Page 9 of A Match Made in Hell
She shrugs. ‘Either way, we demons don’t get to take part in any of the fun if you go there. The torture chambers in the Old Tunnels, though,they’rea real treat, when he allows us to use them. And then, of course, there’s Tartarus.’ She lets out a dreamy sigh, like she’s just sipped a cool cocktail on a hot day. ‘The lowest level of the afterlife. Probably closer to what you pictured, when you mortals talk about it on Earth. Fire, brimstone, lots of demons scurrying around prodding you with things. People used to be sent there for fucking up here in Asphodel, if they weren’t awful enough to be sorted there immediately.’
I suppose I should count myself lucky I wasn’t deemed really awful. Lucky old me, falling off a cliff, stuck in a dimension where onlysomeof the demons want to prod you with sticks. I hope she’s not expecting a thank you.
‘And these chutes, do they lead to wherever you . . . sort them?’
‘You ask a lot of questions.’ Her eyes barely flick over whatever’s on her clipboard. Is that all I got too? A momentary glance at a piece of paper, and my whole afterlife decided.
‘I’m trying to understand,’ I say. ‘Once you’ve made a decision . . .’
‘It can’t be reversed.’
‘But –’
‘No buts.’ Her trolley squeaks as she rolls it onwards. ‘You belong here, Willow White.’
I don’t bother to ask how she knew my name. It was probably on her clipboard where she ticked the box ‘bad seed’ and threwmy body away.
‘I can’t stay here,’ I say. ‘Please.’
The Sorter rolls her eyes. ‘You’re not the first person to say that. You won’t be the last. Do you know what you all have in common? A misplaced sense of self-importance. The notion that you’re too good to be here. Too proud to admit you have faults –’ She breaks off, looking me up and down while making a humming noise at the back of her throat.
I clench my jaw. I’m well aware I have faults, thanks.
The Sorter moves along to the next body. ‘Thief. This one’s easy.’ Down the chute they go. It didn’t take her any less time to determine that one aseasyas it did any of the others. She cocks her head in my direction. ‘You said Sath spoke to you?’
‘Briefly.’
She hums again, dropping a clipboard into its slot, but this time, she doesn’t take another. Her finger taps against the slab. Every beat is a second wasted. A second I’m here when I could be at home, making things right.
‘There has to be something you can do,’ I say.
‘Nope.’ She emphasises the word with a sharp pop, but I can tell she’s barely listening. Her finger taps, and taps, and taps, her lips twitch, and then she’s moving again, wheeling her cart down the room.
I stalk her steps. I didn’t come here to leave without answers. ‘What if I lay on a slab and you pulled a lever that saysEarth?’
‘Difficult, considering one doesn’t exist.’
My heart sinks. I sneak a closer look at one of the levers in the vain hope she’s lying, but the only things scratched on to the knob are three arrows:up,right,down. With no further information, my best guess is thatupis better than here. Maybe if there’s no way out I could at least angle for an upgrade, ideally one that comes with fluffy clouds and cherubs playing harps.
‘Ugh.’ The Sorter lifts a corpse by its foot, grimacing atwhatever she’s spotted on the underside of its heel. ‘Hand me a scalpel.’
I don’t remember signing up to be a surgical assistant, but I comply in an attempt to prove how nice and worthy of help I am. She whips it from my outstretched hand and begins to scrape dead skin from the soles of its feet, her nose inches away from a set of hairy toes.
Gross. ‘How do the bodies get here anyway?’
Absorbed in her task, her tone is absent-minded when she answers, ‘Not the same way you can get out.’
Aha. I grin. ‘So thereisa way out?’
‘I –’ The foot is dropped with a loud clang. ‘I didn’t mean it like that.’
‘Of course you didn’t,’ I console her. If they were less disgusting, I’d kiss those toes for providing such a helpful distraction. ‘But let’s pretend you did. When you say out . . . do you mean to somewhere nicer? Or out of the afterlife entirely?’
Her gaze is scattered, like she’s trying to concoct a lie to cover her tracks, and her tail swishes with agitation. The longer the silence stretches between us, the surer I am.
There’s a way out. Like, reallyout.
Hope unfurls in my stomach like a flower blooming in spring. I can leave. I can go home; I can do all the things I promised I’d do.
