Page 56 of A Match Made in Hell

The flames turn scorching hot, melting the snake’s skin until it resembles nothing more than a green sludge.

Another blast, and I’m burning through bone and blood and badness, all the sins living beneath the snake’s surface disintegrating along with its body.

The Sorter cowers behind its remains, her eyes widening at whatever expression she sees on my face.

I have enough time to give her a triumphant smile before the wind tugs on her cloven hooves.

She screams, kicking at invisible air, but it yanks her again – she tries to grip on to the door frame only to discover her precious snake has made it weak.

The wood crumbles between her grasp and then she’s gone, sucked down the tunnel, disappearing like the nothing she always was.

Her screams echo and die.

Good riddance.

The wind gets stronger, buffeting me back, my hair lashing my cheeks.

My ears sting with cold. The demons are pulled, as though by an invisible string, towards the tunnel.

They scratch their talons and claws into the floor as they’re dragged away, while others fly above, swirling in a twister, all of them shrieking, screaming, terrified.

I follow them into the tunnel, squinting as the wind gets colder, more vicious, but it doesn’t affect me in the same way.

Sath and some of the humans follow in my wake, and by the time we reach the gates, Tartarus isn’t visible through them any more: there’s a veil in the way, black and viscous like an oil spill, similar to the river.

The demons fly into that veil, then get slurped through, like garbage sucked through a powerful vacuum cleaner.

The veil squelches and pops with every demon it absorbs.

I don’t know how long we stand there for.

Demon after demon is sucked down the corridor, more than I’ve ever seen in my time in Asphodel, dragged out of every dark corner they were hiding in.

After one final demon flies through, the veil bulges, almost like a burp, and the wind settles.

A cool breeze washes over me. I glance at Sath, and he nods, like he can read my mind.

We take a door each – the metal is heavy, and the hinges groan as we push – and slam them together, closing the gates.

They tremor. They don’t want to lock.

Demons roar in my mind. You won’t be satisfied , they tell me. You’re so angry, Willow. Who will you hurt, if you abandon us here? Them. They show me images of Sath in chains. Harper, beaten on the floor. I’m holding a blade. I’m on fire. I’m a wicked queen, sat on a throne alone.

You’re wrong , I hiss at them. My muscles strain as I fight to keep the doors closed. They push back at me, turning hot. But I’m stronger, my flames hotter; I fling them at the doors, picturing them going through the metal, the veil, piercing those waiting on the other side. They flinch.

Sath’s hand slides over to mine. Humans touch my arm, offering their support. I shove the gates again, harder this time.

‘ Lock ,’ I scream. I let my hope for this place burn through all my sins, let my desire to do good, to do right by everyone around me, replace any dark thought I have.

Dark thoughts that wouldn’t have been dark at all if only I’d grown up with someone willing to see the light.

Anger was a coping mechanism; too much time spent pretending to be someone else meant that the real me became unleashed in all the worst ways, unable to contain herself at the most inopportune times.

But all the parts of me are free now, and that hopeful part glows in my chest, brighter and brighter, until there’s no anger left. Nobody can tell me what to do any more, and certainly not one of them .

I wedge my shoulder against the gates, and the demons on the other side stagger back as though they can feel the blow. ‘Lock,’ I say again. ‘You don’t belong here. Lock .’

And they do.

Bolts slide into place. Hot, dripping metal flows to fill every gap. Chains drop from the ceiling and interlink with freshly formed padlocks. Bolt after bolt, chain after chain, until the doors are barely visible behind loops of iron.

There’s one final shudder, and everything goes still.

For the first time in a long time, my mind is my own.

Silence descends, like we’ve all taken a collective breath. Waiting to see if it works. If I’ve done enough.

Finally, I let go of the gates, and step away. Nothing happens. The tunnel is already brighter, and the cracks in the stone walls have begun to heal, stitching together into a solid sheet of golden rock.

‘Is it over?’ I ask.

Sath looks as amazed as I feel. ‘It is.’

We did it. We did it. It doesn’t feel real.

My heart jolts as I spy a bloodstained Harper in the crowd, propped up by Amelia and Henry, and tears prick the corner of my eyes.

I may have pushed one friend over a cliff edge, but I’ve now lifted countless others back up, and the closed gates are the safety net we need should we ever fall again.

I run my hands over the chains, feeling the pulse of magic thrum beneath my palms, a steady heartbeat no longer at risk of a coronary. We did it .

Sath’s low voice murmurs in my ear, ‘Maybe I should keep my distance. Don’t forget, these gates are only stable as long as you are.’

There’s a promise in his gaze that suggests he has no intention of keeping his distance, and he fully intends to make one particular sin difficult for me at all times.

I can’t say I mind.

If we didn’t have a captive audience, I’d show him how well I can resist sin right here in front of the gates.

I settle for sliding my arm around his waist instead, sinking against his side, before turning to the waiting humans.

They’re shaky and dazed, staring at the gates with a mixture of shock and disbelief, like they’re expecting them to burst open and reveal a fresh onslaught of demons.

Wanting to assure them things will be different from now on, I issue my first order as queen; one which I hope sets the tone for the rest of my demon-free rule. ‘Let’s clean up Dionysus. I’m in the mood for a party.’