Page 28 of A Match Made in Hell

Harper ruins my plans to mope in bed by dragging me to Asphodel’s valiant attempt at replicating a garden.

Almost. We’re in a cave (of course), and the grass is peacock blue, but there are a lot of plants.

Credit where credit’s due, it’s definitely garden-adjacent.

Although the dim light is good for my headache, the scent of lilies is nauseating to my already nauseated stomach.

They grow from nothing, bright pink petals the size of my head, swaying in a breeze that only touches them.

To me, the air is stifling and still; the heat plasters my hair to my neck.

Groups of humans play Frisbee and tennis on a large lawn, but I’ve no idea how they manage it in this climate.

I groan for what must be the fiftieth time since we arrived.

‘I think I’m dying.’

‘You’re –’

‘Don’t say it.’ I roll over. ‘I’ll rephrase. If I wasn’t already dead, this hangover would finish me off.’

‘You were pretty out of it.’ Harper is on her back, arms extended, index finger tracing patterns in the air.

The roof of the cave is partially obscured by the tree canopy, and through the gaps in the fronds, candles blink down at us, shaped like constellations.

A good imitation of the outside world, but not good enough.

‘Still, you were enjoying yourself by the end. You even found yourself a dance partner.’

I cringe.

‘Willow.’

Ugh. I crack an eyelid. ‘What?’

Her brows are raised so high I think they might leave her forehead and drift into the false twilight. I know exactly what. But talking about what she may or may not have witnessed on that dance floor would mean admitting it happened at all, which I would prefer not to do.

Sath would be Mum’s definition of a Bad Choice. The epitome of what I should be avoiding if I want to make her proud. If I could scrub last night’s events from my brain, I would.

‘I’m not judging you.’ Harper sits up and dips her toe in the bubbling brook we’re lying beside. It hisses, puffs of aqua-blue steam billowing upwards like a geyser. ‘We all have a type. I just didn’t expect yours to be someone who’s cruel and distant and threatens to –’

‘He’s not like that,’ I snap. ‘You don’t know him.’

Harper grins, like I’m a hapless mouse and she’s the cat who’s got me cornered. ‘You like him.’

‘What is this, high school?’ I prod my finger into the grass. Maybe if I prod hard enough, I can dig a hole to crawl into. ‘I have no opinion of him whatsoever. I just think underneath that persona, there’s . . . more,’ I finish lamely.

‘Yes, that sounds like someone who has no opinion.’ Harper kicks her feet, and I’m hit with a splash of warm water. ‘Look, if you say he’s different, I believe you.’

I frown. If Sasha was here, believing me would be the last thing on her mind.

When Noah and I first got together she wouldn’t listen to a word I said in his favour, telling me I’d be better off single, like her.

He ended up changing her opinion all on his own, once we lived together and she was able to see the sides of him I’d always seen – I caught her once smiling softly at one of the notes he left on the fridge for me, a quote from some romantic poet that, honestly, I’d never heard of, but it was the thought that counted.

Sath has never quoted poetry at me. I’m not sure the man knows what a compliment looks like.

‘Last night was a mistake,’ I say adamantly. ‘It was the wine.’

‘Mm-hmm.’

‘It was ,’ I repeat. She doesn’t understand the consequences of what this could mean. I refuse to let it mean what she’s implying. The venom allowed Bad Decision Willow out of her cage and now she’s safely locked away again. I could go to Sath right now and not feel a thing. Maybe. Probably.

Perhaps I should test the theory.

The fact I’m so keen to find out is not a good sign. I pull out a lump of grass, crushing it between my fingers, mulling over my options. If I can prove to myself it was the wine, perhaps this sick, guilty feeling will dissipate.

I sit up. ‘I need to go and – see something.’

‘Willow, wait.’ Harper’s hand finds mine. ‘Before you go, I wanted to ask you about . . . Sometimes you seem . . . I don’t know. Sad.’

‘Well, I am in Hell.’ The response is automatic, flippant. The lily blooming like a halo behind Harper’s head splays its petals wider, as if to ask are you sure?

There was a point last night I may as well have been.

But Harper’s still holding my hand, her face a portrait of patience, like she’ll happily give up some of her eternity to sit here and wait for me to confess the truth.

This isn’t like Sasha or Noah, asking if I’m okay in one breath and suggesting I get off the sofa in the next – this is someone who has all the time in the world to listen.

I bite my lip, then admit, ‘Maybe I am a little sad.’

