Page 36 of A Match Made in Hell
‘No arguments,’ I say. ‘Make yourself unrecognisable, and we’ll hide at the back. If Asphodel is supposed to be a middle ground, you shouldn’t be treating it like your own personal Hell.’
He blinks at me. I take a moment to congratulate myself on shocking the Devil, before slipping from the room. It’ll be dark enough in the cave that he can sit undetected, but I don’t think we should be seen arriving together.
I scurry through the entrance chamber and am back on the balcony in record speed, calling for a lift. It’s strange, given the size of this place, how quickly I’ve learned my way around the various floors, along with which ones are best to avoid (for example, I have no idea why anybody would choose to spend a single moment of their afterlife in a fish market. The smell is unbearable).
I found the projection cave on day three of my explorations, down a rabbit warren of corridors on the entertainment level. It’s a small room, soundproofed to drown out the sound of arcade games and pinball machines next door. I don’t know where the power supply comes from, but I do know it’s usually demon-free, unlike the endless corridors I have to walk through to find it again.
Aric’s loitering in one, arms folded and snarling at humans that pass by. I keep my head down, but I feel his eyes watching me as I enter the cave. Humans lounge on beanbags littered sporadically over a carpet made of grass, faces dimly lit by the images flickering from the screen.
The film’s already started – it’sTwilight, of all things – and I drag a beanbag into a dark corner, far away from the rest of them, although they’re not paying me or the film much attention as they giggle and whisper in each other’s ears, passing popcorn back and forth.
We used to have film nights like this at the flat, before Mum died. When everything was right and normal. Sasha and I would hide under the duvet while Noah forced us to watch some awful horror movie, but he’d keep us entertained with a running commentary that had us both shaking with laughter.
I wonder if Sasha’s out of hospital now. If they’re watching those films without me. If someone else is holding her hand when she gets scared.
A yearning sets root in my stomach. I have to go back beforethey replace me. But more than that, I want something like that here. Now. I misscompany, and I’ll take it in any form.
Even if that form is the Devil.
I recognise the broad outline of Sath’s shoulders when he steps inside the cave, the way he walks with a confidence that says he’s the most powerful person in the room. I sincerely hope nobodyelserecognises that. They may not react well to sharing film night with the Devil. For me, though, I press my lips together to hide my smile. He came. And I should not be this excited about it, but I’ve been coming to this cave for a month, and it’s going to be the first time I have someone sitting next to me.
Also, the beanie really suits him.
He spots my (subtle) waving and weaves through the humans before dropping next to me on the beanbag. It sinks with his weight, dipping in the middle and making me slide into him.
Although I adjust so we’re not touching, I’m still hyperaware of his proximity when I whisper, ‘Hi.’
‘This is a terrible idea,’ he mutters.
I’m starting to think he has a point, but for very different reasons.
He’s the Devil, I remind myself.
But darkness is a mask. It gives us anonymity, the ability to be something other than what we are and start over. When our arms brush, I don’t shrink away, and neither does he. Eventually, we end up leaning against one another, his thigh against mine, his hand dangling lazily over my knee.
He’s the Devil.
I can’t concentrate on the film. My pulse sounds too loud in my ears. My skin prickles all over. Because when we glance at one another to confirm we’re laughing at the same thing, he doesn’t feel like the Devil at all.
He feels like he could be a friend.
13
Sat beneath a coconut tree in a tropical-themed dining hall for – according to my not-entirely-accurate wardrobe calendar – the fifty-seventh day in a row, I stare glumly at some humans on the next bench over and poke fried pineapple around my plate. Eating is a habit more than a necessity. Sometimes I come here to smell the sand dusted along the floor and pretend I’m staying in a hotel by the sea, but my imagination is failing me today. The scrape of cutlery and buzz of chatter is like white noise I want to drown out but can’t. Every day, I’m the new kid in school with no one to sit with.
I haven’t seen Sath since our trip to the cinema. Not properly, anyway. When he’s in Dionysus he stays on his throne, refusing to engage with anyone apart from the demons whispering whatever monstrosities demons like to whisper into his ears. Sometimes, his gaze catches mine, and he offers me a small smile, like we’re sharing a secret. The feeling of warmth it suffuses in me is brief, a match sparking before being snuffed out, leaving me colder than before.
Clearly my attempts to get him to feel more human have backfired, because I’m the one left with a hollow ache in my chest, a gnawing in my stomach, a weight in my legs that makes it hard to rise in the morning.
Every day, home feels a little further away. I can’t visualisewhat it looks like any more. Noah may as well be on Pluto at this point. I don’t want to do another task; I want to lie under my covers and never come out again.
You’re throwing your life away, Willow.
I shove my turtle-shell tray across the table. I’m one self-pitying thought away from turning into Sath, sticking my head in the sand, with no motivation to solve my problems because I’ve become so distant from the world I’ve forgotten what I’m fighting for.
A splash of bright colour draws my attention across the room – it’s Harper, the girl I met on my first night, the one who was nice to me for no reason. Her hair is blue today, and her skirt resembles an artist’s palette, covered in splotches of red, green and yellow. She’s laughing with two others, a boy and a girl who are like faded watercolour in comparison to her.
I jump to my feet, staring at her retreating form, a plan manifesting. Days felt like weeks when I lay in bed moping after Mum died. I’d listen to Noah come and go, not knowing how much time had passed because he never checked on me, thinking I’d emerge when I was ready. I was never ready. It was only when Sasha returned and forced me outside that time sped up again, those nights of distraction moving my life forward like a bullet train I couldn’t stop.
