Page 18 of A Match Made in Hell

He stares at his glass, his thumb running concentric circles around the rim, before lifting it to his mouth and draining the contents in one. ‘The why isn’t what’s important.’

Of course it isn’t. That would be too much like giving me a real answer.

‘If the gates can’t be kept shut . . . nobody deserves that kind of carnage,’ he says.

‘It would be unimaginable. The demons, of course, would love nothing more. I deal out the fastest punishments I can to appease them. If I refused to act, the demons would revolt, and the only way to kill them all would be to allow my powers to overwhelm me. That loss of control would result in the gates opening anyway. I was slower than I should have been against those bats today because of it.’

I swallow. ‘Do the demons know how close they are to getting everything they want?’

‘They know something is happening. Asphodel is changing. Walls that used to be beige have turned black. Lava spews from cracks that shouldn’t be there.

Plants that used to grow in abundance have died.

I spread a rumour it’s all down to Asphodel stretching to make room for more souls, and in the meantime I visit different areas each night, making public demonstrations of what I can do so they won’t consider challenging me. They have no idea I can’t stop them.’

‘It’s a shame there isn’t a set of gates leading to Elysium to balance it out.’ I narrow my eyes. ‘Unless there is, and you’ve hidden them from me.’

Sath huffs. ‘Believe me, I’ve looked. There’s no easy route into Elysium. I imagine they didn’t want us disturbing their peace and found a way to stay hidden. A pity we didn’t do the same before Tartarus came calling.’

‘And now they’re at the door, your only solution is to pretend to be awful for eternity?’ That isn’t fair. Sadness drifts off him in waves. Instinctively, I put my hand over his and squeeze. It twitches beneath mine, but he doesn’t pull away.

He stares at our hands for a minute, and then looks across at me. ‘We’re all pretending to be something.’

I flinch, a little too visibly to be casual.

I’ve pretended to be multiple people over the years: dutiful daughter, model student, perfect girlfriend.

Three things that should belong together but I’ve never been able to get the patchwork to stitch.

Pretending is probably the problem. I need to find a way to become .

Maybe he needs to become something else too.

‘You said you were losing control of the gates,’ I say. ‘Can’t you get it back?’

‘No.’

‘But –’

‘It’s gone, Willow. I’m done.’ He swigs another drink like it’s water. ‘It’s done.’

His words are a vice around my chest. Not only because of the fear of what’s to come for him, for me, for all of us, but because of his sorrow too.

I don’t understand how he can be so defeated.

He clearly doesn’t want the gates to open, so how can he give up when he’s the only person with the power to stop it from happening?

Sath clears his throat. ‘I don’t think I need to say you can’t tell anyone this.’

‘I figured.’ I shift closer, nudging his knee with mine. ‘Why are you telling me?’

A smile tugs on his lips. ‘Maybe you’re right. Maybe I don’t have anyone else to talk to.’

‘Hm.’ I tap my glass. I don’t know what I expected when I asked him to be less devily , but it certainly wasn’t for him to offload all his issues on to me. He must be desperate, because I’d make a terrible therapist. I can’t even solve my own problems.

Being alone can’t be good for him. He’s completely disassociated from the humans, meaning he has no idea what it’s like to be one.

If he cared more about them, maybe it’d remind him they’re worth fighting for.

And I need him to fight – just because I’m leaving soon, doesn’t mean I won’t be back eventually, and I’d like to return to somewhere that isn’t overrun with bats that want to eat me.

‘What do you do when you’re not ruling?’

The question seems to throw him. ‘Well, there was the year I attempted to memorise the dictionary.’

‘The year you . . . Oh, Sath .’ I have got to find this man a hobby.

He looks at me like I’m the one who needs to be pitied in this scenario, like I’m a fool for even suggesting he take some time for himself.

‘I don’t have time when I’m not ruling, not really.

If there’s trouble on the boats, I get to threaten the newcomers.

