Page 11 of A Match Made in Hell

I spend the next day exploring. Carefully. The last thing I need is another Void experience.

Following Harper’s advice, I first head to the balcony and think really hard.

A lift appears a few moments later. It’s nothing more than a semi-translucent black box, big enough to hold around twenty bodies.

Generic music plays on repeat. I ignore a group of elderly women who are already inside and retreat to the far corner as it surges upwards in a cloud of smoke.

I pick the number seventy-seven at random, and when I re-enter the cliff I find myself in a greenhouse made of mirrors and filled with carnivorous plants that snap miniature teeth at the dead inside.

The chamber is twice the height it should be based on the outside, but who am I to argue with the physics of Hell.

Some parts are smaller than they should be: floor minus-four-forty opens out into narrow catacombs that force you to crawl around corners only to find demons with whiskers and pointed tails waiting for you.

I scramble out of there sharpish to find the level above is nothing but open space where pipes pump out a pink noxious gas. Humans sleep, slumped in piles, among the clouds. I have no idea if they’re having a good time or not.

It’s like roaming around the world’s largest airport or shopping complex.

I could travel up and down for eternity and not see it all.

Asking to go to the top or bottom does nothing, fuelling my suspicion that the cliff continues forever.

My eyes grow wider with every new sight, at the magic of this place, and if I wasn’t so determined to get out – Mum would consider everything I’ve done today as frivolous and time-wasting – I might admit that, if nothing else, Asphodel is . . . interesting .

Interesting, and dangerous. Because there are demons everywhere. They loiter at every turn, watching the humans with hungry eyes, like they’re waiting for someone to mess up. One snarls at me when I accidentally make eye contact, and I quickly scuttle back to the safety of the balcony.

After hours of exploring, curiosity finally gets the better of me, and I ask the lift to take me to Dionysus on level minus-two-nine-nine, the place Harper mentioned yesterday.

This balcony is busier than the rest, and I have to force my way through several groups of raucous humans to enter the cliff and into a long, sloping black tunnel.

It’s unreasonably warm inside. Music blares in the distance; loud enough to make the floor beneath my feet vibrate when I draw closer to the large, domed arch that must mark the entrance to Dionysus.

Peeking inside, my jaw drops. It’s a cave, easily the size of a stadium, with lava streaming down ash-blackened walls.

An array of vibrant cocktails bubble and steam on the bar top, like they’ve been pulled from a witch’s cauldron.

At the back of the cavern, rocky stairs lead up to an empty throne – Sathanas’s, presumably – that overlooks the packed dance floor, teeming with demons and humans alike.

Lights streak red, orange and yellow flares, like a swirling sunset above a band of humans dressed in glittery leotards.

They’re playing an assortment of instruments, the music part dance, part rock, and loud enough to drown out every other thought in my head.

If the Void is the ailment, Dionysus could well be the cure.

‘Going to join them?’ a voice says from behind me.

I jump, spinning round to find Sathanas looking over my shoulder, styled much the same as yesterday: hair slicked back, dark trousers, a shirt he can’t seem to find the top two buttons for.

‘No,’ I say, just to be contrary. It’s either that or make a sarcastic comment that it’s nice he’s decided he has the time to talk after throwing me out yesterday. ‘Are you?’

‘My presence is required on occasion. It helps to keep things in order.’

‘Isn’t that what your demons are for? They look scarier than you.’ I make a show of inspecting him. ‘Or do your horns only come out when you’re mad?’

His lips twitch. ‘I don’t have horns. Visible or otherwise.’

A group of humans give us curious glances as they exit the cave, and all emotion dissipates from his face. He nods at me like I’m no more than a stranger he’s passed on the street, making to go inside, but –

‘Wait,’ I say. ‘What about the next task? You said we’d talk –’

‘Not here .’ Shadows ripple down his arms. He jerks his head for me to follow him away from the entrance, into a nearby alcove sandwiched between two great columns of rock, one that’s too narrow for us both to stand in comfortably without touching.

‘We shouldn’t speak in public,’ he says. ‘If word gets out about the tasks they’ll be queuing for my attention.’

‘You spoke to me first,’ I remind him. ‘And I wouldn’t have to ask questions if you told me what I wanted to know. My next task. When is it?’

