Page 40 of A Match Made in Hell

I spend the next day stewing in one of the hot springs, watching other humans come and go as though they have no care in the world.

Good for them. My fingertips are beyond pruny from being in the water so long, but whenever I contemplate leaving, I get another flashback from last night and I start to shake.

The memories are mortifying. Me, begging Sath for something he didn’t want to give.

Me, reaching for him like a starving woman seeing a fresh baguette.

Me, considering failing the task because I thought there might be something for me here.

Like maybe going home wasn’t my only option.

Of course it is.

It would be great if my wobbly lips and tear-filled eyes would catch up.

There is nothing to be upset about. I am one task away from everything I’ve wanted since arriving here.

My life will be returned, never to be thrown away again, and I’ll bask in the knowledge that I did it, I proved myself, and the sunshine that knowledge provides will chase away the lingering shadows making me feel like I’m about to lose something I never had.

God. I have to get a hold of myself. I force myself out of the pool and dress quickly, with the intent of finding my friends. Anything to take my mind off –

No. I refuse to say his name. He can go back to being the king who got his shoes vomited on the day we met.

The recollection cheers me a bit – I haven’t seen those shoes since; hopefully they’re ruined and he’s sad about it – so I leave the springs with a skip in my step, picturing all of Sath’s clothes covered in projectile.

By the time I find Harper and Amelia in one of the recreation rooms, I’m practically beaming.

Then I see the way their hands are entwined and my heart clenches. I want it. I want it so badly it hurts.

The clack of pool balls jerks my focus. It’s busy in here today, groups of humans laughing and whooping when they make a decent shot. A pinball machine dings in the corner. Someone’s made popcorn and the scent of butter and salt wafts in the air.

Being dead doesn’t mean you have to stop living . I hadn’t understood what Harper meant the day we met, but I get it now. Being in Asphodel gives you a thousand chances to make a thousand mistakes and get a do-over every time.

I plop into a chair beside her. She narrows her eyes at me and I brace for an interrogation about what I was doing last night, but I’m spared having to conjure a lie by the sight of Henry hurrying towards us.

We leap from our seats in unison. His right eye is puffy, and there’s a bruise purpling on his cheek. A chunk has been torn from his shirt.

‘What happened?’ asks Harper, grabbing his arm before he can topple over and steering him into the chair she’s just vacated. ‘Are you okay?’

He’s obviously not okay. I curl my hands into fists and kneel beside him.

A few humans are looking over at us, a mixture of curiosity and alarm playing on their faces, while others leave the room entirely as though they think we’re a magnet for trouble they’d rather avoid. In a low voice, I say, ‘Was it Aric?’

‘What do you think?’ Henry pulls at his ripped shirt with trembling fingers. ‘It doesn’t matter. It was my fault.’

‘ Your fault? How can it be your fault?’

‘I got lost in the catacombs,’ he replies.

‘I heard a rumour they’d placed an orb at the centre, one that would let you see Earth.

I only wanted a glimpse. Just to remember.

But I kept going round and round, and then I hit a dead end.

When I turned around, he was waiting. Said the usual spiel about how I’m a naughty little human .

’ He snorts. ‘Naive, maybe. There is no orb. The demons made it up to get us there. They killed a few –’

‘How many?’

‘I was a little busy running away to keep count.’

He can be as glib as he likes, but I can tell from the way his voice catches he doesn’t mean it. If this orb had existed, what would be the harm in looking? Nobody would have been hurt.

I hate this. I hate that the humans are punished for dreaming, for wanting to cling to all the pieces of themselves that make them human.

I hate that they’re punished for every innocent thing that makes them happy because some demon decided what they want, what they think is right, is more important.

And the one person capable of changing how this place works refuses.

Is too scared. Suddenly, I’m not just angry at Sath for rejecting me, but for rejecting all of them, for not doing more to stop the demons.

He’s never bothered to try. All he does is sit around whining about the gates, about how he doesn’t like to be mean, boo-fucking-hoo, about how he can’t possibly kiss someone despite making them ache for him, because he’s a soulless, lying bastard who plays with people’s feelings and makes them confused and desperate and he probably enjoyed toying with me and –

I inhale. I’m thinking again. Thinking is bad.

I can’t change how Sath may or may not feel about me. But I can try and change the way he rules Asphodel before I go.

