Page 27 of A Match Made in Hell
Time moves so strangely in Dionysus that when I do stumble back to my room, it’s hard to know whether I should be adding one scratch or two to my makeshift calendar. I get confirmation I’ve miscounted when I open my door on what should have been day twenty-five to find Sath waiting for me, leaning against the opposite wall. He’s dressed more casually than usual; instead of a shirt he wears a cream jumper that’s softened with age, paired with dark jeans and canvas shoes. I guess he’s taking Not Being Devily seriously.
‘Good morning,’ he says.
‘It’s been a month already?’
‘It has.’ He glances around, checking for witnesses before holding out a hand. ‘Ready?’
As if he needs to ask. Not caring what I might be in for, I grab his outstretched hand. Immediately, his grip tightens, and he tugs me towards him with such force I slam into his chest. I let out a startled gasp, trying to push him away. ‘What are you –’
He flashes a wicked smile. ‘Hold on tight.’
Everything goes black, similar to when he took me into my memory, only this time we’re spinning, my feet lifting from the ground while air rushes past my ears, and we drop into a tunnelwith a pop. I stumble from the force of the landing, careering straight into a wall and scraping my palms on rough stone.
‘You could’ve warned me.’ I whirl on him. ‘I get carsick.’
‘Good job we weren’t in a car,’ Sath says lazily. He looks immaculate, not a hair out of place or wrinkle on his clothing to be seen. ‘Come on. There’s still a way to go; I can’t portal us directly into where we’re going.’
We’re in a darker, danker part of Asphodel than I’ve discovered on my explorations so far. As I follow him, I get the sense we’re further underground than ever. Water drips from the ceiling, plopping a steady beat into an ever-growing puddle beneath my feet, and the stench of damp and mould lingers in the air.
Torches are staked into the ground, but they’re dim and don’t give off any heat. I shiver, wishing Sath had thought to tell me he’d chosen a jumper for good reason. My plain white tee is not up to the task of keeping me warm.
‘Where are we?’
He doesn’t answer until we reach the end of the tunnel. A rounded door stained red with rust is inset into the wall, a set of thick bolts sealing it shut. ‘The Vaults of Asphodel,’ he finally replies.
‘Right.’ My throat is dry. ‘And what’s inside?’
‘Centuries worth of treasure. Some items the demons have pillaged, some the Sorter stole from dead bodies.’
Instinctively, my hand goes to my wrist. Sath’s gaze follows the movement, locking on my fingers as they skim the empty space where my bracelet used to be. Anger flares at the thought the Sorter might have taken it from me while I was lying there all . . . I shudder.
‘Are you all right?’ he asks.
‘Fine.’ I crack my neck. I can’t think about my bracelet right now. The task. Focus on the task. ‘What do I have to do?’
Sath merely smirks, and blows the door off its hinges.
I gasp, stumbling as the blast buffets me backwards. The door falls at a ninety-degree angle, first with a groan and then with an almighty thud as it crashes to the ground. The whole cave reverberates with the impact. I gape at him. ‘You couldn’t have used a key? What if someone heard?’
‘Demons don’t come down here any more, and I’ve made sure the Sorter’s occupied.’ Sath shrugs. ‘The door’s easily repaired.’
I’m not convinced the theatrics were necessary, although I’m intrigued byhowhe did it. First fire, then portals, then door ripping. With his mind. My stomach knots, but it’s not fear. It’s . . . want. Life would be easy if I had that kind of power. Nobody would judge me or tell me what I can or can’t do, too blinded by my abilities to notice all the shortcomings hidden behind the smokescreen.
The interior of the vault hums, and there’s a sense of magic in the air, so powerful it feels like I’m walking into a room with excess gravity, the pressure slamming into me, making me dizzy. The ground is streaked with sand as golden as the bullion stacked from floor to ceiling. Glass cabinets hold a collection of sparkling diamond necklaces, jewelled rings, bracelets and earrings.
My focus is on the tiara.
Silver, studded with rubies, it sits on a plump purple cushion in the middle of the vault. My mouth salivates. How powerful would I feel if I hadthat? For a fleeting second, I picture myself wearing it on the snake throne Sath occupied the day I arrived. The image sends a thrill through me I can’t explain, but I push it aside. I don’t want to sit on a random throne in Asphodel. I want to go home.
With that tiara. The tiara is important.
Why do you never bring me anything, Willow?That’s Mum’s voice.The prize money would have been yours if you’d triedharder.
I swallow. I’d come second in a science competition and she’d been furious when I’d returned empty-handed. Never mind the bags under my eyes because I’d been working on my project until midnight for weeks, or that the winner had the advantage of being the son of an actual physicist. All I heard at dinner was that I’d failed, and failure wasn’t an option, not in this household. I’d shrunk into my seat as the mantra played on repeat, my clenched fists shaking and teeth biting my tongue to stop myself rising to my own defence, knowing my defences weren’t defences at all, but excuses. If I’d tried harder, I could have won.
Dad left soon after that.
Now look what you’ve done.
