Page 3 of A Match Made in Hell

He gives us a quick glance before settling himself on his throne, planting one leather boot on the ground and crossing his other leg over his knee.

A click of his fingers has one of the demons scurrying to his side.

I risk raising my head to get a better view, needing to decide if asking for his help is going to get me thrown in the river.

He’s not that much older than me. That probably doesn’t mean much, not here, but it’s the first thing I notice.

He’s not that scary, either. While the sleeves of his white shirt bunch over his biceps, he’s nowhere near as beefy as the demons towering over him.

They should be able to rip his head off easily.

But they don’t.

There must be something else to him. Some other power he has. And if I can’t see it, that makes him all the more dangerous. He’s also kind of rude, because we’re still kneeling, and it’s starting to hurt.

He runs a hand through short jet-black hair. ‘How many?’ Despite his voice being nowhere near as deep as the demon’s, it still feels like the room rumbles when he speaks.

‘Five thousand in the last hour,Your Highness,’ the demon says.

‘She has been busy.’ King Sathanas clucks his tongue. ‘Does she send anyone to Elysium these days?’

I frown. There were only around fifty on the boat with me. Where are the rest?

‘I suppose I should be grateful only one boat has caused trouble today.’ He waves the demon away before addressing us directly.

‘I don’t usually have the pleasure of meeting new arrivals, but I wanted to make sure none of you were inspired by that man fighting back by the river.

It’s funny, how quickly the fires of rebellion can spread.

’ He smiles. ‘And how easily they can be quashed.’

I clench my jaw. He can try and quash my rebellion all he likes, but I refuse to let myself feel threatened by a man in tight trousers.

‘The soul of today’s revolutionary will be taken into the Void to think about his actions. He’ll float, aware of everything and able to interact with nothing, where his only company will be his worst memories replaying in his head.’

I shiver. Okay, maybe I feel a little threatened.

‘I would suggest you don’t try and find out what other punishments are available here in Asphodel.’ Sathanas slumps in his seat, resting his chin on his fist, like speaking to us is a chore he could do without. Well, I, for one, didn’t ask him to. All we got was threats and no answers.

Apart from a name. Asphodel. It certainly rhymes with Hell.

‘Direct them to their rooms,’ Sathanas orders the demons. He waves a hand in our direction. ‘You may rise.’

How gracious of him. I resist the urge to roll my eyes as we stand in unison. I exchange a glance with the woman next to me – she’s the one who spent the boat trip crying – and although neither of us dares speak, the question on her face is evident. It’s the same as mine. What now?

I need a plan. At this point, I don’t know if escape is an option, or if I’m hoping for a miracle that doesn’t exist, but I need to exhaust all possibilities before I’m introduced to one of these unnamed punishments or, worse, this Void . I’ve got far too many memories I’d rather not repeat.

Demons watch us with hungry expressions, tracking our movements, forked tongues flicking out to swipe drool from their lips. Sathanas remains on his throne, looking bored, as a demon murmurs in his ear.

Frustrated by my lack of options, I turn to the woman and whisper, ‘Do you know why you’re here? Do you think they might’ve made a mistake?’

If they have made a mistake with her, maybe they’ll let her go and I can follow them all the way to the exit.

Her eyes glisten with a fresh onslaught of tears. ‘I was sick. I don’t . . .’ She hiccups. ‘I don’t remember.’

‘You don’t need to remember how you died,’ I press. ‘I just need you to tell me if you think you belong here. Because if you don’t, maybe there’s some exception where –’

She starts to cry again, louder and louder, her high-pitched sobs quickly rising into a crescendo that’s hard to ignore. Demons are turning to stare. Sathanas is turning to stare.

Oops.

He unfolds himself from the throne in one elegant movement and descends from the podium.

His footsteps are feather-light as he prowls towards us with an unnatural grace.

The crowd parts to let him through. I shuffle with them, wanting to get as much distance between me and the situation as possible.

It’s not far enough. By the time he reaches the woman, he’s still too close; I catch the scent of peppermint as he stops directly in front of her.

It’s easier, now, to imagine why the demons might bow to him.

