Page 5 of A Match Made in Hell

Sathanas .

She doesn’t have to say his name for me to know I’m right. Knowing that, though, diminishes some of my new-found hope. ‘And what’s he going to do to me if I ask him for help? He expressly said no complaining or asking to leave.’

‘That’s the official rule.’ She waves her hand. ‘But rules were made to be broken. You’d just need to prove yourself worthy.’

I don’t like the sound of that. ‘Worthy how?’

‘It’s all very tedious.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘Sath can explain, if he makes you the offer.’

‘Big if,’ I grumble.

‘So give him a reason to.’ Whatever’s on her next clipboard is, apparently, far more interesting than my potential escape from Hell. She waves a hand in the direction of the door. ‘I’ve already told you more than I should. Get out and do what you will with it.’

I don’t move straight away. More questions ricochet around my brain and they all lead back to one issue: how am I possibly going to pull this off?

The Sorter whistles loudly, drowning out the sound of her cart’s squeaks as she moves on, abandoning me to figure this out on my own.

Well, fine. I’ve got this far by myself.

If Sathanas needs a reason, I’ll give him a reason. I’ll give him the best damn reason he’s ever heard.

I exit the Sorter’s morgue to find my fellow passengers have all gone. I could carry on the way they went, investigate more of Asphodel. Find myself one of these rooms we’ve been offered, see how bad they are before embarking on Mission Convince the Devil to Help a Girl Out.

But I don’t want to explore, or get settled. Not when I have no intention of staying.

Not when an unfortunate reunion with my past could be waiting round every bend.

I return to the entrance chamber. This is stupid, and dangerous, but I can’t stop myself. Being dead means I have nothing to lose.

Two demons now guard the doorway I saw Sathanas go through.

One is shorter than the other, with longer lashes and lips pressed into a pout, but otherwise they could be twins.

Small horns, curved and grey, protrude from foreheads that wrinkle into a frown as I approach.

Well, they can wrinkle as much as they like. I haven’t broken any rules.

Sathanas told us to explore. I’m exploring.

‘May I get past?’ I ask, trying to sound polite.

‘What for?’ It’s the taller of the two who answers, although they both narrow their eyes in unison.

‘I wanted to look around. Unless . . . That doesn’t lead to the Old Tunnels, does it? I wouldn’t want to get into trouble.’ I smile sweetly.

Tall Demon grunts. ‘King Sathanas’s quarters are through here. He’s not to be disturbed.’

‘I won’t bother him,’ I lie. ‘I told you, I’m simply having a look. I’m very interested in all Asphodel has to offer.’

The demons blink. I get the impression they’re not particularly bright, which suits me just fine. The slower they are, the better chance I have of talking my way through these doors.

I keep smiling until my cheeks hurt, and eventually they step aside.

‘Don’t go left. Or right. Library only. At the end of the corridor. If you don’t return in thirty minutes . . .’

‘. . . We’ll come and get you,’ the second demon finishes the sentence. Her red eyes flash, and she takes a step towards me, like she’s already anticipating what she might do when she retrieves me. I swallow.

‘Noted,’ I squeak, like I have any way to tell the time. My wrist is bare. I hadn’t noticed before. Not only is my watch gone, but my bracelet –

Panic flutters in my stomach. Mum gave me that bracelet, a reward for getting accepted into her university of choice.

And now I’ve lost it, the way I lost her, the way I’ve lost everything .

I scrunch my hands into my dress to prevent the demons from seeing them tremble, and push my way between them to step through the doorway.

If the corridor leading to the Sorter was like sunshine, this one is night itself.

The walls and floor are solid black. The only light comes from toadstools embedded in the stone, shining like the glow-in-the-dark stars I stupidly stuck to my ceiling as a kid, not thinking about how they’d devalue the property, how Mum would have to spend ages tearing them off.

They pulsate with my every step, as though I’m as heavy as a dinosaur disturbing a puddle of water.

When I reach a crossroads, I hover, uncertain.

It branches into three dark tunnels, giving me the choice of black, off-black, or so-off-black-it’s-grey.

The demons mentioned the library being straight on, so that’s one ruled out, but otherwise I have no idea whether I should be turning left or right if I want to find Sathanas.

