Page 86 of A Match Made in Hell
‘Or,’ a voice says from the doorway, ‘you can be a good girl and hand it over here.’
29
It’s the Sorter. I’ve never seen her smile before, or at least not like this, all gleaming white teeth and dimpled cheeks. She looks positively giddy.
Sath takes a step between us, shielding me, but she doesn’t cower in fear the way she should. His flames don’t appear. I can’t feel his heat the way I usually can; there’s nothing emanating from him, apart from, perhaps, mild panic.
‘What are you doing?’ he asks.
‘What does it look like I’m doing?’ She struts into the room and instinct has me clutching the heart tighter. Something that feels suspiciously like a tendril pummels my stomach, trying to latch on to me. The impact is sharp as a knife and heavy as a gut punch. I let out an audible gasp; Sath wheels towards me, while the Sorter’s eyes widen.
‘Careful,’ she sings. ‘You don’t want that heart, Willow White.’ She looks at Sath and smirks. ‘And you can’t take it back once removed. Which leaves me.’
Think think think, I urge my mind to catch up, to focus on what’s happening.
‘Why don’t I want it?’ I ask slowly.
All Sath does is nod his head towards the heart, and then my chest.Take it.
‘Do you want to tell her what it does, or shall I?’ The Sorter’splaying with him now.
His jaw tenses. ‘How long have you been planning this?’
‘Since the day she walked into my morgue,’ she says in a sing-song voice. ‘We’ve been waiting for a ruler to fail for eons but they always cling on. Even you, for all your moping, were too strong. Every time I thought you’d given up, you managed to persevere. It was infuriating. Something needed to be done. I needed someone weaker. Then she appeared, and I knew, I justknewshe would break long before she had time to find herself a replacement.’
‘Stop talking in riddles,’ I snap.
I’m tempted to start throwing things; maybe dodging projectiles will get them to speak plainly. My cheeks heat. I’m burning more than Sath ever did. The Sorter takes it all in, smile growing.
‘Oh, she really is angry, isn’t she, Sathanas?’ the Sorter says. ‘I sensed it as soon as I met her. Even if she refuses to give me the heart today, it won’t matter. Wrath will consume her much faster than sloth has been consuming you.’
‘I thought I told you to get out,’ Sath growls.
‘No,’ I say. ‘I think she’s the only one being honest here. What does the heart do?’
Sath rubs a hand over his face. ‘Willow, I . . .’ His voice splinters. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Sorry forwhat?’ Frustration has me crushing the organ like a stress ball. We’ll see how much the Sorter wants it when it’s bleeding all over the floor. As my grip tightens, that rumbling returns. Louder.
Sath’s eyes widen, lunging for my hands, trying to unclasp my fingers before I can do any damage. The Sorter grins.
It’s her face that makes me stop. Anything that makes her happy is probably something I don’t want to do.
‘Why don’t you hand it over to me?’ she says. ‘It all ends thesame. This way’s simply faster.’
‘No.’ Sath looks at me pleadingly. ‘Put it in your chest. It’s the only way.’
I don’t trust either of them right now. My breathing turns rapid as I hold the heart to my chest, leaving it hovering centimetres from my T-shirt.
‘It’s futile, Sath,’ the Sorter says. ‘The final task already proved she won’t cope. You may as well save us some time.’
‘What do the tasks have to do with anything?’ I ask.
‘The tasks . . .’ Sath’s gone pale, like all the energy’s been drained from him. And his eyes . . . I hadn’t noticed, but they’ve lost their glow. Not in the I’m-not-using-my-powers-right-now sense. They’re dimmer, dark brown, with no hint of gold at all. ‘They weren’t to determine if you were worthy of leaving. They were to see if you’d be strong enough for the heart. Because . . .’ His throat bobs. ‘Whoever holds the heart controls the gates. You can’t let her have it. She’ll unleash Tartarus.’
My mind is stuck on the first part of his sentence. I stare at him blankly. My brain has no thoughts. Not one. I stare, and stare, and stare. The Sorter huffs at my existential crisis, but she can, quite frankly, fuck off. Slowly, I say, ‘The tasks weren’t about me leaving.’
‘You’re dead,’ the Sorter says, extremely unhelpfully. ‘You were never leaving. But for a human, escaping Asphodel is a much better offer than ruling. How do you think Sath got roped into it?’
