Page 6 of A Match Made in Hell

Sathanas spins me round.

I nearly smack into him. I’m eye level with his shoulders, and to be honest he needs to invest in better clothing because his shirt is straining to cover the breadth of them – is there a gym in Asphodel, or is he simply built that way?

Asking seems inappropriate, given a) I don’t know him and b) I’m probably in trouble.

He clears his throat.

Oh. Right. I drag my gaze up, over his shoulders, his mouth, to meet his stare.

My throat goes dry. His amber eyes are practically ablaze.

I wish I could tell myself that it’s some strange reflection from the toadstools, but there’s no denying the anger flickering there. I am, very definitely, in trouble.

It’s not like I was trying to stumble into the Void. The whole experience was deeply unpleasant and counter-productive to what I’m here to do.

‘What did I say,’ he says in a warning tone, ‘about bothering me?’

‘How was I supposed to know you were here?’ I fold my arms, tucking my hands inside moist armpits. ‘Besides, I think I’m the one that’s bothered. That was . . . I heard . . .’

‘What you heard was merely a taste of what the centre of the Void is like.’ He cocks his head. ‘Pleasant memory, was it?’

I flinch. I’ve never told Noah the full details of that call and we’ve been together for three years – there’s no chance I’m telling a perfect stranger.

‘There was no memory,’ I lie. ‘Just voices, telling me to come inside. Who were they?’

His gaze drifts over my head, jaw ticking.

‘Lost souls. Anyone whose body is destroyed in Asphodel ends up there, alone, unable to see or touch or hear each other. The best they can do is whisper inside your mind in the hope of dragging you in with them.’ His focus returns to me.

‘And yet you resisted their call. Not everyone does.’

I smile thinly. ‘Lucky me.’

‘Hm.’ A crease forms between his brows for a second or two, and then he shakes his head like he’s trying to clear some invading thoughts of his own. ‘Come on.’

He turns as though expecting me to trot after him like a loyal dog. I don’t move. ‘Where are we going?’

‘ We aren’t going anywhere,’ he calls over his shoulder. ‘I’m escorting you out before you end up anywhere else you shouldn’t.’

That sets my feet in motion. I don’t want to be escorted anywhere, not until we’ve spoken. I came here for a reason, and the Void made me lose focus. Fear spurs me like a tailwind, and I walk at double speed to catch up.

I still need a reason that’ll persuade him to help me. Perhaps a sob story would work, something to gain his sympathy. That should be easy enough. I try to think of something sad. Like the fact I’ll never see Noah again, or Sasha, or –

My hand goes to my wrist, the emptiness there, the absence of weight. Not that my bracelet was heavy, but it was always there , a solid reminder of Mum; a reminder that sometimes I did do something that made her happy.

But that’s one story I can’t bring myself to tell. For fuck’s sake. There must be something else sad enough to make me cry. I’m dead. That is upsetting in itself. I’m devastated on my own behalf, is that enough?

It’ll have to be.

Decidedly, I call out, ‘Wait!’

He whirls round. I pretend not to notice the way his hand clenches into a fist.

‘I need to talk to you,’ I say. My eyes aren’t brimming with tears, not yet, but it’s only a matter of time. I pinch my leg when he’s not looking to speed the process along.

My words earn me an eyebrow raise. ‘I see. And I’m at your beck and call, am I? Here to service your every whim?’

It only takes him two paces to stride back down the corridor, stopping a hair’s breadth away from me, gripping my chin between his fingers and tilting my head to face his. His breath ghosts my mouth. ‘Perhaps I need to remind you how this works.’

My heart stutters. I have no doubt he has more strength in those two fingers than I do in my entire body.

But I also think that if he wanted to hurt me, he would have by now.

I shove his hand away and poke him in the chest. He gapes at my finger like it’s shocked him.

‘Perhaps you should have been clearer,’ I tell him.

‘You didn’t mention where the Void was, so how was it my fault I ended up there?

Plus, you haven’t defined what bothering you means, which –’

I’m silenced by Sathanas wrapping his fingers around the one I’m trying to dig through his shirt. I should have removed it when I had the chance.

‘What it means,’ he says through gritted teeth, ‘is not wasting my time when I could be –’

‘What? Sitting on your throne, glowering at people? You’re immortal. You haven’t got time for a chat?’

He drops my finger. ‘You and I have nothing to discuss.’

I flex some feeling back into the digit as I consider how to get him into a more sympathetic mood.

‘Please,’ I say, trying to convey contrition. The word grates on my tongue. I hate asking for anything, and yet all I’ve done since I’ve arrived is beg for help, for answers, for someone to save me. ‘Five minutes, that’s all I ask.’

He stares at me for a long while, gaze roaming every inch of my face, before turning without another word. I assume it’s an invitation to follow, so I can only hope it’s to where I want to go, and not into a demon’s arms.

I’m in luck.

He leads me into a large sitting room with a bar stretched across the far side.

There’s a mirror behind it, which, frankly, I could do without.

My red hair is tangled beyond belief, and I’ve got mascara smudged down both cheeks.

Dad’s eyes stare back at me, a vivid jade green I’ve grown to hate.

They’re just a reminder that I hardly ever saw the real thing.

As I got older, his business trips became longer and longer, until the day he announced he wasn’t returning at all.

It was all my fault. He wouldn’t have left us if you’d turned out how we wanted.

I snatch a napkin from the bar, muttering about mascara stains as I wipe my eyes.

Notepaper is scattered across the coffee table alongside an old book.

