Page 71 of A Match Made in Hell
I want nothing to do with it, but the ink is a magnet to my gaze.Disappointment. Failure. River of blood? Too selfish. Impulsive. Responsible for her mother’s death. More blood? Quits. Threw a tantrum and–
If the handwriting wasn’t different, I’d assume Mum wrote this herself. I read the words over and over; they burn my eyes the way her voice burns my memories, and I need them to stop, to go away, because I don’t want them to be true. I tear the paper from the board and crumple it into a ball that’s not small enough – I want it gone; I want it shredded into pieces – and toss it to the floor. A lump forms in my throat. ‘Why are you showing me this?’
‘I found it.’ She blinks rapidly. ‘I was being nice.’
‘If this is your version of nice, I’d hate to see you be awful,’ I retort. ‘I am more than the person on that page.’
‘Whatever you say.’ She jumps off the slab with a loud clop. ‘How long have you been here now – three, four months? How long does it normally take for someone to notice?’
‘Notice what?’
‘What you’re really like.’ The paper is retrieved from the floor like an evil boomerang I can’t escape. She smooths out the wrinkles and hums as she reads the sheet. ‘I suppose you’d better finish the final tasks before anyoneherenotices. Which would you say is worse?Murderer, selfish, impulsive– that one might be an issue for Harper, given what you did to your last friend. Do you think you’ll shove her in the Void yourself, or goad Aric into doing it for you?’
Roaring fills my ears. ‘Shut up.’
‘Let’s see, what about Sath?’ She taps her lips. ‘What parts of you will he end up hating?’
I snatch the paper before she can draw a conclusion. More words jump out at me, emphasised with sound this time, like I’m standing next to the Void all over again.All I ever wanted was to be proud of you. How could you let me down again? If you’re not careful, Noah will leave you, and then what will you do? Such a disappointment, a failure, a fraud. How could you how could you how could you?
Crumpling the paper once more, I yank the nearest lever down. To Tartarus. The chute opens, expecting a body, and I toss the paper into that great, yawning mouth instead. It’s incinerated immediately, a belch of black smoke filling the room before the chute snaps shut again.
‘You seem angry,’ the Sorter says gleefully. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Why are you doing this?’ I whirl on her. ‘Do you get a kick out of making people miserable?’
I’d woken up in such a good mood, but now I’m as deflated as a popped balloon and the Sorter’s stolen all my helium.
‘I’m a demon.’ She clicks her fingers, and a fresh pile of bodies pop on to the slabs. ‘Of course I do. I don’t know why you’re so upset though. You’re leaving, aren’t you? Complete the tasks fast enough and they’ll never discover the truth. You’ll never see the sad look on Sath’s face when he learns how disappointing you are.’
I think of the way Sath stared at me last night, full of hope and promise, like I was the answer to a question he’d never asked. Mum had hope for me once too. Then I made the wrong choice at every turn, abandoning my promises and stamping on every dream she had for me.
I don’t ever want Sath to look at me the way she did.
‘Unless . . . You weren’t thinking of giving up, were you?’ the Sorter goes on. ‘You do have form for that, I suppose.’
‘Of course I wasn’t.’ My voice is too loud, too high-pitched, trying to drown out the lie. ‘I’m not quitting. You saw me in sloth. I can pass anything. Iwillpass everything. I’m going home to prove everything on that paper wrong. You’ll see.’
‘That’s the spirit.’ She pats my shoulder. ‘Told you I was being nice.’
Her version of nice is to sprinkle sugar over poison. She enjoys seeing me suffer, that much is clear from the bounce in her step. But no matter how vindictive showing me that clipboard was, it’s the jolt I needed to carry on.
A tissue is shoved in front of my nose.
‘I’m allergic to tears,’ the Sorter says. ‘And my generous nature only goes so far.’
I pluck the tissue from her hand with an exaggerated sniff before wiping the wet brewing in the corner of my eyes. ‘Was there anything else, or do you consider my day sufficiently ruined?’
‘I think your day is just the way it needs to be.’ Her cheeks dimple with satisfaction as she gestures to the door. ‘I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again soon.’
Not if I have anything to do with it, we won’t.
I lean against the wall outside, dying vines drooping over my shoulder like they’re attempting to give me a hug. They can fuck off. I don’t want sympathy; I want this to beover.
Two tasks.
That’s all I need to get through.
Then I remember the conversation Sath and I had that night I drank the wine, and I recall what task is next. What I’m going to have to say no to.WhoI’m going to have to say no to.
