirsty recognized that this Cenobite might have been female at one point. The skull was completely revealed, held apart by wire attached to her shoulders. Her bustier was forcefully sexual, as was her walk in high heels, feet kicking stone. In her hand was a bullwhip, the tail trailing along behind her. Kirsty could see gleaming tacks on the end, meant to pierce the flesh. Every few steps she would lift her hand and draw the cord downwards in a motion that slapped hard against the leather of his uniform.

Kirsty's brows drew together, wondering at why he was still dressed when their interest always seemed to be in flesh and the rendering thereof. Were they just starting the session? She looked closer at his bindings, seeing no clasps to hold the leather to his body. Had it become his skin? Shaking her head, Kirsty decided that she would probably never know. The whip snapped again, physically pushing him forward.

A sigh sounded from his lips, "I tire of these games."

Another laugh, much like the first, "You are mine to do with as I please until I say so, or until Leviathan calls you to action."

He lifted a little, his shoulders pulled back proudly, "You forget that I will be released eventually."

"Ah, but I might keep you bound for eternity, Xipe Totec. You know that I am our father's favored daughter."

His smile was brutal, "But am I not also his favored general?"

The whip cracked again, "Your violence can be matched."

Another resigned sigh, "Not by you."

Kirsty watched his exchange with a sense of being outside of herself. The pinned one—Xipe, as she called him—was being whipped between sentences, looking for all the world like the blows weren't even registering. The female continued to taunt him, pride evident on her disfigured face. She looked jubilant. He looked bored. Kirsty had, clearly, missed something important.

A bell tolled, shaking the very foundation, the white light above changing to an eerie blue. The female stopped her ministrations and turned her face upwards.

"Duty calls," drawled Xipe, sarcasm dripping in his tone.

The female sneered and tossed the whip to the ground, spinning to walk into the darkness on the other side of the room. Kirsty waited for someone to come in to take him away, but he remained, kneeling. Carefully, she crawled into the room, pushing to standing when she cleared the doorway. Her movement caught his eyes and she could see the narrowing of his gaze as she neared.

"Kirsty," he said lowly, the sound rumbling.

"Hi," she replied with a pathetic wave of her hand.

Xipe leaned more of his weight on his heels, hands following the line of his thighs to rest near his hips, "You have me at a disadvantage."

Kirsty smiled, "First time for everything."

Head tilting so that the pins caught the light above, "What do you want?"

She shrugged, "I… just kind of woke up here. I was running from some men and…"

He smiled, mocking, "Still choosing those who would hurt you?"

Wanting to kick out at him, Kirsty gritted, "They're hunting me. They want the box."

Chin dipping down a little, Xipe looked up at her with black eyes that shone like water, "There are many who seek to explore with us."

Her brows lifted, "See, that's what I thought at first. But when they caught me, I heard them talking about multiple boxes." She stopped for a moment to stress the next sentence, "All the boxes."

His lip curled, "Greedy."

Kirsty found that she had stepped close to him so that he had to crane his neck to look her in the eyes. She dropped to a crouch, eyeing the chains. No matter how secure they looked, Kirsty knew that his power was immeasurable and she remained on the balls of her feet in case she needed to bolt.

"I've been looking for them, too."

The expression on his face molded into surprised satisfaction, "So eager to come back to us?"

"No," she denied quickly, "I want to protect them. Keep them away from people."

Saying it aloud made her want to cringe, but the mission was entirely good, a crusade to rid the world of their tortuous desires. The heft of them in her bag gave her the comfort she thought she'd left behind in another life. Kirsty was safe as long as she had them with her.

"The men want them, all of them," she continued, "I don't know why."

Xipe blinked, "There are six boxes in your realm, each with great power. To possess all six would be to possess the ability to open the Schism permanently."

Kirsty drew a short breath, "And unleash Hell on earth."

"Precisely, child," he said with not a little ire.

Noting his lack of joy at the prospect of running free, she edged, "Isn't that what you want?"

For the first time his placid face took a turn of anger, "What do you think will happen when my kind roam freely?"

She swallowed, wondering if this was a test, "You'll kill us all?"

"We will reap every soul on the earth, glut ourselves upon your humanity."

Kirsty leaned away, taking in his face, his seeming anger, his body language. "And you… don't want that?"

Xipe looked down, then met her eyes. The cold impassiveness had returned, leaving goose bumps in its wake, "Cenobites feed upon souls, Kirsty. With the Schism in place, we can take what is freely offered to us and return with our supply intact. Without our chains, there would be no souls to reap and we will die out. The boxes ensure that there will always be willing supplicants to feast upon, to bring into the arms of Leviathan."

She took the information in, dropping her eyes and fiddling with her thumbnail. The chains clinked gently with an unseen wind that seemed to move throughout the halls continuously. Kirsty followed one up to where it was connected to the wall, a simple design that looked effective to her novice mind.

"Not that I'm complaining, but why are you chained up down here?"

Xipe leveled a baleful look at her, "Penitence."

"For what?" was her immediate response.

He remained silent, thin mouth pressed together resolutely.

Kirsty ran a hand through her hair, noting that some had fallen out of the ponytail at the base of her neck. "Okay, why don't you just," she waved her hands vaguely, "you know, escape."

"I have given my word that I will submit to Angelique's hand. I cannot be released by my own power."

Kirsty reached out and touched the cuff around his wrist, "Does it need a key?"

He turned his palm upwards and she could see a scar lancing the skin, "Behind you. On the wall."

She peered over her shoulder, catching a small ring on a fish hook. With a quick movement, she stood and stepped to the wall, nimbly plucking the key from the hook. When she went to open his bindings, he pulled away.

Eyes narrow, and suspicion written all over his face, Xipe asked, "I will ask you again, what do you want?"

She scoffed, "I'll tell you what I don't want. I don't want my entire race obliterated by idiots who don't know what they're messing with."

He laughed, "Another deal, Kirsty?"

Jaw clenching, Kirsty held up the key, "Do you want to be free or not?"

"As you say," Xipe replied, holding out one hand.

Kirsty went to work on the first lock, having to work the key into the lock with some difficulty. Awkward in the silence, she commented, "So you're getting a taste of your own medicine, huh?"

"Angelique believes I will submit eventually."

Kirsty pulled the first cuff away, moving to the other side, "She doesn't seem to be doing a very good job."

Xipe watched her work, his gaze a weight on her skin, "She lacks finesse."

Kirsty pulled the second cuff free and moved to the cuff around his neck, "I can see that."

After a moment, he surprised her with a question that reminded her of whom she was dealing with, "Just what would you do if you had me at your will and mercy?"

Hands freezing on his neck, the pins brushing her knuckles, Kirsty looked at him, gauging his intent. "I don't understand."

"Oh, come now, Kirsty. Are we not old friends?" He leaned down so that the pins blurred before her eyes as they tried to focus, "Tell me. What would you do to my flesh?"

With a concerted effort, Kirsty began to work on the cuffs anew, freeing his neck. She pulled the chain through a series of links, watching in morbid fascination as it snaked over his body, pulling a little at his piercings. He gasped, fingers flexing as the last of the chain scraped against the exposed muscle.

The sound would have been innocuous if Kirsty hadn't already been lead down the path of answering his question, if only internally. Part of her wanted to say that she would tear him apart piece by piece, pull his skin away from the bone as had been done to her father. Part of her wanted to say that she would never sink to his level, to his depravity. Most of her just didn't know. He was an enigma to her, a puzzle just as intriguing as the box, itself. She had spent the better part of her life wondering at her role in the deaths of her family and, lately, Trevor's mistresses. To be confronted with the catalyst of her life's nightmare, for him to imply that he would allow her to take out her unending hatred upon him, was difficult to compute.

As she stood for the third time, he rose with her, his height towering above her and, unspeaking, reasserting the imbalance of power in the room. Kirsty felt her mouth go dry and she instinctively stepped back. Her senses filled with him. For the first time since coming to the maze, she felt fear rise up and grip her. She steeled herself against it, unwilling to play the part of the scared child any longer.

Xipe looked her up and down, measuring her somehow, "It seems I am in your debt."

"Looks that way," Kirsty croaked.

He held out his hands, palm up, "How shall I rectify it?"

There was a moment of hesitation on her part, her mouth opening to answer, but the sound of footsteps nearing stopped her words cold.

"Rain check?" Kirsty asked, with a little shrug.

The female entered the room, smile dropping from her face as she caught sight of her prey standing free of his chains. "You have broken your word."

Xipe turned and looked at Angelique, "I have not."

Angelique's eyes turned to Kirsty, rage billowing out from her, "Your pain shall be unimaginable."

Kirsty took another step back, edging towards the exit and preparing to yet again run for her life. Angelique took a deadly step forward only to be stopped by a chain rushing out from nowhere, sinking a hook into her skin.

"This one is mine."

Angelique leaned into the hook, letting it sink further into her body, "Supplicants are for the masses."

"As they should be," he replied, "But she is no supplicant."

Kirsty couldn't help it, she really couldn't, "And I never will be."

Broad shoulders turned and she was fixed with deep, black eyes, "That remains to be seen."

"I'm sure it does," she shot back, momentarily forgetting that it was now she that was at a disadvantage.