There’s a sense of power rippling from his body, one I can’t see but I can feel , like he’s humming with magic.The woman trembles at the sight of him, retreating until she’s pressed against the wall.

Sathanas cocks his head to one side. ‘Is there a problem?’

Well, duh. Of course there’s a problem. I doubt she’s the first person to work out she’s in Hell and start crying. The king’s face is a mask, as stony as the serpent guarding his seat, but, just like his magic, his displeasure is palpable.

He strokes a knuckle down her cheek, collecting a tear on his skin. ‘Tell me,’ he says. ‘Tell me what’s wrong.’

His voice is soft, gentle, like he’s coaxing all her secrets from her.

She sways on the spot, lost in his gaze.

Maybe hypnotism is his special skill. But then she opens her mouth and vomits on his feet, so maybe not.

His facade doesn’t break, not even when he shakes yellow lumps from his shoe.

A winged demon with brown feathers flies forward to wipe off the rest.

Another demon whispers, ‘ Tartarus .’

Sathanas shakes his head. ‘Take her to Glacantrum,’ he instructs. ‘A year or two there, and perhaps she’ll be more inclined to accept my hospitality.’

I can’t help but raise my eyebrows. I wouldn’t call waking in a dark cave, being shoved on a boat and forced to kneel before him hospitality .

There’s more muttering among the demons, as though this punishment will not suffice.

Despite this, the winged vomit-cleaner follows the order, grabbing hold of the woman who, of course, begins to scream.

Sathanas doesn’t so much as blink as she lashes out, trying to scratch him, the demon, anyone she can get her hands on.

She kicks and punches and wails as the demon scoops her into its arms, but she may as well be hitting a solid wall for all the good it does.

A slight bend of its knee, one swoosh of its wings, and they’re flying away.

That’s two people punished since my arrival. My gut churns with the idea I might be next.

‘Perhaps I should elaborate,’ Sathanas says to the crowd. ‘Welcome to Asphodel. Your home, should you choose to accept it, and all the pleasantries it has to offer.’

I have no idea what pleasantries he’s referring to. As far as I can tell, it doesn’t even have central heating.

‘Fail to accept and the consequences will be . . . unpleasant. Complaints are not tolerated. Escape attempts even less so.’

My ears prick at this. That implies there could be a way to escape, if I can find it.

‘Do I make myself clear?’ Sathanas continues.

Everyone, including me, nods. As if we’d do anything else.

‘Then off you go,’ he says. ‘Explore. Do what you like. Don’t bother me, don’t antagonise the demons, and don’t go into the Old Tunnels.’

I’ve never wanted to go in a tunnel more.

Two demons shove open a pair of doors to our rear, and dazzling light bursts from the corridor presumably leading to the rest of Asphodel.

I squint, surprised to see that much light here at all.

It’s like leaving a cinema on a summer’s day, when the sunshine is almost blinding in its intensity after being in the dark for so long.

The walls of the corridor are painted gold, and the crowd surges towards the glow like a swarm of fireflies.

I’m about to join them when it hits me.

We won’t be the only humans inside. Countless boats will have arrived before ours. There’s no light at the end of that tunnel, just millennia of dead waiting to say hello.

Which means there’s a chance she’s here.

Mum.

Shit. Shit. I can’t see her. I already have her voice ringing in my ears; I don’t need to witness her disappointment first-hand too. If we’re ever reunited, it has to be after I’ve fulfilled all the promises I made after she died.

Sathanas stands close by, watching the crowd straggle through the doors, the demons following in their wake.

I bite my lip to avoid making the kind of noise that would have me sent to Glacantrum, wherever that is.As though sensing my stare, he turns his head, and I gasp as I experience the full force of his attention.

Again, it’s obvious why he’s the one in charge.

Because there’s something entirely different about him, about how piercingly amber his eyes are.

His skin is unblemished, practically glowing, and I’m hyper-aware of every imperfection I have in comparison.

I cross my arms and scowl at him. I may be a lowly little human with too many freckles and a poor skincare regime, but I refuse to behave like one.

His gaze dips to a rip in my sundress, and for a moment I swear shadows lick up his arm, coiling like snakes over his shirt, but then I blink and they disappear.

