Page 33 of A Match Made in Hell

‘No, but I kicked your ass at Monopoly.’ Realising I’m still on all fours after my less-than-sultry crawl, I drop into a position that doesn’t make my butt stick in the air, sitting cross-legged next to him.

My knee brushes his thigh, and neither of us makes any attempt to shift apart.

‘Which we haven’t played since, by the way. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.’

‘Ah, but we could have,’ Sath muses, ‘if only you weren’t avoiding me.’ His expression turns sombre. ‘I’m sorry you had to see me like that.’

‘Like what?’ I’ve never been sorry to see him. That is precisely the problem.

‘You’re right,’ he goes on, which would be delightful if I had any clue what it was I was right about. ‘I had to make a stand. I shouldn’t have let it get to me like that. I shouldn’t have –’

‘Wait,’ I interrupt. ‘Do you think I’m avoiding you because you were crying?’

‘At least you’re admitting to avoiding me.’ He frowns. ‘If not that, then why?’

I wince. Maybe I should have lied. Avoiding someone’s tears is a lot less embarrassing than admitting you keep picturing them naked.

But I can’t let him think I spent the last week refusing to speak to him because I think less of him.

‘You’re allowed to admit when you’re upset.

Pretending you’re not feeling certain feelings is just going to make things –’ I gulp – ‘worse.’

Ugh. Okay. I need a new plan. Because I’m right, and I’m also guilty of the exact same thing. What am I supposed to do instead – think of nothing but Sath naked and hope I get bored by the idea?

I’m not sure that’ll be possible. I have an extremely vivid imagination, and there are simply so many things I could do with him. I’m growing warm, causing me to blurt out the only solution I can think of. ‘We should speed up the tasks. I don’t want to wait another three weeks. I want out. Now.’

I expect him to argue, but he merely looks resigned. ‘I came to say the same thing.’ His hands twist in his lap. ‘You’ve been here long enough; the remaining sins will be a sufficient challenge. And you’re right. We both need this to be over.’

Something about the word over hits me like a missile coated in poison, the blow sharp and unexpected and painful.

When I made the deal with him all I wanted was to return to what I’d left behind.

To be the person I was supposed to be and fix everything I messed up.

Now I’m leaving something else behind, a whole world full of infinite possibilities and paintball tournaments, and that comes with regrets of its own.

But I can’t stay dead. I’m twenty-one. I refuse .

I’m going home, and I’m not going to miss him, or Harper, or anyone. Not one little bit.

I ignore the twinge in my chest telling me I’m lying, and say, bright and breezy and with zero cares in the world, ‘Perfect. So, we can do one right now?’

His throat bobs. ‘We can.’

He sounds almost hesitant. A small, foolish part of me hopes it’s because he’s had a taste of missing me and doesn’t want to watch me go – but then, with a resolute nod of his head, he gets to his feet and flashes me a smile.

Despite the fact it doesn’t meet his eyes, the sight of it – along with a dimple in his cheek – causes a twinge in my chest, like he’s reached in and squeezed my heart with his bare hands.

I wish I could tell him to put his goddamn dimple away, but instead I’m taking the hand he’s offered me, greedy for contact, for any piece of him I can get before I leave.

Sath pulls me to my feet, and winks. ‘Try not to get sick.’

Blackness envelops us.

It takes longer this time, that squeezing sensation worse than ever, Sath’s hand the only link to anything solid and real, and when we finally land it takes me a while to settle. I blink, dizzy, taking in the sights in front of me.

We’re in a side alley, litter and broken bottles at my feet and the smell of piss stinging my nostrils.

Outside, though, on the main street . . .

there’s life . People chatter and sing as they stroll down the road.

Not a demon in sight. Twinkly red and green lights are strung between lampposts, and I move towards them, hypnotised, ignoring the biting cold nipping my ears.

I wish Sath had told me to bring a jacket.

I wish he’d warned me we were coming here .

Home. I’m home. My mouth waters as we near a stall selling hot doughnuts and spiced wine.

I don’t think this is a memory or an illusion; those are Christmas lights above me, because December’s here – it would have been my first Christmas without Mum – and those are people, actual alive people, milling around me.

It’s the reminder I needed why I’m doing this.

So I can be one of them once more. So I can walk with them, laugh like them, live with no daily threat of demons or Voids.

‘This is where the task of envy will take place,’ Sath says, but I’m barely listening, staring around open-mouthed at all the things I thought I’d never see again. He places a hand on my back and tries to push me forward.