His back turned to the female, his face relaxed into a look that was almost flirtatious, "You only have to say the word, and I will grant your deepest wishes."

Kirsty's fists clenched at his bullheadedness, "I'd tell you to go to Hell, but, oh look, here we are."

Angelique let out a labored breath, "If you're quite finished…"

He shifted, blocking the other Cenobite completely, "This is not for your eyes."

Behind him, chains shot out and she could hear Angelique's hoarse cry, the skin tearing open. Knowing that he was giving her the opportunity to run as she had done so often in the past, Kirsty nodded. She turned on her heel and made for the door, taking the halls as best she remembered them. They twisted and turned before her, confusing her almost immediately. All around, the screams seemed to grow louder, fear pummeling her system. As she turned a corner, Kirsty lost her balance and hit the ground face forward, unconscious.

Haiti was a strange place to hide out, especially when one was also actively looking for the fourth box to a hell dimension. Kirsty did her best to keep a low profile, and so far the people seeking to open the Schism hadn't resurfaced. But, she knew she was going to run out of time eventually. For three days she had been scouting a local shop where customers went to see a Bokor, a practitioner of dark magic. Eavesdropped conversations led her to believe that this man had a direct link to the other worlds, and that he could see into the hell dimensions.

The hair stood on end at the back of her neck and Kirsty knew that she was once again being hunted for her knowledge and for the boxes she promised herself she would protect. Knowing that she needed to act, Kirsty entered the shop near closing and scanned the proffered wares. She was left alone for a while and she thought that maybe no one was watching the front of the store, but after a time a man appeared. One second she was alone, and the next there was a man sitting casually on a stool next to a candelabrum covered in rosaries. He was smoking a cigarette, his loafers crossed one over the other.

"Can I help you?"

Kirsty eyed him skeptically, her hand sliding down the length of her purse to rest on one of the hard edges of a box. It sat heavily against her hip, reminding her of her purpose.

"I'm looking for a puzzle box," she said, as was customary in her dealings.

His eyes narrowed, "I don't think I have something like that in here."

Kirsty pursed her lips, "I have money."

He laughed, clean white teeth shining, "We all have money, woman. This place is full of money."

Clearly, he wasn't going for the usual tactics, but she wondered how involved he would be with the dealers of the box. She wondered if he often sent people to their doom.

Stepping around a low table stacked with books, Kirsty gave her most alluring smile, "What is your pleasure, sir?"

At this, the man stood sharply, his expression stricken and a tinge angry, "What do you know of such things?"

With an inhale, Kirsty debated on telling him anything, thought about lying, but his fear was palpable. "I know what they do, and I know how to protect them. Keep them safe." She lowered her voice, "Keep us safe."

Leaning away, the man gave a little nod, "I think you should come with me, yeah?"

Gripping her purse, Kirsty intimated that he should lead the way. "What's your name?"

"Emmanuel," he replied quickly, pushing through to a back room.

God with us.

"Of course it is," Kirsty muttered under her breath. "I'm Kirsty."

"Of course you are," he called out from over his shoulder. He was bent over a trunk, pulling out this and that until he held aloft a velvet drawstring bag.

Emmanuel approached, swinging the bag carelessly. He waved a hand to the side, where Kirsty found a pair of high backed chairs. Kirsty settled onto the cushion, watching as Emmanuel reached into the bag and pulled forth the familiar six sided box. She had to stop herself from reaching out to rip it from his hands. Instead, Kirsty gripped the strap of her purse until her knuckles turned white.

"I suppose the regular warnings won't be effective?"

Kirsty shook her head, "I'm afraid not."

Emmanuel turned his head to the side, "You're quite sure?"

"Yes," she reiterated confidently.

Wrist breaking, he let the box rest with the pointed edge on his forearm, "Out of curiosity, how do you intend to use it? I've never known anyone to be able to open the box."

Kirsty's brows lifted, "Maybe they didn't know what they were looking for."

He was unimpressed, "My question stands."

She slouched, "I'm not going to use it. I'm going to hide it. This box and every other box made to open the doors to hell."

Emmanuel turned the box to the light, letting the gilded design catch and glow faintly, "You deal with things you do not understand, woman."

Kirsty knew exactly what she was doing, but information was valuable and she didn't want to overplay her hand, "That's my problem, I'll deal with it."

"Well, then," he murmured, "Shall we barter?"

Kirsty turned her hands over, palm up, "Name your terms."

"One pint of blood."

She scoffed, "You're not getting my blood."
His smile was at the same time charming and disgusting, "I didn't say it had to be yours."
Kirsty rolled her tongue around in her mouth, "How fresh?"

Emmanuel shrugged, "No more than a few hours old."

Thoughts raced in her head, wondering if she could kill again, wondering how she would choose the victim, wondering just how much more tarnish her soul could take. She glanced out of the tiny window, covered in dust, catching the eye of a man standing around the corner of the entrance to the shop. His face was familiar—one that shimmered before her after a particularly hard knock to the head. Kirsty's decision was made.

"Done. Wait for me. I'll be back soon."

Emmanuel looked surprised, but covered it quickly, "As you wish, woman. Knock on the back door. I'll be here."

Kirsty exited the shop and began walking down the street in the opposite direction of her apartment, keeping her pace fast enough to get where she was going and slow enough that she could be followed. She stopped momentarily to get a large soda fountain drink, which she filled only with ice. Swishing it around, Kirsty meandered towards an empty warehouse that was half burned. In checking her periphery, she noted that there were two now following her. The plan was ill conceived, she noted, with no weapon other than the box on her person. She almost abandoned it, but the sound of chains clinking from inside her bag urged her on.

Inside the warehouse, Kirsty set the cup to the side and observed her surroundings. There were several staircases that lead to upper floors and a manager's office with a glass window overlooking the floor. The place was mostly empty and quiet, removed far enough from the streets that someone could scream without being heard. She felt fear and adrenaline rise up, her stomach rolling in her belly. Kirsty tamped it down and opened her bag, pulling one of the boxes out. She hid the bag in a dark corner and stuffed the box into the pocket of her jacket. Then, she waited.

They entered slowly, cautiously, and silently. Kirsty let herself be seen immediately, her shoulders pulled back.

"We're not going to hurt you," the familiar one said.

"Again," Kirsty finished for him.

"What?"

Kirsty shrugged, "You're not going to hurt me—again. You punched me last time. Damn near knocked me out. Did you think I would forget?"

The unfamiliar face stepped forward—blonde, slicked back hair, clean shaven, dark eyes. "We just want the box."

"Boxes," said his partner, "She has several."
Kirsty pulled the puzzle from her pocket, "You want it?"

The blonde looked caught in a thrall, his eyes zeroed in on it, sweat already forming on his brow. Kirsty could see him covet it immediately, and her plan solidified. She threw it to the side, rejoicing when he immediately went to lunge for it. Then, taking off, she headed towards one of the emergency exits. Boots slammed behind her.

The force of a kick to the back sent her rolling. She landed hard on her hip, scrambling for purchase on the slick floor. Crawling backwards, Kirsty hit the door to the manager's office, the metal unhinging and falling open. She turned that pushed to standing only to be knocked over once more.

Breath whooshing out of her, Kirsty tried to grab for anything that could be used as a weapon, she kicked and scratched and bit, inhuman sounds ripped from her lips. Her attacker grunted when she hit a soft spot, but was otherwise unfazed by her attempts. Kirsty was hauled upwards and slammed onto the desk, her teeth clacking with the impact. Somewhere in the dim of the fight, she could hear bells chiming.

Using the wood for leverage, Kirsty grabbed an old telephone, using it to crack against her attacker's skull. He yelled, gripping it and throwing it to the side. Again, she was left looking for another weapon. She used her elbows to maximize her hitting power, but he was too strong and seemed trained to take a hit. One of his hands reached between her legs and a new kind of fear straight from her childhood rushed to the forefront. She screamed loudly, terrified and angry. Another hand took her by the shoulder and hauled her until she was closer to the ceiling than to the ground. And then she was flying—hitting something hard, and flying still further.

Kirsty's vision blacked out for a moment when she rolled to her stomach, until she realized that her eyes were closed. Her body was on fire, cut with glass from the window. And there was a strange blue light pressing through her closed lids. Choking on her own breath, Kirsty opened her eyes.

She wanted to laugh, but didn't quite have it in her. The other man was kneeling on the ground with the box in his hands, chains already tearing into the skin of his arms and face. Before him stood her pinned demon, looking very much amused at her presence.

"The fuck?" Came a voice from behind her.

Kirsty carefully stood, picking a shard of glass from her hair and hand. On shaky legs, she turned to look at her attacker, taking in his sickened expression and slack jaw. She stepped away, towards the Cenobites, her arms keeping balance at her sides in case he decided to rush her. Near her feet, an anguished cry escaped the kneeling man.

"Who the fuck are you?"

Xipe answered in his customary way, "We are explorers of the flesh. Demons to some, angels to others."

It was so strange to be on the other side of that conversation, be watching from the sidelines at an event that shaped her entire life. Kirsty wondered if the fall through the window had addled her mind a bit. She needed to get checked for a concussion.

Still, she couldn't help but preen a little, "I guess introductions are in order."