She tilts her head, waiting for the rest. When it doesn’t come, she says, ‘You don’t have to tell me. Henry always says I’m too nosy. But I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to know. And I can keep a secret.’

The words want to spill out of me, like water building behind a dam, but still I hesitate.

Talking about feelings isn’t something I’m used to.

When you grow up getting told the way you feel is wrong you quickly learn to shut up.

I wasn’t sick, just pretending. I wasn’t sad, I was overreacting. I wasn’t lonely, I was needy.

But the fact that Harper is waiting for an answer is a marked improvement on anything I’ve had before.

Maybe her reaction will be an improvement too.

I take a deep breath. ‘Before I died, I was . . . not in the best place. I’d just lost my mum and I kept finding myself in crowded rooms feeling totally alone, trying to keep all the broken parts together while everyone around me was solid and whole.

There was a moment last night that felt exactly like that and I .

. .’ I shudder. ‘I don’t want to feel like that any more.

’ That kind of isolation is more like Hell than Asphodel could ever hope to be. ‘I’m sorry. I’m being silly.’

She squeezes my fingers. ‘No, you’re not. But the good thing is you don’t have to feel like that any more. Not in Asphodel.’ She gestures around the park and elicits several waves in response. ‘With this many people, you don’t have to be alone unless you choose to be. I can introduce you to –’

‘You’ve introduced me to plenty,’ I say, all too quickly. They’ll just be names I’ll have to forget when I leave. Not wanting her to think me ungrateful, I add, ‘Besides, I have you and . . .’

Her pesky, all-knowing eyebrow rises higher. ‘And?’

‘No one. Nothing.’

‘Hm. Well, I’m glad you know you have me. And no one, whoever they may be.’ She nudges me with her toe as my cheeks heat once more. ‘Didn’t you say you needed to go somewhere?’

I fire a glare in her direction, but there’s no intensity behind it. I have no idea if my prove-it-was-the-wine plan will work – or what I’ll do if it doesn’t, but sitting here trying not to think about last night clearly isn’t working.

At least if I see him I’ll know how much trouble I’m in.

‘I’ll come find you later.’ I give Harper’s hand one final squeeze before exiting the park, rushing through a patch of trees with trunks as thick as elephant legs and out into the corridor.

After the humidity of the garden, the blast of cold outside is welcome.

I lean against the wall for a moment, ignoring the rattle of small pebbles falling from the ceiling when my back hits the rock and the whole cliff shudders .

Once I’ve gathered myself, I head to the entrance chamber.

There are no demons waiting outside to sneer at me today, which is a welcome change from the usual stares I get during Scrabble nights.

It’s strange, though, for this section to be unguarded, with both the gates and the Void waiting to be stumbled upon by an unsuspecting human.

Maybe that’s what they’re hoping for.

I increase my pace. This section is quieter than usual too, an unnatural stillness in the air. Far in the distance, there’s a high-pitched whine, one that sends a tremor rippling through my body as though ice-tipped talons have scraped down my chest.

‘Sath?’ I call out, not expecting an answer.

The noise doesn’t sound again, but the atmosphere remains uneasy, like the whole corridor is a drawn bow waiting to be released. Before sense can stop me, I take the right-hand path leading to Sath’s sitting room.

At the sight of me, he jumps from the sofa, slamming shut the book in his hand. I can’t believe he’s been lounging around reading while I’ve been having a crisis. Also, he clearly didn’t get the memo there’s a weird noise outside.

And my insides haven’t got the memo that last night didn’t mean anything.

There’s all kinds of fluttering going on in my belly, my skin prickling as it remembers every place he touched.

I want to peel it off and shred the memories with it.

Bad Decision Willow hasn’t been put back in her cage at all; she’s the one who tricked me into coming here in the first place. She really is infuriating.

Sath tucks the book – I don’t get a glimpse of the title, only that it’s old and almost falling apart – inside a drawer before approaching me.

‘I think we need to . . .’ He blinks. ‘Why are you wet?’

My jaw drops. ‘How dare y—I am no such thing. And for your information –’

‘Willow.’ He tugs at a damp curl. ‘Your hair. It’s wet.’ His gaze flicks lower. ‘As are your clothes.’

I slap his hand away. I feel like a live wire ready to spark. ‘Harper was splashing . . .’ Mentioning her name reminds me of the teasing I’ve just run away from. ‘Never mind. I don’t know why I’m here.’

Liar. Liar. Liar. I’m a yo-yo, swinging from place to place, unable to settle because everything is awkward and uncomfortable. I curse the treacherous part of me that led me here in the first place. Curse the equally treacherous parts that want me to stay.