And if it gives me an excuse to yell at him about other stuff too, well, fine. I’ll multitask.

‘I’m going to fix this,’ I tell the others. ‘Leave it with me.’

Harper’s eyes go wide. ‘You can’t start another fight with Aric, you’ll –’

‘I’m not going to start one with Aric.’ My tone is almost serene. ‘I’m going to start one with the Devil.’

This doesn’t do much to persuade them I’ve not lost my mind. Amelia and Harper gasp, while Henry’s one good eye widens.

It’s Amelia who speaks first, whimpering my name before saying, ‘He’ll kill you.’

Not if I kill him first. The mood I’m in, the thought is not unappealing.

‘He won’t hurt me,’ I tell them.

Except he already has. Just not in the way they’d expect.

‘Amelia’s right,’ Harper says. ‘Just because you and he – well, I’m not entirely sure, but that doesn’t mean it’s safe to start an argument with him.’

‘Trust me, okay? Sath and I have an understanding. If I can make him listen . . . Think about it. You wouldn’t wake up in fear any more.

You could go anywhere in Asphodel without peering over your shoulder.

You’d be happy here. An endless supply of entertainment, food and drink, an eternity together with no worry one of you is going to be torn apart by a demon with a temper problem. ’

Saying it out loud, it sounds almost pleasant. If Sath got the demons and the gates under control, would I want that for myself?

All I ever wanted was to be proud of you . I’m not sure my becoming a revolutionary was part of Mum’s plan.

But as usual, I can’t keep my mouth shut.

‘Asphodel shouldn’t belong to the demons,’ I go on. ‘That’s not what it was built for. They’ve corrupted everything good about this place for too long. Let me try and help you before –’

The words stick in my throat. I’m about to leave them before I ever got to know them.

For all my complaints that Sath made me wait between each task, I want to beg him to drag out this final one.

Time has slipped away from me like granules of sand running between my fingers, and now my palms are empty.

Just like in my life, I wasted what I had, delayed the things I should be doing.

The least I can do is help them before I go.

‘Wait here.’ Ignoring their cries of protest, I storm away.

Sath’s not in his rooms – probably avoiding me, the coward – but I find him easily enough, hiding in a far corner of the library.

He’s sprawled on a large armchair, supposedly reading another one of his dusty books, although it appears to be upside down.

Notes are scattered all over the floor, some sort of diagram etched on the closest piece of paper, but it’s hard to make out what it depicts.

It would be pitch-black in here if it weren’t for the way the shelves glow blue, like tanks in an aquarium that contain books rather than fish, and the way that light bathes Sath’s face makes him look otherworldly. Beautiful. I hate him for it.

The topmost shelf is easily twenty feet above me, and there are no ladders to be seen. I stare at a particularly thick tome and think down .

To my immense satisfaction, the book flies from the shelf and drops on his head.

Sath swears at the impact, jerking upright and – his gaze locks on mine. I go hot and cold all at once.

He rejected me. He rejected me.

‘Willow . . .’ He tucks the book down the side of his chair. ‘I’m glad you came.’

I have just enough self-control to refrain from pointing out that, as far as last night goes, I categorically did not come. ‘If you wanted to see me, you could have found me yourself.’

He piles up the notes and tucks them into his jacket pocket before answering. Given his lack of immediate apology, I’m going to assume they don’t contain a love letter. ‘I wasn’t sure you’d want me to.’

‘I don’t,’ I retort. ‘I’m only here because I want you to make me a promise.’

He approaches me carefully, like a hunter closing in on a wounded animal that can still bite. ‘If it’s within my power, I’ll give you anything.’

A dangerous offer. There are plenty of things he has the power to give me that he’s already refused to give.

‘When I’m gone, I want you to do something about the demons.

Once and for all. No more hiding, or excuses.

Aric attacked Henry again today, and I can’t leave knowing they’re in danger.

I can’t live the rest of my life wondering what’s happening to them. Promise me they’ll be safe.’

His throat bobs. ‘I promise . . . once your final task is complete, I’ll do what needs to be done. They’ll have the best chance I can give them.’

I narrow my eyes. He’s being awfully accommodating. Maybe he’s feeling guilty. ‘Well. Good. Glad that’s settled. I’ll leave you to your book.’

‘Willow, wait.’ His hand snakes around my wrist, and my pulse jumps at the contact. Traitor.