Xipe glanced at her, "Are they?"

Kirsty's brows lifted as she gestured to her attacker, "Person who tried to kill me in the past, meet person who is currently trying to kill me."

Sass. The fall had filled her with oodles of sass. Inwardly, Kirsty was looking on at the situation and shouting "are you insane?" at herself over and over. Outwardly, Kirsty was looking back and forth at them incredulously.

The chains tightened, pulling an arm out of socket. Kirsty stood still, unsure of what to do. She waited for a signal from one or the other, existing only in reaction to the scene around her. Her attacker took a step forward, a move that was matched by a step backwards from her. They repeated the little dance two or three more times until Kirsty was aware of Xipe's body at her shoulder.

Her attacker pulled a gun from his waistband, "Listen, I just want her. Do what you want with him."

Xipe chuckled, "He is already ours to do with as we will. But, Kirsty… lovely Kirsty is another matter."

Her hand at her side brushed against the leather cassock, the movement swinging forward one of his blades. Instinctively, she gripped it, the weapon falling easily into her hand. Kirsty shifted a little into his body to keep it hidden, waiting for her moment.

Stepping forward, her attacker took aim at her demon, "I don't want to have to hurt you. And I need her alive."

Xipe was silent, cold and still as carved marble. Kirsty tried to keep equally as still, drawing as little attention to herself as possible. A rivulet of blood dropped down the length of her jaw, the sticky mess falling to the floor. The plop was loud despite the screams still coming from the doomed puzzle opener. Everything seemed to slow.

Her attacker held out a hand to her, "Come with me. You won't be harmed."

"Says the man pointing a gun at me," she shot back with a sneer.

The weapon was lowered a little, "We only want to talk."
Kirsty felt the little tap to the small of her back, cool fingers resting just above the waist of her jeans. Setting her jaw, she moved forward, turning a little to keep the knife hidden. When she was close enough, her attacker relaxed a bit, the gun now pointed to the ground. Kirsty let him take her arm. Then, using the force of her forward momentum, she slipped the knife into his sternum, tilting it upwards so that it sank into his heart. She felt the tear of the flesh, felt the sickening squish of the organs, heard the crack of cartilage. Immediately, she wanted to vomit. Her attacker fell backwards, surprised, dead in moments. Kirsty eased the blade out and stood, thinking that she would need to go get her cup.

"Oh, very good," Xipe commented.

Kirsty felt her eyes blur with tears, wiping them away before turning to him. Without a word, she approached and held the blade out to him.

One hand gave a dismissive wave, "Keep it. To remind you of me."

Kirsty smirked, "I have four reminders of you already." Then, "But, thank you."

His head inclined just a little, the pins moving with each muscle, "We are even now."

She thought about it for a moment, "I guess we are."

Another scream pierced the air and Xipe for the first time looked down at his new victim. "Screaming already? We've just begun."

Beside him, the female she knew from her first interactions with them leaned down and slipped one of the wires from her throat, pulling it through the man's cheeks.

"Have you finally decided to play with us, Kirsty? We've been looking forward to sharing our pleasures with you." The voice was soft, husky, inviting.

Unable to speak, Kirsty shook her head.

"Such a shame."

Gripping the blade tighter, Kirsty watched as the man was hauled into the depth of the labyrinth, leaving her for just a moment more with the pinned one.

"Two more boxes to go, Kirsty."

She nodded ,"Well… almost. I was going to buy the fourth one today, but…" She gestured to the man she'd killed moments before.

"Ah."

Quickly, she followed up with, "I'm going back for it now that I have payment."

Xipe's eyes dropped to the body, "Really? How intriguing."

Suddenly angry, Kirsty gritted, "Don't condescend to me. I've done everything I said I would do."

Eyes flashing, he stepped forward until she had to look straight up to see him clearly, "You've done everything except what I want you to do. You defy me at every turn."

"And doesn't that make you burn," she accused softly. "Your kind doesn't feel, does it? Tell me, what does being on the other end of such defiance do to something that doesn't feel?"

His black eyes narrowed to slits, "Do not taunt me, Kirsty. You will receive no mercy."

Feeling the last bit of rebellion wring from her body, she simply said, "Wouldn't dream of it."

Xipe leaned down, the pins brushing against her cheek, "What do you dream of? You, who passionately pursue hell and deny yourself entrance when you stand at the threshold."

Without waiting for an answer, he turned and left the way he came, in a flash of light and with chimes tolling in the air. Kirsty felt her breath leave her, exhausted. She allowed herself a moment to rest before she retrieved her cup, dumped out the ice, and meted out her payment upon her sixth kill.

Box five was a bitch to locate. Kirsty had to go to Europe, a place so filled with people that she met with at least ten dead ends before she caught onto something real. Even then, it took three months of casing the place before she could figure out just who to target.

Emil was a tall, dark, handsome man with a strong jaw line and great hair. Kirsty watched him manage the small art gallery with a coffee in one hand and a pastry in the other. He moved with a slowness that belied his forceful nature. Even from a distance, Kirsty could see how he strong armed others into bending to his will. Interns winced when he walked into a room, artists flinched when he examined their work. He was, in short, kind of an asshole.

But, the small business was flourishing despite being in competition with some of the major museums in the area. Kirsty had to give Emil credit for that—his savvy was undeniable. Still, there was something about him that made her want to spit, an oily stain upon the sharp exterior he actively cultivated.

Kirsty never actually saw the box, but she saw the people that Emil met with regularly. They all had the same look as her attacker in the warehouse, a kind of spellbound, sweating, determination. Her uncle Frank's face had looked much the same. They entered Emil's office and left looking half satisfied, but edgy. She followed them throughout the rest of their day to a step down storehouse. They went in looking excited…and they never left.

Eventually, Kirsty got tired of watching and decided to take action. She scheduled a meeting, herself, with Emil's secretary. Then, she went out to shop. She'd been travelling for almost two years, back and forth across oceans and continents. Her clothes were meant for practicality, to run at a moment's notice. There was no room for seduction, which was what she was aiming for.

Red, was an obvious choice in color, a slinky fabric. Kirsty stood in front of a three way mirror under the worst lighting imaginable and wondered if it would be enough. She was well into her thirties by now and relying on her looks to get her what she wanted was slowly becoming less and less of an option. Touching her hair, Kirsty pulled it away from her face in an up-do, deciding very quickly that it should be left down. She then turned left and right, grateful that age hadn't touched the firmness of her ass or the lithe tone of her legs.

Purchases made, Kirsty toddled off to her hotel room to get ready with a quick shower, followed by a thorough bout of moisturizing, and shave. Then, she was sliding into the dress and drying her hair upside down for maximum lift. Her makeup was minimal, but she did spring for a deep, plum tinted red that worked well with her dark hair and skin tone. After one last look in the mirror and half a snarl at her attempt, Kirsty grabbed a small back with Xipe's knife inside before heading out the door. In the elevator, she opened the bag and touched the little knife, comforted by the slight weight of it and the razor's edge. The four other boxes were slipped into the vent in the bathroom, hidden as well as she could get them. There would be no sense in dragging them along with her, especially if she had to make a quick exit.

Though the meeting was technically during business hours, Kirsty was the last meeting of the day. The lobby was mostly deserted, all but the most essential lights extinguished. Kirsty self-consciously touched her hair, catching sight of her reflection in a gilded vase not far away. She looked just like she had one night at a charity function, Trevor sitting at the table next to her, glass of bourbon in hand. The effect was enough to have her standing, ready to bolt, but half a second later Emil's office door was opening.

Plastering a smile on her face, Kirsty faced him, shaking his hand warmly, "I'm so glad you could meet with me."

Emil's returning smile was wide and nearly triumphant, "Ms. White, so glad to meet you."

Kirsty nodded, "I'm happy that you could fit me into your schedule."

She was ushered inside, a plush carpet taking the place of the hardwood floors. The chairs in front of a sturdy mahogany desk were high and wing-backed, studded with tiny bronze darts. Kirsty settled in, eyeing the abstract artwork, slashed with blues, reds, and sharp yellows. Though there was nothing particularly memorable about the room, there was no real defining quality. Despite the expensiveness of the objects within, the office was entirely unremarkable.

Emil sat opposite her behind the desk, "Now, what can I help you with?"

Kirsty carefully arranged her legs beneath her, taking a moment to tuck her clutch beside her thigh. "I'm looking for something in particular, a rare piece."

Emil nodded, folding his hands on his blotter, "What kind of piece?"

"A box, of sorts," she began, "Gilded in gold."

He paused, "I'm sorry, I don't believe we have something like that here."

Kirsty's smile was tight, "You're sure you don't have a puzzle box that opens up the doorways to infinite pleasure?"

Emil leaned back, eyeing her suspiciously as his arms fell to rest near his body, "That… I might be able to locate."

Kirsty sat straighter, "I'm sure you have a price in mind."

He blinked, stunned by her forward attitude, "Yes, there is a price." A pause, "But it is rather high."

She waved her hand dismissively, "The price is of no consequence. I will pay."

Emil swallowed audibly, "You're absolutely sure?"

"Yes, I am."

He looked at her for a long time, probably trying to gauge her willingness, her mettle. Kirsty kept her expression neutral, her stance firm. In this, she would not falter.

