Page 1 of A Match Made in Hell
1
There’s a five-minute window, in between living and dying, that I can’t quite recall.
I remember the beach. I remember so much alcohol running down my throat I snorted some out of my nose. People laughed at me. Noah was furious with my behaviour, so I stormed off and climbed the steep, winding path to the top of the cliff, Sasha’s hand in mine. We were giggling, shouting obscenities and feeling completely, utterly invincible. Free. I remember peering over the edge.
I remember Sasha screaming my name.
What I don’t recall is falling. Maybe a brief moment, right at the start, where it felt like flying, the wind sharp against my ears as it whistled past my head.
Ending up in this strange limbo, surrounded by nothing but grey mist, doesn’t imply a successful landing.
Although my heart still beats a slow, steady rhythm, one that matches the rise and fall of my chest, it doesn’t feel the same. It’s a habit, purely mechanical, no blood rushing through my veins or air filling my lungs. I hold my breath for practice. It’s fun for the first few minutes, but then I kind of miss breathing, so I suck in a mouthful of nothing in case it does enough to kick-start the rest of me back to life.
It doesn’t. If anything, I keep getting paler.
That can’t be a good sign.
I clutch the ripped ends of my dress, balling the fabric between my fists, wanting to tear it off. It smells like sun cream and vodka and regret. That trip to the beach was supposed to be one last hurrah, my final chance to let Bad Decision Willow make an appearance before I became Responsible Willow forever. The job application destined to change my life was already filled out.
And now it’ll never be submitted, all thanks to one crumbling piece of rock.
It’s not fair. There has to be a way out of this. I’m not in any pain; that must count for something. Maybe my injuries weren’t life-threatening and my body is being worked on by doctors right now. All I need to do is find a way back to it and I’ll wake, like a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis, all shiny and new and ready to send that application at last.
Something scuffles up ahead.
My heart – my utterly useless heart – flips in my chest. ‘Hello?’
Nobody answers. The scuffling continues.
‘Hello?’ I risk a step forward, my feet slapping against what feels like damp stone. ‘Is someone there?’
Please be someone nice. A medical professional would be ideal.
There’s a hiss of a match being struck, and a light shines in the distance, illuminating the domed walls of a dark, rocky tunnel. I move towards that beacon like a ship heading to a lighthouse, if the ship was both confused and slightly stressed about what it might find at the end of the sea.
The match lighter shuffles close enough for me to see its face.
A whimper escapes my throat.
Oh fuck. Ohfuck. I stumble back, desperate to get away, Ihaveto get away, but I slip, algae sending my feet flying out fromunder me. My tail bone cracks against stone and – fuck. That hurt. And I felt it.
So the whole not-feeling-pain thing lasted all of five minutes. Well, isn’t that wonderful? Isn’t that swell? There are now zero upsides to being here, and there’s a demon standing in front of me.
I don’t know what else to call it. It might pass for human at a quick glance, but a closer look reveals its features are almost fox-like; with bright orange eyes and a nose that’s a touch too long. Its nostrils emit little puffs of smoke, causing the candle in its hand to flicker wildly. Aside from a snakeskin loincloth for the sake of its modesty, the rest of its leathery red skin – the same colour as sealing wax on an ancient envelope – is on full display from the top of its bald head to the tips of its four-toed feet.
All it needs is a pair of horns to complete the cliché.
I let out a high-pitched, humourless laugh, because the alternative is to screamthis can’t be happening.
This isn’t a waiting room. There isn’t a doctor trying to save my life. I’m dead. I’m dead, and I’m in . . .
‘I don’t understand,’ I whisper.
But I do.
Because unless the world has got things very, very backwards, creatures like this don’t exist anywhere good.
No.No. I press a shaking hand to my mouth. The demon remains silent, like it’s waiting for me to catch up with the obvious, but I can fill that silence just fine – or rather,shecan. Mum. Imagining what she’d say is all too easy.
