Page 11 of A Match Made in Hell
‘I won’t bother him,’ I lie. ‘I told you, I’m simply having a look. I’mveryinterested in all Asphodel has to offer.’
The demons blink. I get the impression they’re not particularly bright, which suits me just fine. The slower they are,the better chance I have of talking my way through these doors.
I keep smiling until my cheeks hurt, and eventually they step aside.
‘Don’t go left. Or right. Library only. At the end of the corridor. If you don’t return in thirty minutes . . .’
‘. . . We’ll come and get you,’ the second demon finishes the sentence. Her red eyes flash, and she takes a step towards me, like she’s already anticipating what she might do when she retrieves me. I swallow.
‘Noted,’ I squeak, like I have any way to tell the time. My wrist is bare. I hadn’t noticed before. Not only is my watch gone, but my bracelet –
Panic flutters in my stomach. Mum gave me that bracelet, a reward for getting accepted into her university of choice. And now I’ve lost it, the way I lost her, the way I’ve losteverything. I scrunch my hands into my dress to prevent the demons from seeing them tremble, and push my way between them to step through the doorway.
If the corridor leading to the Sorter was like sunshine, this one is night itself. The walls and floor are solid black. The only light comes from toadstools embedded in the stone, shining like the glow-in-the-dark stars I stupidly stuck to my ceiling as a kid, not thinking about how they’d devalue the property, how Mum would have to spend ages tearing them off. They pulsate with my every step, as though I’m as heavy as a dinosaur disturbing a puddle of water.
When I reach a crossroads, I hover, uncertain. It branches into three dark tunnels, giving me the choice of black, off-black, or so-off-black-it’s-grey. The demons mentioned the library being straight on, so that’s one ruled out, but otherwise I have no idea whether I should be turning left or right if I want to find Sathanas.
Eenie, meenie, miney, mo, which way would the Devil go?My finger lands on the left-hand tunnel and, for lack of better ideas, I follow it. The corridor descends quickly, temperature plummeting, frost crystallising on the walls. Goosebumps erupt over my skin. My breath mists in the air.
Shivering, I debate turning back when, eventually, the path levels out, leading to an open archway. Darkness lies beyond.
‘Sathanas?’
The darkness pulses at the sound of my voice. I approach it slowly, not sure if I’ve chosen correctly and he’s hiding beyond that arch, or if I’m about to make another fatal mistake.
I’m given my answer when my feet hit empty air and I’m standing on the edge of nothing.
My stomach swoops. Above me, a thousand eyes stare down from skull sockets in the ceiling. Beneath them, though, is pure black. The faint sound of sloshing water echoes from deep below. I try to back away, but the darkness immediately fills with a thick mist that swirls in the empty space before shooting across the threshold, crawling up my legs like vines made of smoke, latching around my thighs and yanking me forward.
I do not have a great track record with ledges.
The mist tugs again, and I stumble closer to the precipice, hands grappling with the air, searching for something to hold on to before I’m pulled over yet another drop I didn’t intend to go near.
My fingers find rock and dig into it like they’ve discovered driftwood in a violent sea.
Willow, a voice whispers from within the mist.Come inside.
No. No, I won’t.
What were you thinking?another voice says. One I recognise. My palms are instantly slick with sweat, and my tenuous grasp on the wall slips.
How could you do this to me?The sound crackles. The signal was bad during that phone call – she had to shout to be heardover the rain thundering outside.Everything we’ve worked towards, gone, all over some tantrum about–
It wasn’t a tantrum.That’s me speaking now. Words I’ve replayed over and over.This is what I want.
You don’t know what you want. You’re throwing your life away, Willow.
I’m not. I’m not I’m not I’m not –
Give in. The unfamiliar voice returns, and it’s closer now, like whoever’s speaking has burrowed inside my head; the idea slithers around my skull before taking root like a weed left to fester.You know what you did. You know you belong with us. Come inside.
‘No,’ I say, a little shakily. ‘I don’t want to.’
The darkness chuckles in response.The Sorter was right about you. You stink of death and blood. Come inside, before you hurt anyone else.
My cheeks are wet.
All I’ve ever wanted is to be proud of you.Why couldn’t you let me have that?Mum’s voice plays over the chorus of whispers.You’re throwing your life away. The sentence echoes, other voices joining in, screaming inside my head along with the screech of brakes and a loud, sickening crunch, and I want it to stop, Ineedit to stop, but if they think her words will make me concede, they’re wrong.