Tapping once on his desk, Emil stood and buttoned his suit jacket, "Well, then, I have something to show you."

Kirsty rose, taking up her clutch, and followed him out of the office to a side door. He turned, holding his keys aloft.

"Just a short drive, to where I keep my most previous pieces."

Nodding, Kirsty stepped outside and slid into the sleek Audi, crossing her ankles demurely, "So, you do have the box?"

Emil smiled as he started the car, "I have something like what you described. I must remind you that the price is… high."

She refused to glance over at him, watching as they turned out onto the street, "For such a unique item, I am prepared to pay the full price."

They drove in silence for a few minutes more before turning down a familiar alley. Kirsty was out of the car before it had fully pulled to a stop, waiting for Emil to unlock to store room.

"Eager, are we?" He commented as he keyed in.

Kirsty looked down at her heels, "I've been looking a long time."

Emil opened the door and guided her inside, flicking on lights as they went.

"Tell me," he said as they moved into a smaller office area. "What about this box interests you?"

Kirsty allowed herself to be seated in a considerably less comfy chair in a considerably less exquisite atmosphere.

"It's not for me," she explained lightly. "I work for a broker."

Emil turned and opened a small safe settled discreetly in the wall, "Oh? Do I know the company?"

"Probably not," she replied, craning her neck to see what he would proffer.

With a flourish, Emil revealed the fifth box, a smile filled with straight white teeth.

Kirsty waited for him to place it on a small swatch of velvet. Distantly, she thought she could hear bells chiming.

Emil watched her watch the box, sitting comfortably in his rolling chair, "It is a unique piece. The only one in the entire world."

At this, Kirsty couldn't help but to smirk, one hand reaching out to touch it.

Like lightning, Emil was gripping her wrist hard enough to bruise, his smiling face angry.

"I don't like to be lied to Ms. White. Perhaps you can tell me what you really want with it?"

Kirsty struggled for only a moment before letting her arm relax, "I told you, I work for a broker."

"That is horseshit, my dear, if you don't mind me saying so. I've seen you every day for weeks sitting outside of my shop, watching. Brokers do not case businesses."

Kirsty should have been panicking, but her mind was already three steps ahead, forming the lie before her lungs drew in air to say it.

"Maybe we weren't sure you had what we were looking for," she bit back, wishing her heels didn't have clasps so that she could slip out of them in preparation to run or to fight.

He tsked at her, "Sloppy form. I know a thief when I see one."

She was summarily dragged by one arm across the room and through another door where she was tossed inside. As she scrambled to rise, she heard the turn of a key in a lock. Her irritation intensified.

Kirsty snipped, "You can't keep me here."

Emil laughed, tossing the puzzle box in the air and catching it with one hand, "Why not?"

"Because people will be looking for me," she yelled with a stomp of her heeled foot. She was not a child, she told herself. Stamping her foot was a perfectly rational, adult reaction to the situation at hand.

"Oh please," he intoned, "No one who ever comes looking for this box wants to be found. But, I must admit, you put on a show."

Kirsty said nothing, trying to find balance in her heels, watching him warily.

He continued, gesturing grandly, "The hair, the makeup, the dress, very well done, Ms. White—if that is your real name."

They circled one another and it was at this time that Kirsty became aware of a small bed sitting near the wall, chains hooked to the wall behind it. She swallowed, wondering just how much of Emil's façade was cultivated to draw attention away from darker tendencies. There was only one door in or out of the room, the bed the only piece of furniture. It was just her, Emil, and the box.

He attacked without warning, throwing the box on the bed and working to wrangle Kirsty into submission. She fought hard, but was unbalanced by her heels, restricted by the dress, tugged hard by her hair. Screaming, she felt her arm wrench, the cold metal of a cuff wrapped around her wrist.

No. No, no, no, no, no.

The word wrapped around her, a mantra that reminded her how fragile she was, how easily overpowered. She kicked out, catching Emil's knee, the joint dislocating. He groaned, rolling back until he sat a few feet from her. While he worked on resetting the joint, Kirsty jerked against cuff, shaking the bed. From below, Emil rose unsteadily.

"A fighter. I could see that just from looking at you," he said as he removed his jacket, limping slightly. "But that still doesn't answer my question: What do you want with the box?"

"Fuck you," Kirsty screamed, trying to work her hand through the cuff.

Emil chuckled, "Soon enough." Then, "Answer the question. Is it lust? Power? Fear?"

"I told you, I don't want the box for myself," she gritted, wincing as the metal bit into the skin of her wrist.

"Of course you do," he countered, sitting on the bed beside her.

"No, I don't."

Emil sighed, grabbing the box and holding it before her, "You don't think I saw how you looked at it, how you coveted it? You were practically coming all over that seat in there."

Disgusted and angry, Kirsty swung out a fist, catching him across the jaw. For her trouble, she was grabbed and knocked against the wall. Vision blurring, Kirsty had to focus hard to keep herself from vomiting all over the dingy sheets. Time was running out and she wasn't going to be able to overtake him with strength. She needed to be smart, she needed to be cunning. She needed to use every skill that had grown rusted in the years since her family was slaughtered.

"You're right," she breathed, leaning on her arm, the sharp pain clearing the fogginess of her brain. "You're right, I did want it."

Emil smiled and petted her hair, "Go on. Tell me why."

Kirsty wracked her brain for an answer, her own disgust with the box and her dealings with it warring with the need to get the hell out of this situation. She tugged again at the cuff, gritting her teeth as she tried to come up with a lie. Lying, as ever, was not her best skill. She had, had enough of Trevor's lies to turn her stomach whenever she thought of fabricating something, herself.

Growing impatient, Emil grabbed her by the roots of her hair and pulled hard, "Tell. Me. Why."

Kirsty grunted, saying the first thing that came to mind, "Don't you feel it?"

A pause, "Feel what?"

Squeezing her eyes shut, Kirsty sighed and let out a truth that she had been so far reluctant to admit even to herself.

"The power," she whispered, voice hoarse, "Can't you feel it?"

He laughed derisively, "Of course I can feel it. There is no ignoring the box's power."

Kirsty looked up, latching on to that one admission, "But, do you understand what it means? Do you know what is behind the doors, what becomes of you when they open?"

Emil's brows pulled together in a frown, his distance palpable, and then, "This power is not for me."

She scoffed, "It's for those who seek it—explorers of the extreme, of the flesh."

The words echoed in the cavern of her mind, resonating with the memories of her late adolescence and early adulthood. She did her best to channel him, assuming as cold a mask as she could muster given the fact that her body was probably going into shock.

"I have all the flesh I need," Emil countered, though his hand noticeably flexed around the puzzle box.

Kirsty shook her head, "Not like this. You can't ever hope to reach the pleasures… the pain that can be unleashed by solving the puzzle."

Standing, Emil released her and paced a few steps away, holding his hands out akimbo, "And how, may I ask, would you know this?"

Her smile was feral, "I solved the box before, I know what's inside."

At this, Emil was finally impressed. His curiosity piqued, he knelt in front of her, entreating, "Tell me."

Kirsty swallowed, hesitating, "It isn't something that can be told. You have to experience it."

He waved his hand dismissively, "Details, woman."

She shrugged, "The sights you will see can't ever be matched. Living on afterward is impossible. Once you've seen it, known it, you won't ever be able to go back."

Standing once more, Emil growled, "Useless. You give me nothing!"

Kirsty would have thrown her hands up in exasperation if one such hand hadn't been cuffed to the wall.

"It is indescribable," she said, eyes falling to the floor. "You're filled with power and yet powerless. The feelings are delicious and terrifying and the Cenobites—,"

"Who?"

Rolling her eyes, she explained, "They're like gatekeepers and," she searched for the word, "Like tour guides. In a way. Sort of."

Kirsty was going to die. Emil was going to kill her because her descriptions were fucking lame imitations of what it was really like. He was looking at her like she was all kinds of crazy (a feeling she was acutely familiar with).

Finally, she slumped backwards and glared at him, "Open the fucking box. Find out for yourself. Unless, of course, you're too much a coward."

Emil's gaze narrowed, "You will not goad me into solving the puzzle."

"I'm not trying to goad you," Kirsty replied lazily, "I just can't explain it. It's like everything makes sense, finally. All the chaos goes away and all that exists is flesh. Everything that you are comes down to the pain zinging through your nerves, the sound of metal and tearing skin."

He stared at her, eyes following the line of her body from shoulder to ankle. "I don't believe you."

Feeling like some kind of switch-tracking railroad car, Kirsty leaned on one elbow, "Don't you just want to escape sometimes? Doesn't reality seem to incredibly boring? Don't you hate every person who walks into your office, with their petty concerns and their tiny, insignificant lives?"

The look on Emil's face told her that she'd finally hit the nail on the head. Kirsty did her best to hide her smile, but couldn't keep the little chuckle from escaping her lips.

"You're so much better than they are, aren't you?" She asked, pushing to sitting. "They pale in comparison. Don't you want to widen the gap to something they can't even hope to accomplish? Don't you want know something they can't ever know?"

Emil's skepticism was clear, but he looked down at the box, encasing it with both hands. Kirsty kept quiet and let him work out the details on his own. Breathing slowly, keeping as still as possible, she waited.