‘Wait.’

Despite my cursing, those same treacherous parts halt at the sound of his voice.

‘About last night . . .’ He trails off, running a hand through his hair. ‘You don’t have to worry. It was nothing. We’d both had a drink. You don’t have to run away.’

‘I’m not running. Why would I be running? Nothing happened.’

Apart from the point where his nose grazed mine. When I felt his breath on my lips. When his fingers curled around my waist. When I’d forgotten every single reason I might want to go home because all I could see and feel was him.

It might have been the wine for him, but standing in this room makes it ten times harder to claim it was for me.

It’s like the toxin woke me from a slumber and now I can’t doze off again.

I’m consumed with awareness, flinching every time his body shifts, half in fear he might come closer and half desperately hoping he will.

I can’t blame Bad Decision Willow for this. This is all me.

This is a mess. It’s not part of the plan. It’s everything I shouldn’t be doing.

I don’t know how to stop.

In an attempt to sound more convincing, I add, ‘I wasn’t running. I remembered . . . I made plans. With Harper. So, I need to go. Right now.’

Sath arches a brow. I suspect I may be rambling. But rambling doesn’t necessarily mean lying . Except, of course, I am.

‘I’m sure Harper can wait for your charming company, given you were just with her,’ Sath says. ‘Stay. Can I make you a cup of tea?’

A cup of tea. A cup of tea . The man who had his hand dangerously close to my underwear wants to pretend nothing happened over a cup of tea .

How dare he. Every confused thought I’m having is all his fault, and he has the audacity to offer me hot beverages.

‘No, I don’t want tea,’ I retort. ‘I told you, I’m meeting Harper. My friend. My human friend. You can drink tea and play Scrabble with your fellow demons for a change.’

If my words hit the way I intend, he doesn’t show it.

Which is fine. I don’t care. I don’t know why I’m trying to get a rise out of him.

Really, I want some indicator last night affected him as much as it affected me.

But it didn’t, of course it didn’t. Why would it?

It was a game in an endless string of games.

He probably did the same thing with the last person he put through his tasks.

The whole situation must be amusing to him, watching all these humans falling at his feet because we’re planets orbiting his sun, and he gets to choose when he shines his light.

Maybe the Sorter was trying to tell me something in the morgue that day. Maybe Sath doesn’t have a heart, and doesn’t care one jot for how I’m feeling. Or, worse, what if everything about last night repulsed him – I repulsed him? It would explain why he’s not bothering to ask me what’s wrong.

Not that I want him to ask. I’d probably cry uncontrollably. But him not asking is also very annoying and frankly in-considerate. I would like some acknowledgement and then to be left alone, is that so much to ask?

‘If that’s what you want,’ he says, eyes narrowing. He regards me for a moment before adding, ‘I’m glad you made some friends here.’

‘Why? Because you think I’ll fail the tasks and end up staying here forever?’

‘Did I say that?’

‘It was implied.’

We’ve ended up standing toe to toe in the middle of the room, like opposite ends of a magnet drawn together. I have no idea when it happened.

Sath frowns. ‘Are you going to tell me why we’re arguing, or do I have to guess?’

Oh, good. He’s noticed. Took him long enough. For a however-many-years-old Devil he’s as stupid as all the boys I’ve ever known. I open my mouth in the hope a witty comeback will fall from my lips, but before I can dazzle him with my repartee, everything shakes.

The floor rumbles, like there’s something – something big – rolling underneath it, while dust and rock fall from the ceiling, coating Sath’s dark hair with grey flecks that look like ash shaken from an urn.

I probably should’ve mentioned that noise.

Sath braces his legs wide, and I clutch his arm for support, waiting out the tremors, my pulse skyrocketing as the trembling gets worse, building to a crescendo, glasses smashing behind us as they’re thrown from cabinets to the floor.

Sath’s arm is tense beneath my hand, his skin as burning hot as the fire building in his eyes.

When the vibrations have come to a complete stop, I stare at him, wide-eyed, before letting go of his arm. The less interaction I have with any part of him the better. ‘Was that Asphodel falling apart again?’

There was no deluge of lava like that day in the hot springs, but it sure felt similar.

A muscle in his jaw ticks. ‘Did you see my guards on your way here?’

‘No . . .’ I swallow. ‘And there was this sound. Like a whining, in the distance. Why?’

Flames erupt down his arms and I jump back.

‘Someone tried to open the gates.’