Page 12 of A Match Made in Hell
I am not throwing anything away.
Gasping, I let go of the rock tethering me and force myself backwards. One step. Two. The mist retreats. My head clears. My breaths are coming out too quick, too loud. Nausea swims in my belly.
But it’s over. The only voice in my head is mine.
I inhale musty air I don’t need, every part of me trembling, remembering what Sathanas said about the Void. How it has the ability to replay our worst memories. It’d be typical of me to walkright into the one place I want to avoid most. I’m always ending up places I shouldn’t – after Mum died, I developed a terrible habit of wandering off on nights out, leaving Noah to find me hours later chatting to strangers in a dark corner. He’d pull me away and put me in a taxi, telling me I shouldn’t let myself get into situations like that. That I’m only safe when I’m with him. When I’d finished crying, I’d agree it was my fault I made him shout and he only does it because he worries.
He was right about that night on the beach too. If I’d listened to him, I wouldn’t be here, stuck in Hell, facing down Voids and listening to my mother on a loop.
If that was a taster of what my afterlife could turn into, it’s another sign I have to do everything I can to convince Sathanas to let me out.
I retreat another step, unable to tear my gaze from that black space, that great yawning mouth wanting to swallow me whole. I close my eyes and, immediately, I feel more settled. My body stops trembling. I breathe in, then out. Again. Practised techniques that send signals to my brain to tell it tocalm down. I’m fine. I’m safe, for now. I didn’t get sucked in. I’mfine.
Then I bump into something hard. And warm.
A hand clamps on my shoulder. A different voice, one that’s much deeper, practically a growl, says, ‘And where do you thinkyou’regoing?’
6
Sathanas spins me round.
I nearly smack into him. I’m eye level with his shoulders, and to be honest he needs to invest in better clothing because his shirt is straining to cover the breadth of them – is there a gym in Asphodel, or is he simply built that way? Asking seems inappropriate, given a) I don’t know him and b) I’m probably in trouble.
He clears his throat.
Oh. Right. I drag my gaze up, over his shoulders, his mouth, to meet his stare. My throat goes dry. His amber eyes are practically ablaze. I wish I could tell myself that it’s some strange reflection from the toadstools, but there’s no denying the anger flickering there. I am, very definitely, in trouble.
It’s not like I wastryingto stumble into the Void. The whole experience was deeply unpleasant and counter-productive to what I’m here to do.
‘What did I say,’ he says in a warning tone, ‘about bothering me?’
‘How was I supposed to know you were here?’ I fold my arms, tucking my hands inside moist armpits. ‘Besides, I thinkI’mthe one that’s bothered. That was . . . I heard . . .’
‘What you heard was merely a taste of what the centre of the Void is like.’ He cocks his head. ‘Pleasant memory, was it?’
I flinch. I’ve never told Noah the full details of that call and we’ve been together for three years – there’s no chance I’m telling a perfect stranger.
‘There was no memory,’ I lie. ‘Just voices, telling me to come inside. Who were they?’
His gaze drifts over my head, jaw ticking. ‘Lost souls. Anyone whose body is destroyed in Asphodel ends up there, alone, unable to see or touch or hear each other. The best they can do is whisper inside your mind in the hope of dragging you in with them.’ His focus returns to me. ‘And yet you resisted their call. Not everyone does.’
I smile thinly. ‘Lucky me.’
‘Hm.’ A crease forms between his brows for a second or two, and then he shakes his head like he’s trying to clear some invading thoughts of his own. ‘Come on.’
He turns as though expecting me to trot after him like a loyal dog. I don’t move. ‘Where are we going?’
‘Wearen’t going anywhere,’ he calls over his shoulder. ‘I’m escorting you out before you end up anywhere else you shouldn’t.’
That sets my feet in motion. I don’t want to be escorted anywhere, not until we’ve spoken. I came here for a reason, and the Void made me lose focus. Fear spurs me like a tailwind, and I walk at double speed to catch up.
I still need a reason that’ll persuade him to help me. Perhaps a sob story would work, something to gain his sympathy. That should be easy enough. I try to think of something sad. Like the fact I’ll never see Noah again, or Sasha, or –
My hand goes to my wrist, the emptiness there, the absence of weight. Not that my bracelet was heavy, but it was alwaysthere, a solid reminder of Mum; a reminder that sometimes I did do something that made her happy.
But that’s one story I can’t bring myself to tell. For fuck’ssake. There must be something else sad enough to make me cry. I’m dead. That is upsetting in itself. I’m devastated on my own behalf, is that enough?
It’ll have to be.