"You survived?" He asked softly.

Kirsty nodded, "Yes, I did."

"How?"

Her breath whooshed out of her, "By the skin of my teeth. You have to be very good to defeat the labyrinth."

Emil glanced at her, "There is a maze to run?"

She hummed in confirmation, hands gripping the mattress, "A maze filled with indescribable things. You have to be strong enough and smart enough to defeat them."

"The Cenobites?" There was curiosity in his tone, and not a little intrigue.

Kirsty nodded once more, "Among other things."

A finger lifted to trace the small circle at the top, "They never come back."

"They can—I did."

The pad dropped to touch the flat plane of the puzzle, "I can win."

She bit her lip, her stomach dropping with anticipation, "You can."

A moment more and the box was unfolding, rotating, and sliding in upon itself. Kirsty's jaw tightened as she watched, relief coming in heavy waves. The bells chimed in their familiar tones, the walls falling apart to reveal the slatted door, yawning open. Emil held the box to his chest, eyes widening as the light dimmed and figures emerged from the darkness.

"You're the Cenobites," Emil pronounced, a smile working its way across his face. "Welcome."

A short male Cenobite with wire wrapped around the circumference of his head several times, the metal digging into the skin, stepped forward.

"We thank you," he greeted, holding out a whip, "Shall we begin?"

Emil demurred, stepping his weight back onto his left foot, "With no preamble? No recitation of the rules?"

Kirsty rolled her eyes, knowing the Emil thought it was a game, something that worked with logic and reason. He had no idea the levels of insanity that he would reach, the depths of pain that he would experience. In fact, he looked hungry for the challenge, ready to fight. She shook her head, thinking that he was a poor sap who'd been taken for everything he's worth, up to and including his soul. And she really didn't care. He could go straight to hell, in her opinion, which was entirely convenient because he was already halfway there.

It took a moment to realize that she was laughing. Kirsty was laughing really fucking hard, her free arm clutching her stomach. Emil was staring at her, the Cenobites observing from a distance. He took one step towards the bed, stopping cold when a chain wrapped around both his arms, squeezing.

"Do you wish to join us?"

Kirsty wiped the tears from her eyes, shaking her head, "No, I don't. Really. But, you can tell Xipe Totec that I'm sending this one to him for free. No charge. Courtesy of Kirsty Cotton."

There was a palpable silence, the sets of eyes that weren't either disfigured or squinting in pain staring her down. Kirsty gave them a one shouldered shrug, crossing her legs primly.

"What?"

The male stepped forward, "You are Kirsty Cotton?" A pause, "You are small."

"But still living," she pointed out, with more than a little bit of cheek. "And pretty much intact."

The Cenobite's eyes narrowed, "Your soul is stained."

She glanced away, "I'm pretty okay with that, thank you."

At this, Emil wrenched one of the chains free, flinging it out so that the heavy links smacked Kirsty across the face. She groaned, reflexively reaching out to grab the chain and jerk it forward. She could feel her cuffed arm throbbing in pain, but her anger superseded it and she made to stand, the movement awkward. Baring her teeth, Kirsty prepared to return the favor.

"Am I to find you fighting and bleeding every time I enter the mortal realm?"

Kirsty flinched, dropping the chain, "Ah, would you believe me if I told you this isn't what it looks like?"

His expression was neutral, but she could detect the faintest hint of amusement in his black eyes. Kirsty had just the barest amount of brain power left to wonder just when she'd become attuned to his moods. Then, she was slumping on the bed, watching as the blood dripped from her nose to the cement floor.

His booted feet appeared in her periphery, one knee dropping so that he could kneel beside her, "Your arm is dislocated."

Kirsty offered a non-committal hum, rolling her head on the axis of her neck to stare at the cuff. "This is a new level of kinky for me. Seriously."

Pale hands reached out and gripped her arm, jerking the joint back into the place cleanly. Kirsty grunted, stomping one heel down in catharsis.

"You could have warned me."

Another calculated movement, and the cuff was snapped in half. Kirsty rubbed at the raw skin, rising unsteadily.

"You have a concussion."

Fingers pressing against the bridge of her nose, Kirsty snarled, "I feel like I've been hit by a train. Also, fuck you, Emil." She flipped him the bird.

Emil sneered, "Come closer, little cunt, I'll rip out your bowels and strangle you with them."

Kirsty's brows lifted, "Creative, Emil. I have to give you that."

There was a soft scoff beside her, "Hardly."

She glanced to the side, "You can do better?"

The smirk on his mouth told her that he could definitely do better and that he was prepared to do exactly that. She tilted her head to the side, a challenge clear in her eyes.

Xipe seemed to come to attention, "Hammer, I must commandeer this supplicant. There is, however, a new brother to our ranks being broken in the lower levels. You may take my place in the rounds, if you like."

Hammer seemed to consider it, eyeing his prize for a moment. He looked to his superior briefly, as if to protest, but a pointed look reminded him of his place.

"Of course, sir."

The ground trembled, bells chiming loudly around them. Kirsty managed to remain standing as the floorboards rattled.

"I accept your challenge," Xipe announced, brows lifting.

Kirsty returned his expression, "I've challenged you?"

He very nearly rolled his eyes, "It is beneath you to play at stupidity." Then, "I am extending an invitation for you to see my work."

The temptation rose strongly within her, her curiosity fighting with the fear that, once she was inside the labyrinth again, she would not leave.

Noticing her hesitation, Xipe continued, "There is not one other who has received this invitation."

Strangely flattered, Kirsty shot a look at Emil, her hatred a physical feeling in her chest, "You'll be working on him?"

A nod.

She pressed her lips together, "Yeah. Okay. What the hell."

If he were capable, Kirsty thought he might smile brightly, "Excellent."

Numbly, Kirsty followed the group through the wall, Emil's grunting echoing as he was jerked along by chains. She refused to feel bad about it, reminding herself of Emil's cruelty not half an hour before. It took some effort, but she was able to detach herself enough to think of this as an exercise in knowing her enemy. Vigilance would be her middle name for the next—however long it was going to take. She would make sure she knew everything by the end of this, everything to protect herself until the day she died and was sent straight back to their waiting arms.

They moved as a group for a while, until Xipe made a sharp right and broke off, Emil dragging behind him. Kirsty shuffled after him, eyes darting back to watch as Hammer descended a flight of stairs. The hall wound, arching to the left, until they came to a large, steel door. Xipe pushed it open easily, Emil trudging along behind him. Kirsty peered inside warily before entering, unduly pleased to find that it was a torture chamber of some kind.

Rack after rack of tools lined the far wall, the sharp edges glinting in the surprisingly well lit room. Emil was secured through a series of loops in the ceiling and floor. His body was pulled tight, the muscles straining beneath his weight.

Xipe turned to glance at her, a slight tilt of his head indicating that he should follow him through a hidden door. With one last look at Emil, she stepped through yet another door into…well, into a bedroom of sorts. Kirsty froze, looking around frantically and freaking right on out. This, whatever it was, was not what she'd signed on for.

"Ah," she began, trailing off lamely.

Xipe gestured to the foot of the bed, "Sit."

With nothing left to do, Kirsty dropped onto the mattress, an incredulous expression on her face. She watched as he rather perfunctorily opened a small cabinet, gathered materials, and returned to her side. The surrealism of the moment was not lost on her, but Kirsty was finding it difficult to process at the time. She settled for staring at him as he mixed the ingredients into a small bowl.

"Okay, I'm just dying of curiosity, here. What are you doing?"

Xipe unrolled a swath of fabric, "You are injured."

She blinked, "I'm going to need more than that."

Using his fingers, Xipe spread the stuff onto the fabric, "This will heal you."

She blinked again, "Isn't that the opposite of what you want for me?"

If she didn't know any better, Kirsty would have thought he'd released a sigh, "Breaking Emil will be exhausting for you. I will need you in better health."

Backpedaling a bit, Kirsty held up her hands, "I'm not breaking anyone. I'm here to observe."

"As you say," he murmured, wrapping the cloth around her wrist and another, longer cloth around her shoulder.

"I do say," Kirsty responded firmly, her jaw set.

She examined the wrappings, noting the rather strong smell of eucalyptus and something softer that she couldn't identify. Xipe was standing and moving off to the side to rinse out the bowl and his hands in a small fountain flowing from out of the wall. The bindings were warming, as if activated by her skin. The warmth grew exponentially, until she thought it might be burning off her skin. Pain seared up her arm, nearly blinding her.

Crying out, Kirsty started to pull at the bandages, stopped by Xipe's patient hands. She twisted, grunting out expletives as the pain only seemed to grow. Her wounds no longer mattered, her fear was subsumed, her thoughts only of escaping the pain.

"Easy," Xipe commanded, "You will injure yourself further."

Kirsty's struggles continued, her legs kicking out, catching one of his thighs. His breath huffed out, the only sign that she'd made impact. She tried again, wincing as he rested more of his weight on her, until her arms were crossed in front of her, her legs pinned to the mattress. Kirsty screamed, writhing. There was nothing but the pain—there was nothing left of herself.

