Page 115 of The Devil and His Sparrow

Taking steady breaths against the onslaught of fire at my back, I gripped Eden’s arms tightly and stared straight into her eyes, imploring her to understand. “I need to find Zagan. Please! I have to find him in the next twenty-nine minutes. Help me. He’s—He’s somewhere in Hell’s Gate.”

Her eyes widened, which I didn’t think was possible with how large they already were. “Hell’s Gate? Iyla, this is just one room of Hell’s Gate. There are … hundreds of spaces just like this one, connected by doors that demons travel through. If he’s somewhere in Hell’s Gate, that means he could be … anywhere.”

I stopped breathing. I’d thought the cuts to my back had been the catch to make Babette’s game harder, but I realized now that this was the real one. I’d only ever been to this part of Hell’s Gate. I didn’t even know there were more rooms, because those “doors” weren’t visible to my human eye. I would’ve spent the full hour in this one massive club, unaware that Zagan wasn’t even in this one.

My face scrunched up in bitter fury as I turned my gaze back to the office that overlooked the club. Babette still lingered there, now holding a glass of wine. She saw me glaring, and even from here, her chuckle was obvious. If that wasn’t enough, she winked and blew me a kiss.

I threw my head back on an agonized wail as another slash joined the rest. More blood seeped out of my back and soaked into my shirt, and Eden’s eyes glossed over with tears as she held onto me.

The pain was all-consuming, and it made my vision swim. I inhaled deeply and gripped Eden with weak fingers as the room tilted and spun briefly. I worried this would be it. I’d pass out and lose the rest of my time, sentencing myself to an eternity of suffering and Zagan to a life as a sex slave. But I didn’t faint. I refused to succumb.

“Do you have a way to contact him?” I asked weakly. “You know, through demon ways?”

She seemed flustered as she stammered, “Y-Yeah. We can shadow speak.” She closed her eyes, and her voice hardened, “Zagan.”

We didn’t let go of one another as we waited, but nothing happened. I whipped my head around in search of Zagan, but I never saw a glimmer of those detailed tattoos, glint of piercings, or flicker of black-and-red eyes.

“It’s not working,” Eden announced with a helpless cry cracking her voice. “Something must be blocking him from hearing me. What in the world is happening?”

My head hung, and I braced myself for an incoming blow that was probably seconds away. “He made a bargain with Babette. I’m trying to get him back.”

Her gold eyes widened. “What a fucking moron! No wonder he can’t hear me. She probably blocked his shadow speak for everyone, except her. I bet she took his phone, too.”

Things were quickly spiraling, and my options to get a hold of him were getting dangerously thin. Still, I couldn’t give up. Not on him.

I met Eden’s stare through bleary eyes and asked, “Is there an intercom system or anything that connects this room to the others?”

Eden looked around, seemingly at a loss. Her attention landed on the stage, and she suddenly perked up with hope. “The stage is set up to broadcast the music to all the rooms.”

The stage stood at the head of the dance floor. Instruments were set up there, but no one currently played them, instead letting some mix play over the speakers. Still, renewed hope swelled to life inside me. If we could turn off the pre-recorded music, I could find a microphone and tell Zagan where I was.

Turning back to Eden, I quickly said, “Help me to the stage.”

She slung my arm around her shoulder and helped me walk through the throng of people. Three more ticks to the skin on my back slowed us down, but we finally made it to the stage. I was exhausted, on fire, nauseous, and fighting against the black spots clouding my vision. But I’d made it.

Twenty-five minutes left.

“See if you can find a microphone,” I mumbled to Eden, too weak to raise my voice more than a casual tone.

We stumbled together around the stage, but there wasn’t a mic set up. There were some drums, a single guitar, and a piano, but no microphone with any of them. Defeat tried to creep in as two more slashes cut into me during our search, but I fought against it. I couldn’t give up on him. I just couldn’t.

I wavered on my feet and leaned into Eden’s side. My eyes fluttered with the threat of closing for good. “Eden,” I groaned. “Need to sit. For a minute.”

She nodded and helped me sit at the piano bench. My head lolled as I rested my arms on the closed keylid.

Eden stood beside me, trying not to look at my blood-soaked back, and she nibbled her lip anxiously. “Maybe there’s a storage space somewhere around here with the mics.”

Maybe there was, but how long would it take to find it? In the time it took to find a microphone and set it up to blast through all the rooms, we might’ve run out of time. I only had twenty-three minutes left—maybe less with how quickly I was fading. I didn’t even have the energy to walk anymore.

I stared groggily at the piano beneath my elbows. Was I going to die here, leaning on what was nearly my dream come true? Was there nothing else I could do? I racked my foggy brain for something—anything—as I stared at the piano.

My eyes widened. With a sudden moment of clarity, I looked up at Eden. “So these instruments play all over the club? Even in the other rooms?”

“Yeah, thanks to the way Babette has the place set up. This is the main hub of Hell’s Gate, so it’s the only one with the stage. The rest are able to hear it, though.”

I braced myself as another slice broke my skin. I leaned forward, my head hanging as I breathed through the pain. The glossy surface of the keylid had my drained reflection staring back at me.

The reflection of a girl who’d changed and grown in the past few months.

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