Page 77 of A Match Made in Hell
I spend the next day stewing in one of the hot springs, watching other humans come and go as though they have no care in the world. Good for them. My fingertips are beyond pruny from being in the water so long, but whenever I contemplate leaving, I get another flashback from last night and I start to shake. The memories are mortifying. Me, begging Sath for something he didn’t want to give. Me, reaching for him like a starving woman seeing a fresh baguette. Me, considering failing the task because I thought there might be something for me here. Like maybe going home wasn’t my only option.
Of course it is.
It would be great if my wobbly lips and tear-filled eyes would catch up. There is nothing to be upset about. I am one task away from everything I’ve wanted since arriving here. My life will be returned, never to be thrown away again, and I’ll bask in the knowledge that I did it, I proved myself, and the sunshine that knowledge provides will chase away the lingering shadows making me feel like I’m about to lose something I never had.
God. I have to get a hold of myself. I force myself out of the pool and dress quickly, with the intent of finding my friends. Anything to take my mind off –
No. I refuse to say his name. He can go back to being the king who got his shoes vomited on the day we met. The recollectioncheers me a bit – I haven’t seen those shoes since; hopefully they’re ruined and he’s sad about it – so I leave the springs with a skip in my step, picturing all of Sath’s clothes covered in projectile.
By the time I find Harper and Amelia in one of the recreation rooms, I’m practically beaming.
Then I see the way their hands are entwined and my heart clenches. I want it. I want it so badly it hurts.
The clack of pool balls jerks my focus. It’s busy in here today, groups of humans laughing and whooping when they make a decent shot. A pinball machine dings in the corner. Someone’s made popcorn and the scent of butter and salt wafts in the air.
Being dead doesn’t mean you have to stop living. I hadn’t understood what Harper meant the day we met, but I get it now. Being in Asphodel gives you a thousand chances to make a thousand mistakes and get a do-over every time.
I plop into a chair beside her. She narrows her eyes at me and I brace for an interrogation about what I was doing last night, but I’m spared having to conjure a lie by the sight of Henry hurrying towards us.
We leap from our seats in unison. His right eye is puffy, and there’s a bruise purpling on his cheek. A chunk has been torn from his shirt.
‘What happened?’ asks Harper, grabbing his arm before he can topple over and steering him into the chair she’s just vacated. ‘Are you okay?’
He’s obviously not okay. I curl my hands into fists and kneel beside him. A few humans are looking over at us, a mixture of curiosity and alarm playing on their faces, while others leave the room entirely as though they think we’re a magnet for trouble they’d rather avoid. In a low voice, I say, ‘Was it Aric?’
‘What do you think?’ Henry pulls at his ripped shirt with trembling fingers. ‘It doesn’t matter. It was my fault.’
‘Yourfault? How can it be your fault?’
‘I got lost in the catacombs,’ he replies. ‘I heard a rumour they’d placed an orb at the centre, one that would let you see Earth. I only wanted a glimpse. Just to remember. But I kept going round and round, and then I hit a dead end. When I turned around, he was waiting. Said the usual spiel about how I’m anaughty little human.’ He snorts. ‘Naive, maybe. There is no orb. The demons made it up to get us there. They killed a few –’
‘How many?’
‘I was a little busy running away to keep count.’
He can be as glib as he likes, but I can tell from the way his voice catches he doesn’t mean it. If this orb had existed, what would be the harm in looking? Nobody would have been hurt.
I hate this. I hate that the humans are punished for dreaming, for wanting to cling to all the pieces of themselves that make them human. I hate that they’re punished for every innocent thing that makes them happy because some demon decided whattheywant, whattheythink is right, is more important.
And the one person capable of changing how this place works refuses. Is too scared. Suddenly, I’m not just angry at Sath for rejecting me, but for rejectingallof them, for not doing more to stop the demons. He’s never bothered to try. All he does is sit around whining about the gates, about how he doesn’t like to be mean, boo-fucking-hoo, about how he can’t possibly kiss someone despite making them ache for him, because he’s a soulless, lying bastard who plays with people’s feelings and makes them confused and desperate and he probably enjoyed toying with me and –
I inhale. I’m thinking again. Thinking is bad.
I can’t change how Sath may or may not feel about me. But I can try and change the way he rules Asphodel before I go.
And if it gives me an excuse to yell at him about other stufftoo, well, fine. I’ll multitask.
‘I’m going to fix this,’ I tell the others. ‘Leave it with me.’
Harper’s eyes go wide. ‘You can’t start another fight with Aric, you’ll –’
‘I’m not going to start one with Aric.’ My tone is almost serene. ‘I’m going to start one with the Devil.’
This doesn’t do much to persuade them I’ve not lost my mind. Amelia and Harper gasp, while Henry’s one good eye widens.
It’s Amelia who speaks first, whimpering my name before saying, ‘He’ll kill you.’
Not if I kill him first. The mood I’m in, the thought is not unappealing.
