Page 4 of A Match Made in Hell
The demons drop immediately.
My fellow passengers and I follow a little more slowly. We’re unsure what – or who – we’re kneeling for.
But I have a fairly good idea.
With my head bowed in faux deference, I peer through the curtain of hair draped over my eyes in order to study him when he enters. King Sathanas. The Devil. It must be. I wonder what he’ll look like. Bigger than the rest, probably. Scalier. Extra horns. Holding a pitchfork, perhaps. A wooden door to the side of the throne swings open, and my stomach swoops at the sound of footsteps, brisk and sure and growing closer. I steel my shoulders, bracing myself for whatever atrocity those footsteps belong to.
But when the figure walks out, I have to fight to hold back a gasp. Because it’s not a demon at all.
It’s a man.
3
He gives us a quick glance before settling himself on his throne, planting one leather boot on the ground and crossing his other leg over his knee. A click of his fingers has one of the demons scurrying to his side. I risk raising my head to get a better view, needing to decide if asking for his help is going to get me thrown in the river.
He’s not that much older than me. That probably doesn’t mean much, not here, but it’s the first thing I notice. He’s not that scary, either. While the sleeves of his white shirt bunch over his biceps, he’s nowhere near as beefy as the demons towering over him. They should be able to rip his head off easily.
But they don’t.
There must be something else to him. Some other power he has. And if I can’t see it, that makes him all the more dangerous. He’s also kind of rude, because we’re still kneeling, and it’s starting to hurt.
He runs a hand through short jet-black hair. ‘How many?’ Despite his voice being nowhere near as deep as the demon’s, it still feels like the room rumbles when he speaks.
‘Five thousand in the last hour,Your Highness,’ the demon says.
‘She has been busy.’ King Sathanas clucks his tongue. ‘Does she send anyone to Elysium these days?’
I frown. There were only around fifty on the boat with me. Where are the rest?
‘I suppose I should be grateful only one boat has caused trouble today.’ He waves the demon away before addressing us directly. ‘I don’t usually have the pleasure of meeting new arrivals, but I wanted to make sure none of you were inspired by that man fighting back by the river. It’s funny, how quickly the fires of rebellion can spread.’ He smiles. ‘And how easily they can be quashed.’
I clench my jaw. He can try and quash my rebellion all he likes, but I refuse to let myself feel threatened by a man in tight trousers.
‘The soul of today’s revolutionary will be taken into the Void to think about his actions. He’ll float, aware of everything and able to interact with nothing, where his only company will be his worst memories replaying in his head.’
I shiver. Okay, maybe I feel alittlethreatened.
‘I would suggest you don’t try and find out what other punishments are available here in Asphodel.’ Sathanas slumps in his seat, resting his chin on his fist, like speaking to us is a chore he could do without. Well, I, for one, didn’t ask him to. All we got was threats and no answers.
Apart from a name. Asphodel. It certainly rhymes with Hell.
‘Direct them to their rooms,’ Sathanas orders the demons. He waves a hand in our direction. ‘You may rise.’
How gracious of him. I resist the urge to roll my eyes as we stand in unison. I exchange a glance with the woman next to me – she’s the one who spent the boat trip crying – and although neither of us dares speak, the question on her face is evident. It’s the same as mine.What now?
I need a plan. At this point, I don’t know if escape is an option, or if I’m hoping for a miracle that doesn’t exist, but I need to exhaust all possibilities before I’m introduced to one ofthese unnamed punishments or, worse, thisVoid. I’ve got far too many memories I’d rather not repeat.
Demons watch us with hungry expressions, tracking our movements, forked tongues flicking out to swipe drool from their lips. Sathanas remains on his throne, looking bored, as a demon murmurs in his ear.
Frustrated by my lack of options, I turn to the woman and whisper, ‘Do you know why you’re here? Do you think they might’ve made a mistake?’
If theyhavemade a mistake with her, maybe they’ll let her go and I can follow them all the way to the exit.
Her eyes glisten with a fresh onslaught of tears. ‘I was sick. I don’t . . .’ She hiccups. ‘I don’t remember.’
‘You don’t need to remember how you died,’ I press. ‘I just need you to tell me if you think you belong here. Because if you don’t, maybe there’s some exception where –’
She starts to cry again, louder and louder, her high-pitched sobs quickly rising into a crescendo that’s hard to ignore. Demons are turning to stare.Sathanasis turning to stare.