Sathanas gathers it in a bundle, shoving it all in a drawer before gesturing towards the velvet couch – a darker shade of emerald than the walls – and I plop down while he busies himself decanting a bottle of whisky into a glass tumbler.

I, apparently, am not going to be offered one.

‘Five minutes,’ Sathanas says, taking a sip. ‘Go on.’

That’s four minutes more than last time. He must be warming to me. ‘You sent me to the Sorter.’

He sighs, and drains the rest of his drink. ‘A mistake.’

He pours himself another. This time, I clear my throat, and he glances at me, eyebrows raised, before snorting and opening a cabinet to retrieve a second glass. He pours a dram and hands it over without a word.

Perhaps he’s at my beck and call after all. I hide my smile behind the glass.

‘So,’ he says, dropping on to the couch beside me.

I’m hit with that sensation of power again, that aura of rippling darkness that clings to him like a shroud.

Immediately, my smile falls, and I scoot to the far end.

I shouldn’t let one drink fool me into thinking he’s anything other than the Devil. ‘What did she say?’

Revealing I know there’s an exit probably isn’t my best move here. Deflecting, I ask, ‘Why was it a mistake to send me to her?’

‘It seems to have led you to the unfortunate impression we could be friends.’ His arm is draped over the back of the sofa.

Another inch and his fingers would be grazing the tip of my shoulder.

He’s the epitome of relaxed, which makes me all the more tense.

‘I had hoped conversing with one of the demons would make you realise asking questions is futile, and yet, here you are, asking more.’

‘Aw. And I thought you did it because you’re a nice guy.’

‘I’m many things, but nice isn’t one of them.’ His gaze grows hard, and his hand tightens around his glass. ‘Is there a reason you’re still here?’

‘The Sorter didn’t tell me anything true,’ I complain. ‘She said she looked into my soul and saw a river of blood.’

‘Then it sounds like you’ll fit in nicely.’

‘It’s not fair.’ Shit. Do I sound whiny? I definitely sound whiny. I place my glass on the dark coffee table and fold my hands in my lap in an attempt to appear serious. ‘She’s punishing me for something that may or may not have been in my future.’

I leave out the part where there’s plenty in my past she could have used. That it might not have been my future she was talking about at all.

Sathanas shrugs. ‘The Sorter was here a long time before me. I don’t question her methods.’

I blink. ‘Aren’t you the Devil? Shouldn’t you have been here since the dawn of time, or whatever?’

His eyes shutter, and I can tell I’ve overstepped.

There’s nothing relaxed about him now; he’s all tense muscle, sharp edges.

That lick of shadow I spied earlier snakes its way around his arm, coiling power ready to be unleashed.

The wall lamps flicker. ‘Your five minutes are up,’ he says, making to get off the sofa.

‘Wait!’ Panic sparks in my chest.Without thinking, I put a hand on his arm, and immediately flinch.

His shirt sleeves are rolled up, and his bare skin is unreasonably warm, almost feverish.

His gaze drops to where I’m touching him, like he can’t believe I’ve done it.

I should have learned my lesson from the chest-poking incident.

Really, I should remove my hand before he removes it for me, but the room is brighter now; shadows retreat from the corners while flames steady in their oil lamps.

‘She said there was no way out,’ I hedge – this is dangerous, dangerous territory now – ‘but that can’t be true, can it?’

His gaze locks on mine. ‘It’s true.’

Liar.

‘Please.’ This can’t be over. I refuse to give up.

I have to try one more time to fulfil the vow I made the night Mum died – a night I’ll be forced to relive over and over again if I end up in the Void.

‘I can’t be here. I had plans. And I was putting them off because .

. . because . . .’ I have no good answer to this. ‘I was stupid.’

Sathanas doesn’t speak, but he isn’t actively trying to kick me out any more, which has to be a good sign. The embarrassing amount of tears dripping down my face must have finally uncovered his sympathetic side.

‘I’m not done,’ I plead. ‘I wasn’t done.’

He tenses, going ramrod straight, and his head jerks round. He’s looking at me like he’s seeing a ghost. ‘What did you say?’

‘That I was stupid. That I’m not done.’ I continue to fling words at him, hoping something sticks and he gives me what I want. ‘If you let me leave, I’ll be better. I’ll do it right next time. I’ll be good, I swear.’

That strange expression remains on his face. ‘How good?’

What does he want – me to do more for charity or something? I’m always donating my old clothes. It’s on the tip of my tongue to say something silly like how good would you like me to be? but I catch myself in time.

‘The voices in the Void,’ he says slowly. ‘Was it hard for you to ignore them?’

‘What has that got to do with anything?’

‘Answer the question.’

‘I don’t know.’ I wish I knew what he wanted. ‘I got out of there, didn’t I?’

‘You did.’ His tone is thoughtful as he drums a beat on his thigh. ‘Maybe you could do this after all.’

My mouth drops.

‘You said you wanted to be good,’ he goes on. In the dim light, his eyes had been almost copper, bordering on brown. Now they blaze amber again, mirroring the flames dancing on the wall. ‘Would you defy all sin? Denounce all pleasures? Would you refuse to let temptation overwhelm you?’

I’m not entirely sure what he’s asking me, but he’s very serious about it, so there’s only one answer that’s going to get me what I want.

‘Yes,’ I say. It comes out quieter than I expect. I tilt my chin in the air. ‘Yes,’ I say again, as forcefully as I can muster.

Triumph flickers in those eyes. ‘In that case, Willow White, I have a proposition for you.’