Waking was a strangely simple affair. One minute, Kirsty was immersed in oblivious, and in the next moment she was staring at an elegantly carved bedside table, stained darkly. Running a hand through her hair, she pushed to sitting, for the first time noticing that the sheets were a deep, dark red and that the frame of the bed arched upwards in a vaulted curve. The walls were stone, bare. The floors were covered in woven carpets. She was in his bedroom. She was still alive, and in his bedroom. Kirsty touched the fabric at her wrist—the pain was gone, she was alive, and she was in his bedroom.

Scooting to the end of the bed, Kirsty dropped her feet to the floor, her heels having been removed. She stood, surprised at how strong she felt, given the beating she'd taken. Carefully, she unwrapped the fabric from her body, rubbing at the healed skin with a certain kind of awe. There was not a mark on her body, and her shoulder rotated smoothly. An injury that should have taken weeks of physical therapy to bring back to normality was essentially nonexistent. Interesting.

Unsteadily, she continued her perusal of the room, catching the soft sheen of fabric draped across the end of the bed. Taking her movements slowly, Kirsty held it aloft. Navy blue, cut on a bias, halter top… Did he pick out a dress for her?

Looking down, Kirsty noted the ripped, blood stained dress hanging around from her shoulders. A hundred dollars worth of fashion and it was damn near destroyed. Ambling over to the water spout, Kirsty used her hands to clean her face and arms, pink liquid pooling near the drain. Once satisfied, she gave a surreptitious look around before stripping off and pulling the proffered dress over her head. There was nothing she could do with her hair except run her fingers through it until it settled half over her shoulders. Kirsty didn't even have a mirror—and she didn't want to think about why she needed a mirror in the first place. There was no one here she cared enough about to value their opinion.

The room was empty, the doors closed. The air was so still that she feared breathing. Kirsty stood for several minutes, simply existing for the first time in what felt like years. There were no men after her, no family members being murdered, no grotesque creatures hunting her down. She was Kirsty Cotton. She was just a woman.

All things, as they say, must come to an end. The door to the torture room swung open leisurely, Xipe stepping through. He sighted her, slowing just a beat, the leather of his cassock swinging around his ankles.

"Ah, you are awake."

Kirsty fought the urge to shift on her feet, to run her hands down the length of the fabric at her hips, "I'm awake."

"And rested?" He questioned with a tilt of his head.

She nodded, "And rested."

"Good," he replied, gesturing to the still open door, "Then we will begin."

She couldn't call it hesitation or fear, the thing that gripped her belly and wrenched it. And she refused to call it excitement. But, there is was, pushing her forwards with bare feet, the dress whispering across the stone floors. They were, strangely enough, not cold, as if heat radiated from beneath.

Emil was hanging where she'd left him, untouched except for the hooks pulling his skin away from the muscle. His eyes were closed; sweat falling from his temple to plop on the floor. A tall, straight-backed chair had been settled a few feet before him. Kirsty's step was halting, her eyes checking for danger. A hand pressed gently at the small of her back.

"Please, sit," he intoned, guiding her down.

Feeling very slightly out of body, Kirsty rested against the seat and back of the chair, her head tilted to lie against it. Emil seemed to come back to consciousness, though he showed no signs of pain, his breath labored. She watched him, unblinking, wondering what horrors would come in the next few hours and trying to decide if she cared.

Xipe traversed the length of the room, silent, but efficient. He reached up on the wall and pulled several tools from the hooks, laying them on a tray. Turning, he made his way over to her and leaned down, presenting the array.

"Which shall we start with?"

Startled, Kirsty glanced up at his pinned face, her brows drawing together in confusion.

He blinked, "You will guide my hands, Kirsty. Make your choice."

Her heart picked up speed, her hands clenching on the arm rests. This wasn't part of the plan—she was supposed to be observing from a distance. Active participation was out of the question.

"Come now, Kirsty. Don't tell me you've lost your nerve."

He was taunting her, teasing her with the knowledge that she had agreed to this game. Kirsty could see exactly what he was doing, could see where this was going. And she cared. Hammer had said her soul was stained, but some part of her knew that it wasn't all her fault. She was a victim of circumstance, destroyed by a lecherous uncle, an unfaithful husband. There was nothing to be done about the atrocities she'd seen. And the lives she'd taken.

Was she no better than the Cenobites? Was her mission to protect the world from them in vain? Was she trying to save her soul in the attempt?

Emil groaned, the chains rattling around them, bringing Kirsty back to the situation at hand. The metal of the various knives, clamps, and wrenches before her glinted. Emil looked up at her, hatred in his gaze.

"You bitch," he spat. "You set me up."

Kirsty's expression hardened, "You set yourself up, the minute you thought you could hurt me and get away with it."

"Thief," he cried out, making a failed endeavor at getting free, only serving to tear at his own flesh.

She shook her head, "I wasn't going to steal from you. I would have paid for the box."

"The hell you would have," Emil shot back, "I know a criminal when I see one."

"Yes," she admitted finally, "I am a criminal. A murderer, mostly. But, I am no thief."

Emil scoffed, "But you are a liar."

Kirsty shrugged, "Aren't we all?"

A small shift to her right, "If you're quite finished."

She smiled a little, feeling childish. "He started it."

His expression was icy and the tiniest bit annoyed. Kirsty could feel her cheeks heat with embarrassment.

If only to move his attention elsewhere, she tapped a small knife near the end with her index finger. Xipe nodded, setting the tray aside and picking up the instrument. Kirsty watched him, swallowing back her trepidation, her eyes flicking nervously over to Emil.

"This wasn't our deal, Kirsty," he shouted.

Xipe chuckled lowly, the sound sending familiar shivers across Kirsty's frayed nerves, "I'm afraid Kirsty has a habit of twisting her side of things. One must be quite careful when striking a bargain with Ms. Cotton."

Was that pride she was hearing?

Kirsty didn't have time to truly process the thought as Xipe was leaning down and running the blade over Emil's skin. For a moment, she thought he'd only grazed it, but soon tiny dots appeared along the path, then rivulets of blood fell through the skin, slipping downwards. Kirsty clamped her mouth shut, unable to move or speak, barely able to draw breath.

"Lesson one, Kirsty," Xipe pronounced, "A small bit of effort can produced the desired results. No need to expend undue amounts of energy when a supplicant is already primed. You have eternity to learn their flesh."

And so it went for a time. Xipe would circle Emil, picking places to run the knife along, blood coating the floor beneath him. He was calm, precise, and patient—everything she remembered him to be. Terrified, she watched as more and more of Emil's skin was cut, until nearly his whole body from the neck down was coated in blood.

Emil cried out to the ceiling, his pain bringing anger and vitriol. He cursed God and his captor, cursed the labyrinth and all its beings. And he cursed Kirsty.

"I should have killed you the minute I saw you," he spewed, teeth gritting.

Kirsty, herself, was feeling the pity rise in her stomach, half an inch away from asking Xipe to stop. Emil had knocked her around for a bit, implied her might harm her further, but her stomach still turned at the sight before her.

She opened her mouth, no sound coming out.

"Perhaps we should move on," Xipe said with a fluid movement of his hand, the knife held between two fingers. "Kirsty, would you care to choose again."

This time she definitely hesitated, her hands pressing into the armrests as she resisted the urge to flee. Inevitably, he read into her body language, his body stilling. She watched him watching her, knowing that she was failing and yet she could not hate herself for it. She was human. This was not what humans did.

"Emil, do excuse us a moment. We will be with you again shortly."

Xipe approached, placed his hands over hers, cool skin shocking her back to the present, "Are you with me, Kirsty?"

She looked up at him, shaking, "I don't know."

"This is what you wanted, is it not?"

"No, I," she began, swallowing before continuing, "I don't torture people."

His head tilted to the side, "He has asked for it."

She shook her head vigorously, "I tricked him."

He lifted one hand, pressing two fingers beneath her chin, "Is that it? You think he isn't enjoying himself?"

"Look at him," she urged. "He's bleeding. In pain."

Xipe didn't deign to look at his victim, "Choose again, Kirsty. I have such sights to show you."

"I can't," she whispered hoarsely, "I can't condemn him."

"His soul is already damned, child. Choose again."

Glancing to the side at the tray, she looked for the least frightening piece, her hand flying to a leather flogger.

Xipe gripped it with a sure hand, "Excellent choice. Now, let me show you why people crave us."

From one moment to the next he was once more the unfeeling Cenobite leader, tool in hand, ready to exact his will. She pulled her ankles beneath the chair, an anxious habit.

A flick of the wrist and the flogger was moving—quick slaps against wet flesh in a staccato rhythm. Kirsty closed her eyes, flinching with each hit, unwilling to watch the pain continue. She listened to the cries, the groans, the screams, until each sound mulled together in her brain. Only… she wasn't hearing sounds of pain, not anymore. Now, she was hearing something entirely different.

Peeking out into the dim light, Kirsty was shocked to see Emil's grimace completely gone from his face, his mouth open, expression twisted in what looked like ecstasy. Emil was writhing on the hooks, arching into the blows, mouthing around words like 'yes' and 'more'. Kirsty was all astonishment.

"Now you see," Xipe murmured between strikes, "A small portion of what we offer. Choose again."

Kirsty looked down, fingers shaking as she touched a small bit of wire.

