Page 88 of A Match Made in Hell
Pain.
The tendrils I’d felt against my stomach latch on, harder than before, and there’s so many of them now, every one like an arrow piercing skin, then deeper, burrowing into me until they latch around myrealheart and take hold. My eyes stream, salt filling my mouth, my nose. I want it to stop. My heart races with panic and fear and not understanding what this thing invading it is.
I think I’d prefer an alien abduction to this.
Heat sears through me as the two hearts fuse, vines entwining my arteries, and I need it to stop, but it won’t, it won’t, it won’t. A high-pitched whining noise escapes my throat, because the pain is never-ending, and now the heart is fully inside I can feel darkness spreading, power flaring; black flames erupt from my arms, blowing back my hair. The Sorter is crawling,crawlingtowards the exit; with a flick of my hand the door slams shut and the key twists.
I pant.
The pain is subsiding now; Sath survived this, and I’m going to survive it too, but I don’t feel right, I don’t feel likeme. Everything tingles and thrums and I – I can sense the gates. They’re there, in my mind, a steady hum, black shadows of darkness tainted by sin. Behind them, demons roam. Pacing. Waiting for escape.
They’ve caused pain for aeons, those demons. They wade in a sea of blood. It’s up to their knees, but they don’t care, they still want more. It’ll never be enough. They lick their lips, hungry for what Asphodel has to offer. I salivate, wanting it too. I want to take, and have, and destroy.
‘Willow.’ Sath’s voice jerks me into focus.
I blink. Everything goes quiet. It’s just me, with two liars who tried to screw me over.
And I’m the one with the power now.
‘I’d bow to your queen if I were you.’ My voice isn’t right either. It’s deeper, more even. I glance into the mirror behind the bar. My hair is the same flaming red as always, but that red is now reflected in my eyes, glowing through the green.
Oh, God. It looks like someone threw up Christmas inside my irises.
This only serves to enrage me further, especially when neither of them moves. True, the Sorterisalready on the floor, although flailing around on all fours isn’t what I’d call a bow.
‘Bow,’ I say again.
Sath does. He drops to his knees, gazing up at me, black hair falling into those oh-so-normal eyes. Laughter lines crinkle around the corners, and the glow has faded from his skin. Something twists in my chest at the sight of him but I’ve no way to determine if the ache is genuine. Whether it’s my heart remembering how it used to feel – maybe still feels – or whether it’shis, recognising its old master.
The Sorter hasn’t moved. I stride towards her, feeling for the power inside me, wondering the best way to make it hurt. ‘Bow.’
I stare her down. Despite my door-slamming trick, I’m not sure how to use this magic I’ve been gifted. Finally, the threat of it sinks deep enough, and she shifts into a kneeling position. I stare at them both. Traitors. I want them gone. The Sorter first; I can deal with her later.
Sath, on the other hand, has a lot of questions to answer.
‘I want a demon in here,’ I say. ‘Now.’
I’m asking Sath the best way to go about summoning one – they come running easily enough for him – but saying the words is, apparently, enough. A demon with sapphire scales covering its arms arrives and then stares at me. At Sath. Back at me.
‘Hello,’ I say. ‘I’m in charge now.’ It sounds ridiculous to my ears, but the demon, to my great astonishment, lowers its horned head like it can sense the foul thing inside me and is bound to follow its orders. ‘Take the Sorter to the . . . ice place.’
‘Glacantrum,’ Sath mutters. Fuck’s sake. I refuse to need his help with this.
‘Glacantrum,’ I repeat, like I’d known all along. ‘And then, I don’t know, maybe torture her a bit.’
Sath says something under his breath, something that sounds likeWillow, followed by a huff. I’m not sure what he expects from me. I’m play-acting in a role he cast me for without seeing an audition.
‘You can’t send me there,’ the Sorter says. ‘I’m the Sorter. I have a job to do.’
‘Do I look like I give a fuck who goes where?’
‘You will when there’s a bottleneck of people at the boats. Everything will come crashing down.’
Sath opens his mouth to speak – probably some fresh platitude I don’t want to hear – but I silence him with a wave of my hand.
‘Fine,’ I say, through gritted teeth. ‘Take her to the mortuary, and keep her there. I want her locked up, under armed guard, all day every day. She sorts and does nothing else. If you, or anyone, speaks to her, I’ll rip off your heads. Understood?’
The demon nods. The Sorter stands without resistance, glowering at me with a seething hatred that I return tenfold. I’ll get her out of that morgue soon enough. Someone might need tosort, but it doesn’t need to be her.
