Page 57 of A Match Made in Hell
Sunlight pierces my eyes.
I throw a hand over my face to block it out – after missing it for so long, it’s still terribly inconvenient at times – and roll over, my other hand seeking the warm body that should be next to me.
It’s not there. I pat the bed down, just in case.
When it becomes apparent Sath has abandoned me, I force my eyes to open, squinting as light beams through the window.
It’s been left ajar, allowing a warm breeze to enter the room, bringing with it the scent of salt and sea air.
The net curtains surrounding our bed sway gently.
I brush them aside with a wave, rolling out of bed and fumbling around the floor for my discarded robe.
I find it in a heap with Sath’s boxers and what’s left of yesterday’s bikini.
The top half is shredded and the bottoms, I believe, got abandoned in the ocean somewhere.
Shrugging on the silken garment – it’s long enough I can get away with stepping outside like this – I exit the tiki hut and spot Sath sitting at the far end of the pier, feet dangling in the ocean and his head tilted back, basking in the blazing heat of the sun above us.
The wooden boards are hot beneath my feet, and although I should be used to being warm at all times, I still have to hop, squeaking as my soles burn. I drop beside him, plunging my feet into the water before wrapping an arm around him and pressing a kiss to his bare shoulder. ‘Come back to bed.’
He side-eyes me. ‘It’s almost noon.’
‘So?’ If being dead doesn’t earn me a lie-in, I don’t know what does.
‘We can’t stay here forever. Don’t you want to make the most of it?’
I drink in the sights before me: the endless sea of blue stretching out to the horizon, the cluster of tropical trees lining the shore behind our hut, the sand glistening like tiny nuggets of gold. It’s lovely. None of it’s as pretty as the man next to me.
‘There’ll be another forty-eight hours where this came from.’ I slide my leg over his, and he tugs me on to his lap. ‘And another.’ I press a light kiss to his mouth. ‘And another.’
His eyes flare as his hands slide under my robe and discover I’m wearing nothing underneath. ‘You make a valid point.’
‘I make a lot of them.’ I grind against him. He sucks in a breath, tightening his hold on me. ‘Do you know what my next point is?’
He smirks. ‘Go on.’
I bend my head until my mouth hovers inches above his. ‘I think you should kiss me properl—’
His lips capture mine before I can finish the word, his hands roaming my lower back. Lower still. I gasp when our tongues meet, a collision of hellfire and sunshine that burns brighter than both, and I hold him closer, feeling his every muscle through my thin robe.
He goes to untie it, nimble fingers making quick work of the ribbon, pulling the material from my shoulders until I’m completely exposed. I comb my fingers through his hair – and freeze.
Sath frowns. ‘What is it?’
Unease ripples in my stomach. I see flashes of black, a river, hands gripping an oar.
‘Trouble on the boats,’ I say with a sigh. ‘We have to go.’
Sorting is automatic again, the magic sending the dead straight to an arrival area for acclimatisation .
Humans take it in turns to welcome them – Harper’s regularly volunteering for the job, desperate for more people with interesting stories to add to her collection of friends – but despite them being much kinder faces than what I had to put up with, we still get a lot of new arrivals causing commotion.
I can’t blame them. Being told this is your forever now is a special kind of scary, until you realise that forever is a freedom not a finality.
I portal us to our rooms, where we change into something more befitting our station – I can’t imagine what a newly dead person would think if they came across a man in a pair of Hawaiian swimming trunks and a girl who couldn’t be bothered to dress at all – and settle on the throne.
It’s not quite wide enough for two, but, shockingly, I am not one to argue if I have to sit pressed against his side. Plus, it has cushions now.
Harper enters first, waving at me before ushering the newcomers into the chamber.
They enter with trembling hands and wide eyes that dart around the room, taking it all in.
New lighting has been installed on the walls, casting a golden glow into every corner of the room.
Vines dangle from the ceiling and crawl up the walls, braided with garlands of pink and yellow roses that sprinkle the chamber with fragrant pollen.
They’ll soon find the cliff in a similar condition – the rock is no longer black, but golden sandstone covered with more flower-covered vines.
The lava running down the walls changes colour every day, in line with Harper’s hair (I’m not sure how she got me to agree to that one, but there we are).
If they board one of the lifts – the glass now clear, allowing them to see Asphodel in all its glory – and head to the catacombs, they’ll discover the orb Henry was promised in the centre, allowing them to view the real world for a moment.
‘Welcome to Asphodel.’ Sath interlocks our fingers as he addresses the crowd. ‘Your home, should you choose to accept it, and all the pleasantries it has to offer.’
They glance at one another, as though a nicely decorated chamber isn’t enough to prove their initial instinct wrong. That’s fine. I know better than anyone how impossible it is not to fall in love with this place eventually.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ I say. ‘But this isn’t Hell. Far from it. And as for being dead . . .’ I smile fondly at Sath. He lifts my hand and presses my knuckles to his lips. ‘You’ll find, this is only the beginning.’