Page 23 of Cry for Help

Stolas turned away, his gaze fixed on a fascinating spot on the plain wall.

I had no such modesty. I’d spent a decade showering in front of fifty other women. Shitting with the door open and bending and coughing during every room search. I cared about my rolls of fat in an abstract way, wishing I didn’t have the shelf under my belly button that made my pants size larger than my top half, but there was nothing I could do about it. Not in the next ten seconds

If Stolas found my pudge a turn-off, he was welcome to feel all the buyer remorse he wanted.

I took off the shapeless polyester dress, leaving me in the tent-like prison-issue panties. Grey and unappealing. The Tailor waved a hand to the chair, and I sat down. The room was cold, and I wanted the appointment over as quickly as possible.

“How did you injure yourself?” The Tailor flicked a magnifying lens over his glasses. Staring at me with bug-like eyes. When I didn’t answer, he raised a thin brow and agitatedly glanced at Stolas. “Give your human leave to speak.”

“She can’t speak.” Stolas didn’t look up.

“She can.” The Tailor sniffed, turning back to me with curiosity. He lifted a hand, his finger brushed against my arm. My bicep was swollen. A small nick from the barbed wire at the gauntlet, nothing significant enough to make a fuss about.

“But you don’t like to speak, do you,Bean Sídhe?” The Tailor continued in a dreamlike voice. “Too much death.”

The Tailor looked me in the eye, and I froze. My scream echoed in my throat, and my teeth ground together to hold it inside.

He knew what I was.

Bean Sídhe.

Stolas’s muscles locked, but he kept his gaze on the wall.

The Tailor snapped out of whatever trance had come to him. “Saltwater.” He clicked his fingers. “Dilutes the iron.”

I didn’t dare move. Not even to look at the Tailor. His glasses were not ornamental—he had seen right through me in moments. I could only hope Stolas had no idea what a Bean Sídhe was.

The pink sector of Lust reminded me of birds of paradise. A world away from the shininess of Pride, but warm and inviting—and colorful too. The buildings were painted in an array of jewel tones. The decorative windows showed the silhouettes of the occupants, with a rainbow of different colored lights ranging from blue to red and even purple. It brought to mind Amsterdam's red light district, but I had no idea what each color meant.

The demon in the Tailor’s office had beengold. Her skin color was easily mistaken for a tan under fluorescent lights.As we drove further into the Lust district, it became clear that incubi and succubae had a strange glow from within, like bottled sunlight. At least, I guessed they were sex demons on account of the hordes of adoring fans.

We pulled up outside of a building that straddled the line between religious and obscene. The round tops of each tower looked suspiciously like breasts facing the sky. Despite its location amid the Red City, surrounded by the busy metropolis, it boasted an expansive garden at the front with a fountain.

Stolas parked the SUV outside the iron gate and sighed deeply as he looked up at the palace in the middle of the city.

I had no idea what to expect, and Stolas’s reaction gave me no hint. If anything, he seemed vaguely irritated rather than fearful. After a moment, he left the car and walked to the passenger side, opening the door for me before I had a chance.

As a prisoner, I was used to doors being opened, mainly because I was usually in handcuffs at the time. As a woman, I didn’t know what to think.

Stolas kept his distance though we walked side by side through the iron gate. I knew it was iron because the black-painted metal turned my stomach and made the cut on my arm itch.

The moment we stepped into the garden, the magic hit me in the face like a wave of heat. My clothes felt too tight, and my skin itched withneed.

Lust.

I glanced at Stolas, and he seemed unaffected. His face was set in an impassive mask, and his gaze was intent as he stared at the building—daring it to get out of his way.

As we approached the fountain, the subtle shapes I’d seen from the road appeared to be several sets of genitalia. I rolled my eyes. Cliche, but I supposed that was to be expected.

The door opened before we could knock, revealing agolden-skinned demon in a uniform. He tipped his head and gestured for us to enter, disappearing as we entered the foyer.

Everything was covered in blush velvet.

It was a sensory nightmare.

The walls, the ceiling, and the carpet. Like I’d stepped inside of a vagina.

Stolas flicked the tails of his long jacket behind his arms, jamming his hands into his pockets. He rocked on his heels as if he wanted nothing more than to run for the door.

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