Xipe set the flogger aside, taking up the wire and unwinding it. He dropped to a crouch, slipping the wire around one of Emil's thighs and, without preamble, giving it a slow twist. The flesh gave way instantly, muscle tearing and more blood seeping forth. Kirsty wondered how he hadn't bled out by then, her eyes dropping to the slowly growing pool on the floor.

Emil screamed and Kirsty's gaze was immediately drawn back to his face. She was unable to determine if he was screaming in pain or pleasure, his expression somewhere in between. She flinched as the wire turned again, her hand covering her mouth to keep herself quiet.

"Do tell me what you're thinking Kirsty," Xipe said conversationally as he unwrapped the wire and moved it a bit higher.

"I'm horrified," she admitted in a small voice.

"Yes," he prompted, focused on his task.

She alternated between watching Xipe continue his work and observing each expression Emil made in reaction. He seemed to have fallen into some kind of trance, his body swaying. Either he'd finally succumbed to the blood loss or his body was simply refusing to process any more sensation.

"I don't understand."

Xipe stood and tossed aside the wire, she noted that his hands were covered in blood. "Humans rarely do."

Condescension.

Kirsty would have none of his condescension, "Then why show me at all?"

His eyes gave Emil a once over before turning their inky depths to her, "I told you once that you opened a door."

She rolled her eyes, "Yes, and you're coming for my soul. I know."

At this, his annoyance showed through the mask of disinterest, "Come now, Kirsty. Surely you would know that if I wanted to reap your soul, I would have done so many times by now."

Standing, Kirsty made to exit the room, "More riddles. You can never answer a single question."

Suddenly, he was standing before her—towering, really. She could feel his anger like a physical thing, pushing her bodily back into the chair.

He leaned down, "You are the only soul I have let go, Kirsty. The only one to escape. Tell me, why would I do that?"

"A whim?"

Tongue touching his upper teeth, Xipe very nearly smiled, "Perhaps." Then, "You struck a deal. Were willing to sacrifice your own blood to save yourself. And yet you still wept for your father."

"Frank deserved everything you did to him," she bit out, memories she would rather keep buried deep floating to the surface.

Xipe lifted a brow, "Indeed he did. His suffering was great, I can assure you. And Trevor's as well. And his consorts."

Kirsty jerked her head to the side, focusing her gaze on the far wall, "Get to the point."

Leaning down further, he spoke into her ear, "Your anger was righteous, Kirsty, your vengeance sweet and brutal. I have never wanted something so much as I want you."

Inhaling sharply, Kirsty turned her head, gazing up at him. Lies? But, he'd never once lied to her, never gave her anything that she didn't ask for. That was his nature.

"What do you want from me?"

He took a moment, then finally replied, "I want you to guide me. Nothing more for now. Choose again."

And so it went. For hours, Kirsty would choose a weapon and then watch as her pinned demon used it against Emil. Whole muscle groups fell to the floor, bone exposed, sawed, snapped. She winced as Emil wept from the pain, held her breath as he screamed in pleasure. They intertwined so completely that she forgot for a while that she was participating in yet another murder.

When Emil was nothing more than skin and bone and firing nerves, Xipe brought the session to an end. Kirsty blinked, and her former attacker was whole again, unscathed, and hanging from the hooks as he was when she'd first walked in. She blinked in astonishment. The floor was still covered in viscera and fluids, but Emil was whole.

She leaned forward to get a better look, flinching and flushing when she felt a telling wetness between her thighs. Adrenaline and fear—a natural reaction, she told herself. Closing her eyes for a moment, she gathered her wits, then turned her attention to Xipe.

"What now?"

He used a towel to methodically wipe down the weapons he'd used, "Now, you rest. It has been an exhausting experience."

Kirsty stood, wavering a little. He was right. She was exhausted. With surprisingly soft hands, Xipe led her back to the bedroom where he helped her underneath the sheets. Kirsty lay on a pillow, her eyes sliding shut and staying that way.

She couldn't find the sixth box. After waking up in the dingy back apartment, still wearing the dress Xipe had given her, she grabbed the fifth box and high tailed it to the hotel. From there, she gathered her things and rushed to the nearest airport. She had to get out of town before anyone noticed that she was the last appointment on Emil's calendar. Ditching the prepaid cell, Kirsty paid in cash for her ticket and made the short ride to Ireland. From there, she made her way to Norway, then back 'round to Scotland, then to Romania. No matter where she looked and no matter how much research she did, there was no box. Even the leads dried up over time.

Frustrated and angry, Kirsty sat on the small hotel room floor and stared at the five boxes arranged in a semi-circle around her. Each had a slightly different design, but all were etched with the same motif. Kirsty wondered if they opened different doors to hell, accessing the many halls from varying angles. None of that mattered, though, if she couldn't get the sixth box. There would always be a loophole that someone could get through, a tool that could be used to open the labyrinth.

Picking at the carpet, Kirsty wracked her brain to see if she could come up with some kind of game plan. She came up with exactly zero. Zilch. Zip. Nothing. Tipping over, Kirsty rolled to her back and stared at the ceiling. It, like the carpet, had no answers for her. Head lolling to the side, Kirsty stared at one of the boxes. The intricate pattern was familiar by now—her first box glinting at her in the semi-darkness.

With a heavy sigh, Kirsty reached for it, holding the box above her and turning it over in her hands. Five dangerous boxes, and this was the one that started it all. Hugging it her chest, Kirsty pulled her knees to her chest. How long had she feared and hated the box and its contents? How long had she run from what she was? Flashes of Emil's tortured body pierced her mind's eye, followed by the thrill that sizzled in her veins during and afterwards.

Was the Cenobite right? Was her soul stained? Was she more like them than she was like everyone else?

Did it even matter?

Sitting up, Kirsty growled, "What am I supposed to do?"

She got no answer.

"Tell me!" She screamed to no one in particular. "What do I do?"

Dropping her forehead into her hand, Kirsty pushed back the tears that seared her eyes, a migraine not far behind. Setting the box aside, she stood and made her way to the bathroom. Her reflection stared back at her, a woman who'd spent too many days on the run. Turning on the tap, she splashed cool water on her face, hoping to clear her head and gain some new perspective.

There was no one on Earth that could help her… and the only ones who could were in a hell dimension she could only access by sacrificing her soul. Only—she had entered it before without really trying. She knew that it wasn't a dream, but she didn't know how to recreate it. Turning off the water, Kirsty sat on the edge of the tub and tried to think.

She hadn't opened the box.

She didn't think that she was really thinking about it when she fell asleep that night.

Lifting her head, Kirsty inhaled, "What if it wasn't me? What if it was him?"

Could he have called for her, would he have brought her down to help him get out from under the Cenobite's literal whip?

Standing, Kirsty leaned her palms on the countertop, feeling her heart pick up. She swallowed, debating.

"Xipe Totec," she pronounced clearly. "Xipe, I could really use some help right about now."

There was not even a flicker of light, no blue beams to cast an eerie shadow. No bells. No pinned demon to respond to her call. She reached over and turned off the light, stepping back out into the bedroom.

She pulled up short. Xipe stood rather innocently on the other side of the bed, his leather and pins out of place in the neutral tones of the hotel room. She stared agog at him, shocked into silence.

"Hey," she greeted conversationally, when she could find her voice.

Xipe took a step forward, "You called."

She shifted to one foot, "I actually didn't think that would work."

"Nonetheless," he replied evenly. "I am here."

Kirsty chuckled, "Yep."

He tilted his head to the side, "Are we to get to the point, or should I call for tea?"

"I can't find the sixth box," Kirsty blurted out, feeling that they would be short on time. "I've looked and looked and I can't find it."

Xipe glanced down at the ground, "You have five here."

She nodded, "Yes, but you said there are six. I need all six."

Circling the bed, Xipe folded his hands behind his back, "I did say there were six boxes. Perhaps, I misspoke."

Lip curling, Kirsty sneered, "Are you saying there aren't?"

His shoulder gave a little lift that could have been a shrug, "I should have said there are six paths to the Labyrinth. Five of them sit before you."

Brows drawing together, Kirsty asked with not a little desperation, "And where is the sixth?"

Approaching with those measured steps that proved he had nothing but all the time in the world, Xipe lifted a pale hand and touched the center of her chest, "Here."

"I don't understand," she replied, feeling defeat roll in. She had been at this so long that yet another riddle was insurmountable for her.

Hand moving upwards to grip her chin, Xipe forced her to look him in the deep black pools of his eyes, "There are three components to entering the realm of Leviathan: the supplicant, the box, and… the deliverer."

Kirsty's mind flashed back to the many bearers of the box, to their disintegrating bodies, their dead eyes.

"Am I going to be like that?"

She was entirely too grateful for the little shake of his head, "No. They were slaves, not even welcome among the supplicants. You, Kirsty, are far more than any that have come before you and any that will come after."

Unbidden, Kirsty felt her chest tighten, her breathing become labored. She sensed a trap, "I don't understand."

He blinked, "We need you… I need you. Keep our kind alive. Feed us with the souls of supplicants."

"But," she countered incredulously, "You have supplicants all over the world."