‘We’re not invisible here,’ he murmurs. ‘Act natural.’

I spin to face him. ‘Are we really here? But . . . how . . . ?’

What if I can slip away?

‘My magic allows me to portal here,’ Sath is saying. ‘Only for forty-eight hours. Any longer – Willow, are you listening?’

Of course I’m not listening. I’m home .

The next thing I know, Sath has my chin gripped between his fingers. ‘Focus,’ he says. ‘The magic that allows us to leave Asphodel is limited. Only I can access it. Try and run from me . . .’ He grimaces. ‘It wouldn’t be pleasant for you.’

I scowl, slapping his hand away from my face.

Of course he knew what I was thinking. Shivering, I wrap my arms around themselves, and he makes no move to offer any assistance.

I’m stuck in a strapless dress (yes, fine, I don’t usually wear one and yes, fine, I only put it on in case I bumped into him), goosebumps erupting over my skin as I bounce on my toes. ‘Can we get this over with?’

Sath nods. ‘Remember what I said. We can be seen here.’

Plenty of people have seen us already. The street teems with festive merrymakers as we walk past shops long closed for the night and head towards the nearest pub.

If he was worried about us being spotted, maybe he shouldn’t have taken me to one of my old drinking grounds.

There’s a strong chance not everyone here will be a stranger.

If this task is supposed to represent envy, I have a horrible feeling that might be the point.

Inside, the carpet is as awful as I remember: burnt orange with gold swirls and saturated with stains. People cram around the bar, waving notes and cards at harassed staff.

Sath steers me towards the rear of the pub, positioning me behind a pillar and instructing me to peer round.

When I do, my heart drops.

Sasha is sat at a table with Danny and Michaela, four empty glasses in front of them.

My knees nearly buckle. She’s alive. Seeing the proof with my own eyes is different to hearing Sath tell me.

I want to run and hug her, to feel how warm she is in my arms, to tell her I’m sorry I ever put her in jeopardy at all. Her laugh is tinkling, melodic.

‘Don’t you think it’s unfair,’ Sath says, ‘that she lived, when you didn’t?’

‘What?’ I blink. ‘Of course not. She’s Sasha.’

‘And why does Sasha deserve good things, and not you? She got to go on all the holidays you never did. She got to see the world. She even got better grades than you while she did it. She’s never struggled for anything, has she? And now she’s living the life that could have been yours.’

‘This won’t work,’ I tell him. ‘I’m glad she didn’t pay for my mistake. I’m glad she’s –’

She’s okay . The realisation sinks in further.

My chest swells. She’s not in a hospital attached to wires or curled up in bed crying because she lost her best friend.

And, okay, fine, I won’t deny I’d be flattered if she was, but I’m too relieved not to have killed her to be chastising her for not grieving appropriately.

At least I know if I mess something up and fail a task, or get sent to the Void for some minor infraction, she’ll be fine. I haven’t ruined anything. I haven’t ruined her .

‘I see. I suppose, in that case, you’ll be fine with this too.’

I follow the direction of his pointed finger to see a figure moving through the crowd, and my stomach tumbles to the floor. Noah. He sets a tray of drinks on the table before dropping into the seat beside Sasha.

And then he takes her hand in his.

She twirls a lock of hair around her finger as she smiles at him, puckering her perfectly pink lips in his direction until he relents and presses a kiss to her mouth. Danny hoots. My insides squirm, like the pair of them have sliced my stomach open and allowed the wriggling contents to spill out.

‘Jealous, Willow?’ Sath murmurs beside me. ‘She took everything from you. And so quickly. So easily. Don’t you wish you were in her seat instead? Why don’t you walk over there and claim it?’

I don’t listen. I can’t look away. My breaths are too quick, too uneven, like she stole some of my oxygen when she stole my boyfriend.

‘When.’ My voice is low and cold, the complete opposite of the way I feel, a rumble of thunder before the downpour begins. ‘When did it start.’

Did they even wait for me to die? My mind races over my final month: the way she disappeared on a night out and I couldn’t find her no matter how hard I searched.

How she’d call Noah to collect me once I was in a state, but she never seemed to be, coming home sober after he’d deposited me in bed.

They’d stay up watching a film and he’d wake me hours later, smelling of her perfume.

Then there was that final night on the cliff, where she encouraged me to leave him behind and go travelling.

She was probably waiting to swoop in the moment I’d gone.