Eenie, meenie, miney, mo, which way would the Devil go? My finger lands on the left-hand tunnel and, for lack of better ideas, I follow it. The corridor descends quickly, temperature plummeting, frost crystallising on the walls. Goosebumps erupt over my skin. My breath mists in the air.

Shivering, I debate turning back when, eventually, the path levels out, leading to an open archway. Darkness lies beyond.

‘Sathanas?’

The darkness pulses at the sound of my voice. I approach it slowly, not sure if I’ve chosen correctly and he’s hiding beyond that arch, or if I’m about to make another fatal mistake.

I’m given my answer when my feet hit empty air and I’m standing on the edge of nothing.

My stomach swoops. Above me, a thousand eyes stare down from skull sockets in the ceiling.

Beneath them, though, is pure black. The faint sound of sloshing water echoes from deep below.

I try to back away, but the darkness immediately fills with a thick mist that swirls in the empty space before shooting across the threshold, crawling up my legs like vines made of smoke, latching around my thighs and yanking me forward.

I do not have a great track record with ledges.

The mist tugs again, and I stumble closer to the precipice, hands grappling with the air, searching for something to hold on to before I’m pulled over yet another drop I didn’t intend to go near.

My fingers find rock and dig into it like they’ve discovered driftwood in a violent sea.

Willow , a voice whispers from within the mist. Come inside .

No. No, I won’t.

What were you thinking? another voice says. One I recognise. My palms are instantly slick with sweat, and my tenuous grasp on the wall slips.

How could you do this to me? The sound crackles. The signal was bad during that phone call – she had to shout to be heard over the rain thundering outside. Everything we’ve worked towards, gone, all over some tantrum about –

It wasn’t a tantrum. That’s me speaking now. Words I’ve replayed over and over. This is what I want .

You don’t know what you want. You’re throwing your life away, Willow.

I’m not. I’m not I’m not I’m not –

Give in . The unfamiliar voice returns, and it’s closer now, like whoever’s speaking has burrowed inside my head; the idea slithers around my skull before taking root like a weed left to fester. You know what you did. You know you belong with us. Come inside .

‘No,’ I say, a little shakily. ‘I don’t want to.’

The darkness chuckles in response. The Sorter was right about you. You stink of death and blood. Come inside, before you hurt anyone else .

My cheeks are wet.

All I’ve ever wanted is to be proud of you .

Why couldn’t you let me have that? Mum’s voice plays over the chorus of whispers.

You’re throwing your life away . The sentence echoes, other voices joining in, screaming inside my head along with the screech of brakes and a loud, sickening crunch, and I want it to stop, I need it to stop, but if they think her words will make me concede, they’re wrong.

I am not throwing anything away.

Gasping, I let go of the rock tethering me and force myself backwards. One step. Two. The mist retreats. My head clears. My breaths are coming out too quick, too loud. Nausea swims in my belly.

But it’s over. The only voice in my head is mine.

I inhale musty air I don’t need, every part of me trembling, remembering what Sathanas said about the Void.

How it has the ability to replay our worst memories.

It’d be typical of me to walk right into the one place I want to avoid most. I’m always ending up places I shouldn’t – after Mum died, I developed a terrible habit of wandering off on nights out, leaving Noah to find me hours later chatting to strangers in a dark corner.

He’d pull me away and put me in a taxi, telling me I shouldn’t let myself get into situations like that.

That I’m only safe when I’m with him. When I’d finished crying, I’d agree it was my fault I made him shout and he only does it because he worries.

He was right about that night on the beach too. If I’d listened to him, I wouldn’t be here, stuck in Hell, facing down Voids and listening to my mother on a loop.

If that was a taster of what my afterlife could turn into, it’s another sign I have to do everything I can to convince Sathanas to let me out.

I retreat another step, unable to tear my gaze from that black space, that great yawning mouth wanting to swallow me whole.

I close my eyes and, immediately, I feel more settled.

My body stops trembling. I breathe in, then out.

Again. Practised techniques that send signals to my brain to tell it to calm down .

I’m fine. I’m safe, for now. I didn’t get sucked in. I’m fine .

Then I bump into something hard. And warm.

A hand clamps on my shoulder. A different voice, one that’s much deeper, practically a growl, says, ‘And where do you think you’re going?’