‘Is there something you need?’ he enquires.

Well, let’s see, Mr Scary-Devil-Man: to not be dead would be ideal, but I’d settle for a map with a big, glowing arrow marked ‘Exit’ at a pinch. How much of that can I ask for before you send one of your minions after me?

I take the safer option of shaking my head.

He quirks a brow. It’s the first real expression I’ve seen cross his face, and it makes him look normal, like he’s a bog-standard human and not the King of Hell.

I wonder if he did it on purpose, to get me to lower my guard.

‘Please,’ he says, half goading, half mocking. ‘Enlighten me. What is it you want to say?’

Like that woman enlightened him, he means?

Although I’m pretty sure I’m not about to chuck up on his shoes, I don’t think word vomit is going to endear me to him any more than her physical puke did.

Apparently, my mouth isn’t listening to my brain though, because I can’t stop myself from saying, ‘You told us not to complain, so . . .’

‘Ah.’ He slides his hands into his pockets. ‘So you have a complaint?’

Fuck’s sake. What is wrong with me? Going through those doors is becoming a lot more appealing; at least a conversation with my mother wouldn’t result in me meeting yet another sticky end.

‘I’d love to hear it,’ he goes on, offering me a wicked smile. ‘I’ll make you a deal. Whatever you say in the next minute, you won’t be punished for.’

‘And I’m supposed to believe that?’

He shrugs. ‘Clock’s ticking.’

Bastard isn’t even wearing a watch. ‘I don’t make deals with the Devil.’

‘Is that what I am?’ His eyes gleam. Maybe it’s the light, but they look more golden than before, like living flames are dancing across his pupils.

‘You tell me,’ I say, willing him to slip up, divulge something. He can call this place Asphodel all he likes; the demons running round are a clear giveaway we’re not anywhere pleasant.

He reveals nothing. Instead, he takes a step towards me, one small pace that makes me want to make a big retreat. I force myself to stand my ground. I refuse to let him intimidate me, no matter what powers he possesses, or how many Glacantrums he could send me to.

‘I’ll tell you what I think about you,’ he says. ‘You think this is all one giant mistake. That you don’t belong here. That you’re a good person and you don’t deserve what awaits you beyond those doors.’

I ball my fists, wanting to scream that he’s got me all wrong.

A good person wouldn’t have been the reason their father walked out the front door and never came home.

A good person wouldn’t have driven their boyfriend into ignoring their calls for days.

A good person wouldn’t have forced their mother to get into –

I inhale sharply. Focus, Willow.

This might be where I belong, but he doesn’t need to know that.

‘Do you want to know what happened to the last person who asked for my help?’

‘Not really.’ The cool smile I bestow on him is as much a lie as my words.

‘Hm.’ He matches my icy expression before looking me up and down again, a hunter assessing the best way to cage his prey. ‘Well, don’t let me keep you.’

Fuck. My chin trembles as the trap closes. If I pretend he’s right about me, maybe I’ll get the answers I seek and be sprung free – or maybe he’ll twist the key and lock me in for good.

He doesn’t give me a chance to figure out which option he’s offering. He’s walking away now, heading towards the door he first emerged from, taking all of his knowledge and stupid guesses with him, abandoning me to whatever fate lies at the end of that golden corridor.

A fate I can’t accept. Not until I’ve tried everything.

‘Wait.’

He turns at the sound of my voice.

We stare at one another from across the chamber.

It’s just the two of us left in here now, and I’m sure he must be able to hear the way my breaths are too loud, too fast, giving away the nerves my bravado tries to hide.

Heat thunders through me. No complaints.

No bothering him. Those were the rules. My minute’s up, if that deal was even real.

I daren’t risk asking anything outright, but maybe I can play into his assumptions about me. I got here somehow; perhaps I can get out the same way.

‘How does it get decided?’ I ask. ‘Who goes where? If somebody did . . . have a complaint. Who would be to blame?’

The corners of his mouth lift. ‘Well, that would be down to the Sorter.’

I nod, like his words make any kind of sense. Sathanas jerks his head towards the corridor behind me.

‘Third door on the right.’ He winks. ‘Just for having the nerve to ask.’