Xipe scoffed, "Weak, pathetic souls not worth reaping but for the hunger. You, Kirsty, can bring us the damned, the evil, the carnal."

"How?" She breathed, almost unwilling to believe that she was actually considering the idea.

He brushed the hair back from her face, "Just give them the box."

"That's it?"

A slow nod was her only answer. Kirsty turned her eyes downwards, unsure. She had sought out the boxes to protect the world, to keep them out of the hands of innocent people, much like she had been. And, now, Xipe was asking her to deliver them into the hands of supplicants to keep the Cenobites alive. She shivered.

"Why are you doing this?"

He used both hands to grip her shoulders, holding her up when she would have collapsed, "You asked me once why I spared you. I saw in you the kind of soul that would aid us for eternity. I saw in you a potential to give my race an unending supply of the most savory souls. You know what we seek and you know what will satisfy us."

Feeling her guilt creep in slowly, Kirsty urged, "I don't want to kill any more people."

Xipe smiled, his expression eerily focused, "You won't lay a hand on them. All we require of you is to keep the boxes until a supplicant arrives. Give them exactly what they want."

Her lip curled, "They don't know what they want."

His hands clenched around her skin, sending pain through the muscle, "Yes, they do. We could not be called to this plane without the supplicant's clear entreaty. It is their souls that call to us. They know exactly what they are doing."

Kirsty found herself gripping the leather of his uniform, fingers barely able to find purchase against the slick surface. She shook her head, eyes closing against the idea that had already formed in her mind. Wouldn't it be right to bring people who were already damned to the damnable ones of hell? Wouldn't it be a balm to the world to bring those who did wrong to justice?

Xipe seemed to sense her wavering. He slipped his hands between her arms and body, palming her shoulder blades and bringing her in close.

"Imagine it," he whispered near her ear, "Vengeance so poetic, so final, that it will last throughout eternity."

"I…," Kirsty said, unsure how to finish the sentence.
Xipe shifted his weight, arms dropping to her waist to hold her in a tight embrace, "Do you wonder what shall be provided for you in return?"

Her brows hit her hairline, surprise engulfing her.

He dropping his mouth to her cheek, lips moving against the skin, "I know your soul, Kirsty. I know that you will give nothing without a price."

Kirsty knew he was right, having bargained with him time and time again to get what she wanted and to even the score. There was nothing she wouldn't do to come out on top, and to be clean as the driven no (for all appearances) afterwards. It was a game, she recognized, that she played not only with the Cenobites, but with everyone else in her world. She played it with Trevor. She played it with her coworkers. And, she was playing it now.

Xipe bit down on her cheek, "What is it that you want in return?"

It was like asking a Djinn for wishes, knowing that the result would be utter catastrophe. Her mind, heart, and body struggled against one another. What could she ask for such a task? What would ease the spreading stain?

"I'm waiting," Xipe taunted lightly.

"I'm thinking," Kirsty bit out, her mind racing.

It was only when she realized that she would do this without a price that Kirsty understood that she had become just like her enemies. She was no different than the Cenobite standing before her—she just hadn't managed to die and be sucked into hell yet.

"Anything you desire will be yours," he promised, voice low and rumbling.

Suddenly, a fire burned through her, pulling her lips back from her teeth.

Grasping Xipe by the head, the pins digging into her fingers and palms, "You will give me everything. Anything."

He nodded, the motion scraping the jagged metal over her hands, blood springing forth unnoticed.

She breathed deep, "I'll do it."

Kirsty thought he might look a little more triumphant with her acquiescence, but he merely smiled that tight little smile that hinted at his pleasure.

Arms squeezing just a little more tightly, he leaned down and said, "A boon, then. Just to start."

Kirsty was, in the next moment, surrounded by the sounds and sights of the labyrinth. Chains swung from the ceiling and bells toned in her ears. Her hands were bound in front of her, fastened to a small loop in the smooth rock over which her body was bent. And, she was naked. Cool stone pressed at every angle over the front of her body, curved to her exact measurements. She didn't have to look over her shoulder to know that he was behind, waiting for her to orient herself once more.

It started slowly, an adjustment to the small instruments he had readily available. Then, with well trained precision, he moved to the more forceful ones. Kirsty winced as a flogger hit her in the shoulder, a strap of leather nicking her breast. She cried out when he ran the sharp edge of a blade along her ass, up the length of her spine. Below her, blood pooled in a sticky mess, drying and rubbing her stomach raw.

He gave no reprieve, marking and cutting her until the tears came, forcing her higher into a space where nothing existed but sensation. Unlike Emil, he didn't take her limbs, just little bits of flesh here and there, where a flogger or knife cut deep enough. She wouldn't see her guts lying on the floor next to her this night.

Sooner than she would have liked, Kirsty was begging for it to stop, her forehead down, arms pulled tightly against the manacles. And, without preamble, he did. Everything ceased in that second that her voice rang out, hoarse in the darkness.

"This is a good starting point," he commented, laying his knives aside.

Kirsty was near hyperventilating, "Starting point?"

"Yes," he drawled, leaning over her, "I will have eternity to know your flesh."

She almost bluffed, almost inquired—'what if one of my conditions is that you will never know my flesh?'—but she balked when his hand ran up her thigh, pausing near the juncture of her hips. In quiet anticipation, she awaited his next move, her eyes trained on the wall before her. For several seconds, he seemed quite content to let her wait, the tips of his fingers poised just above her skin so that she could still feel the strange, cool temperature of him.

Gingerly, the pads of his fingers brushed against her, spreading the wetness around. He focused on the outer lips, dipping the very tip of the index inside. Kirsty found herself arching back into the touch, knees widening to balance her weight. She groaned when he slipped one, then two, within, using the leverage of his grip to lift her a bit so that her knees were barely brushing the floor.

Muscles straining to hold herself aloft, Kirsty grit her teeth, sensation zinging through her body from the welts along her arms and the cuts over her back and sides. Xipe moved methodically, letting her rest a bit before flexing his palm against her, his free digits resting along the sides of her entrance. Rubbing deftly, he picked up a rhythm that was at once easy and punishing. Though his hand moved slowly, the depth was deep and intense, seeking out every bit of flesh available to him.

Hands gripping the chains that held her, Kirsty dropped her head and focused on her body. The rough scrape of the stone, the pulsing wounds, the steady escalation of orgasm all pulled together with a burn that didn't seem possible in the blue and gray light of the labyrinth. She felt short, staccato moans huff out from her lungs…

She was standing in the hotel room, holding onto Xipe's shoulders for dear life while her body convulsed hard. Her clothes were too constricting, her jeans chafing at the sensitive skin. Looking down, she half expected blood to be seeping through the fabric. It took long moments for her to catch her breath, and still longer for her to look him in the eye again.

Xipe gazed at her with something akin to pride, "Can you stand?"

Embarrassed, Kirsty nodded and pulled away, only to contradict herself and stumble onto the bed. She braced her hands on her knees and breathed deep, shifting her weight against the damp center pressed against the seam of her pants.

"You warn me first," she demanded in a husky tone, her voice not quite her own.

Xipe dipped his chin downwards, "Of course."

Inhaling deeply, Kirsty lifted her eyes to thank him, but he'd disappeared in that eerie way of his that reminded her of what he was. She wiped the sweat away from her brow, still shaking. The glint of the boxes caught her attention, five little portals to hell masked as puzzles—a keen representation of their damned representatives. Pushing shakily from the bed, she gathered them up and placed them carefully in the bag, thinking that she would check out of the hotel in the morning and try to find a more permanent location. After all, she had the Cenobites counting on her now.

The café was high end, requiring a jacket and tie just to enter. Kirsty stirred her coffee, plopping a sugar cube inside while she waited. Someone always approached within a few minutes, a seeker who'd been given her number three degrees of separation ago. She almost never went to the same place twice, but there was particularly good coffee here and she liked the view. Across the way was a park, children playing innocently while she went about her immoral business.

The day was bright and sunny, light reflecting off of every surface. And yet, she'd been able to find the darkest corner, her hat blocking a full view of her face. The waiter brought her another delicate cup of coffee, refilled her cream, and stepped away discretely. She lifted her eyes to see a nervous looking gentleman standing before her.

"Please, sit," Kirsty said, gesturing to the empty seat.

He sat, looking around furtively, "I hear you have something of interest."

Kirsty smiled, lifting her brows to urge him on.

"A box," he prompted, blushing, "I have cash."

A flash of him filtered through her mind—two kids, wife, steady job, a drunken dare.

She stood, dropping a bill onto the table, "Believe me, you don't want this. Go back to your friends, tell them it doesn't exist."

Out on the street, Kirsty enjoyed the sharp click of her heels against the pavement and the warmth from the morning sun. She had no interest in the shops, having used the money from damned souls ages ago to furnish her small apartment and wardrobe. But, she stepped into one, anyway, perusing the racks without seeing the offerings. A salesman approached.

"May I help you?"

Looking up, Kirsty winced at the flash of memory—angry, raging fights, bloody knuckles, screams of fear. This was one of the men who looked for her, who hunted her.

"Yes, you may," she replied with a wide smile, her hand slipping to rest against the square edge in her purse.

Later, she would hand the box off to him, saying, "The box is yours… It always was."

So, yeah. That happened.