Otherwise, I’m in Dionysus reminding everyone how scary I am. ’

He says it flippantly, a wry smile on his features, but I wonder what cracks those jokes are papering over. He said this place was supposed to be a new beginning, but he doesn’t act like he’s living at all, hiding away in his room reading the dictionary for fun.

He turns to face me, and a lock of dark hair falls over his forehead. The sight of it does things to me it shouldn’t.

‘Do you have a beanie?’ I blurt out.

‘Excuse me?’

‘A beanie. Like a hat.’

‘I know what a beanie is, Willow.’

‘Perfect.’ I beam at him. ‘Put one on and meet me in the projection cave.’

Sath sighs. ‘I can’t be seen –’

I put a finger to his lips. They’re softer than I expected. He sucks in a breath, sending a rush of cold air over my skin, but he doesn’t move.

‘No arguments,’ I say. ‘Make yourself unrecognisable, and we’ll hide at the back. If Asphodel is supposed to be a middle ground, you shouldn’t be treating it like your own personal Hell.’

He blinks at me. I take a moment to congratulate myself on shocking the Devil, before slipping from the room. It’ll be dark enough in the cave that he can sit undetected, but I don’t think we should be seen arriving together.

I scurry through the entrance chamber and am back on the balcony in record speed, calling for a lift.

It’s strange, given the size of this place, how quickly I’ve learned my way around the various floors, along with which ones are best to avoid (for example, I have no idea why anybody would choose to spend a single moment of their afterlife in a fish market. The smell is unbearable).

I found the projection cave on day three of my explorations, down a rabbit warren of corridors on the entertainment level.

It’s a small room, soundproofed to drown out the sound of arcade games and pinball machines next door.

I don’t know where the power supply comes from, but I do know it’s usually demon-free, unlike the endless corridors I have to walk through to find it again.

Aric’s loitering in one, arms folded and snarling at humans that pass by. I keep my head down, but I feel his eyes watching me as I enter the cave. Humans lounge on beanbags littered sporadically over a carpet made of grass, faces dimly lit by the images flickering from the screen.

The film’s already started – it’s Twilight , of all things – and I drag a beanbag into a dark corner, far away from the rest of them, although they’re not paying me or the film much attention as they giggle and whisper in each other’s ears, passing popcorn back and forth.

We used to have film nights like this at the flat, before Mum died. When everything was right and normal. Sasha and I would hide under the duvet while Noah forced us to watch some awful horror movie, but he’d keep us entertained with a running commentary that had us both shaking with laughter.

I wonder if Sasha’s out of hospital now. If they’re watching those films without me. If someone else is holding her hand when she gets scared.

A yearning sets root in my stomach. I have to go back before they replace me. But more than that, I want something like that here. Now. I miss company , and I’ll take it in any form.

Even if that form is the Devil.

I recognise the broad outline of Sath’s shoulders when he steps inside the cave, the way he walks with a confidence that says he’s the most powerful person in the room.

I sincerely hope nobody else recognises that.

They may not react well to sharing film night with the Devil.

For me, though, I press my lips together to hide my smile.

He came. And I should not be this excited about it, but I’ve been coming to this cave for a month, and it’s going to be the first time I have someone sitting next to me.

Also, the beanie really suits him.

He spots my (subtle) waving and weaves through the humans before dropping next to me on the beanbag. It sinks with his weight, dipping in the middle and making me slide into him.

Although I adjust so we’re not touching, I’m still hyperaware of his proximity when I whisper, ‘Hi.’

‘This is a terrible idea,’ he mutters.

I’m starting to think he has a point, but for very different reasons.

He’s the Devil , I remind myself.

But darkness is a mask. It gives us anonymity, the ability to be something other than what we are and start over. When our arms brush, I don’t shrink away, and neither does he. Eventually, we end up leaning against one another, his thigh against mine, his hand dangling lazily over my knee.

He’s the Devil.

I can’t concentrate on the film. My pulse sounds too loud in my ears. My skin prickles all over. Because when we glance at one another to confirm we’re laughing at the same thing, he doesn’t feel like the Devil at all.

He feels like he could be a friend.