Page 5 of A Match Made in Hell
Oops.
He unfolds himself from the throne in one elegant movement and descends from the podium. His footsteps are feather-light as he prowls towards us with an unnatural grace. The crowd parts to let him through. I shuffle with them, wanting to get as much distance between me and the situation as possible.
It’s not far enough. By the time he reaches the woman, he’s still too close; I catch the scent of peppermint as he stops directly in front of her. It’s easier, now, to imagine why the demons might bow to him. There’s a sense of power rippling from his body, one I can’t see but I canfeel, like he’s humming with magic.The woman trembles at the sight of him, retreating until she’s pressed against the wall. Sathanas cocks his head to one side. ‘Is there a problem?’
Well, duh. Of course there’s a problem. I doubt she’s the first person to work out she’s in Hell and start crying. The king’s face is a mask, as stony as the serpent guarding his seat, but, just like his magic, his displeasure is palpable.
He strokes a knuckle down her cheek, collecting a tear on his skin. ‘Tell me,’ he says. ‘Tell me what’s wrong.’
His voice is soft, gentle, like he’s coaxing all her secrets from her. She sways on the spot, lost in his gaze. Maybe hypnotism is his special skill. But then she opens her mouth and vomits on his feet, so maybe not. His facade doesn’t break, not even when he shakes yellow lumps from his shoe. A winged demon with brown feathers flies forward to wipe off the rest.
Another demon whispers, ‘Tartarus.’
Sathanas shakes his head. ‘Take her to Glacantrum,’ he instructs. ‘A year or two there, and perhaps she’ll be more inclined to accept my hospitality.’
I can’t help but raise my eyebrows. I wouldn’t call waking in a dark cave, being shoved on a boat and forced to kneel before himhospitality.
There’s more muttering among the demons, as though this punishment will not suffice. Despite this, the winged vomit-cleaner follows the order, grabbing hold of the woman who, of course, begins to scream. Sathanas doesn’t so much as blink as she lashes out, trying to scratch him, the demon, anyone she can get her hands on. She kicks and punches and wails as the demon scoops her into its arms, but she may as well be hitting a solid wall for all the good it does. A slight bend of its knee, one swoosh of its wings, and they’re flying away.
That’s two people punished since my arrival. My gut churns with the idea I might be next.
‘Perhaps I should elaborate,’ Sathanas says to the crowd. ‘Welcome to Asphodel. Your home, should you choose to accept it, and all the pleasantries it has to offer.’
I have no idea what pleasantries he’s referring to. As far as I can tell, it doesn’t even have central heating.
‘Fail to accept and the consequences will be . . . unpleasant. Complaints are not tolerated. Escape attempts even less so.’
My ears prick at this. That implies therecouldbe a way to escape, if I can find it.
‘Do I make myself clear?’ Sathanas continues.
Everyone, including me, nods. As if we’d do anything else.
‘Then off you go,’ he says. ‘Explore. Do what you like. Don’t bother me, don’t antagonise the demons, and don’t go into the Old Tunnels.’
I’ve never wanted to go in a tunnel more.
Two demons shove open a pair of doors to our rear, and dazzling light bursts from the corridor presumably leading to the rest of Asphodel. I squint, surprised to see that much light here at all. It’s like leaving a cinema on a summer’s day, when the sunshine is almost blinding in its intensity after being in the dark for so long. The walls of the corridor are painted gold, and the crowd surges towards the glow like a swarm of fireflies.
I’m about to join them when it hits me.
We won’t be the only humans inside. Countless boats will have arrived before ours. There’s no light at the end of that tunnel, just millennia of dead waiting to say hello.
Which means there’s a chance she’s here.
Mum.
Shit. Shit. I can’t see her. I already have her voice ringing in my ears; I don’t need to witness her disappointment first-hand too. If we’re ever reunited, it has to be after I’ve fulfilled all the promises I made after she died.
Sathanas stands close by, watching the crowd straggle through the doors, the demons following in their wake. I bite my lip to avoid making the kind of noise that would have me sent to Glacantrum, wherever that is.As though sensing my stare, heturns his head, and I gasp as I experience the full force of his attention.
Again, it’s obvious why he’s the one in charge. Because there’s something entirely different about him, about how piercingly amber his eyes are. His skin is unblemished, practically glowing, and I’m hyper-aware of every imperfection I have in comparison. I cross my arms and scowl at him. I may be a lowly little human with too many freckles and a poor skincare regime, but I refuse to behave like one. His gaze dips to a rip in my sundress, and for a moment I swear shadows lick up his arm, coiling like snakes over his shirt, but then I blink and they disappear.
‘Is there something you need?’ he enquires.
Well, let’s see, Mr Scary-Devil-Man: to not be dead would be ideal, but I’d settle for a map with a big, glowing arrow marked ‘Exit’ at a pinch. How much of that can I ask for before you send one of your minions after me?
I take the safer option of shaking my head.