‘Next month, we’ll –’

‘Next month ?’ I don’t shriek, but it’s close. ‘I can’t wait a month! I have to –’

‘There will be one a month until you finish. Or fail.’ His tone is flat, and I can’t read whether he’s annoyed by my outrage or disappointed he’s stuck with me for this length of time. ‘You have six more in total.’

Six more. That’s six months . How am I going to survive here for six months? ‘Sathanas – Your Majesty –’ My fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt.

‘Sath will do,’ he says, like that’s the most important part of the conversation.

‘ Sath .’ I yank the material so hard he’s forced to brace a hand above my head to prevent from crashing into me. ‘I am not staying here for six months.’

He pulls my clenched fist away from his shirt, forcing it to drop back to my side. ‘It’s the way it is.’

‘But –’ My complaint is cut short by the feeling of Sath going rigid. ‘What is it?’

He presses a finger to my lips, and it’s blazing hot, like heated metal. ‘Stay here.’

I’m left standing alone in the alcove, scowling at the empty space he’s left behind.

You’d think after all the practice I’ve had that I’d be good at doing what I’m told, but the part of me I’ve never been able to tame, the part that always dreamed of more to my existence than textbooks and early nights, has me bouncing on my feet, not wanting to stay anywhere.

Tentatively, I lean out and peek round the column to see what’s upset him. The demon with the shaggy hair from yesterday is heading our way, dragging his bony tail along the ground. It ends in a sharp spike that emits sparks as it moves. Show-off.

‘Aric,’ Sath calls out as the demon approaches. ‘You’re not going into Dionysus?’

‘Not today. A human looked at me funny. Now we’re playing hide-and-seek.’

‘I see.’ Although Sath’s tone is clipped, he doesn’t add anything to dissuade Aric, which is ridiculous when of course this human was looking at him funny.

Aric has sharp claws and a spiked tail; who wouldn’t do a double take at that?

My foot taps a beat. I want to say something.

Do something. But bursting into the open is something Bad Decision Willow would do, and I’m only making good decisions from now on.

I dig my nails into my palms.

‘I’m going to tear him apart when I find him,’ Aric says dreamily.

The scrape of metal on rock makes me wince, sounding the alarm that he’s resumed his journey.

‘No,’ Sath says. ‘Bring him to me. I’ll do it.’

I freeze. All that talk about how this place was a fresh start, a chance to live again, and his only response to a non-existent infraction is to offer to provide the punishment himself? Some middle ground.

‘Aric!’ A third voice chimes from the corridor. ‘Look who I’ve found.’

I recognise that voice. It’s the Sorter, only she sounds a lot happier than when I last saw her. And I have a horrible feeling I know exactly who she’s found. My stomach drops. Surely, surely , Sath will put a stop to this now.

All he says is, ‘Allow me.’

There’s a scuffle of movement, a yelp, and the music inside Dionysus stops, replaced by claps and jeers. A moment later, the drums resume, but it’s not the start of a song. It’s a countdown.

I creep out from the alcove and into Dionysus as surreptitiously as I can, keeping to the edge of the cave and ducking behind two humans who reek of body odour, peering through the crack between them.

The heat in here is overwhelming. Sweat drips down my neck; I’m standing too close to the lava drizzling down the walls.

At least it’s a distraction from the way my gut twists around itself, tying into knots I’ll never undo.

Sath has dragged a man on to the dance floor and forced him to his knees.

The man trembles as Sath towers over him, his face devoid of all emotion.

Like the man is nothing to him; no more than a broken toy ready to be discarded.

Sheets of shadows wrap around Sath’s arms. Demons stand around them, forked tongues flicking out like they can taste the man’s fear.

Maybe they can. Aric is to Sath’s right, grinning so wide he displays a pearly-white set of fangs.

Then he rushes forward, pouncing on the man, biting into his neck, and the chanting of the demons gets louder and louder, the beat of the drums gets faster; blood sprays over the floor as another demon joins in, and the man’s screaming, and I want to scream because they’re going to rip him apart and no one’s doing anything to stop it, and if they keep going his body will be destroyed, his soul lost to the Void for thousands of years, to hear those voices and his worst memories over and over again. And he’s not done anything wrong .