Page 7 of A Match Made in Hell

I did it. I actually got him to offer.

My skin prickles with anticipation, but outwardly I press my lips together and school my face into what I hope conveys innocent confusion. ‘A proposition?’

‘There is one way out of Asphodel,’ he tells me. ‘A series of tests to prove your worth. Pass all seven, and you’re free to leave.’

If it were that straightforward, surely everyone would be taking the next boat out of here. I narrow my eyes. I want what he’s offering me very, very badly, but I’m sure he’s only dangling half the carrot, and once I grab on I’m going to find a shark’s head on the other end.

Given what I’ve seen of this place, it might be a literal shark too.

‘And you’re offering me this out of the goodness of your heart?’

His hand drifts across his chest, as though he’s inclined to reach inside and examine how good his heart is. All too casually, he says, ‘My interests are my own. Just know, although I’ll be forced to tempt you at every turn, I’ll be willing you to succeed.’

He’s very believable. But he’s the Devil .

I have to keep reminding myself of that.

Everything about him is designed to appeal: from the way his dark hair glimmers like it’s infused with midnights and stardust, to the perfect angles of his face, to the way that even when he’s goading me his voice is laced with warmth, like the embers of a softly glowing fire.

He’s temptation made flesh, but it’s all a pretty trap, and I won’t fall for it. I have to stay focused. ‘Tell me about the tests.’

Sathanas sighs. ‘The first will force you to face the thing your pride won’t let you admit.

Complete it, you move on to the next. The remaining six will require you to resist .

. . certain temptations. Pass them all, you can return to the mortal plane.

Fail, you stay here, just as you were before. You’ve got nothing to lose.’

He has a point. Say no, I’m stuck here, at risk from the demons and the Void every day. Say yes, I could still end up in the Void.

Or maybe I’ll get everything I want.

‘I see you’re not interested.’ He rises to his feet. ‘A shame, but perhaps it’s for the best. I’ll walk you out.’

You’re throwing your life away, Willow.

‘Wait.’ The word shoots from my mouth before I can stop it. I can’t lose this opportunity. It’s all I have. I need to prove her wrong.

One final cliff edge. One final bad decision to fix all the rest.

He smirks. ‘Yes?’

Bastard knows exactly what he’s doing. I gulp. ‘I accept. I’ll do your tests. Please. I have to leave.’

The lamps swell as though they’re collectively holding their breaths, and light floods the room.

When it subsides, Sathanas’s chest is heaving and dark shadows swirl around him before dissipating into the air, leaving a burning smell behind.

Once the shadows have cleared, he says, ‘Then we have a deal.’

I don’t move, waiting for some sign I’ve made a terrible mistake, but for all the shadow-based theatrics, the aftermath is a little anticlimactic. We stare at each other in heavy silence, like neither one of us can believe I’ve agreed so readily. I’m still expecting the axe to drop.

Eventually, hesitantly, I ask, ‘What happens now?’

‘Now we begin. The task of pride first.’ He holds out a hand. ‘Ready?’

‘Oh.’ I stare at that hand like it’s a nest of vipers.

I’m already regretting not asking more questions.

Agreeing to do this and actually doing it are two very different things.

Plus, there’s a slight smile tugging on his lips, and I can’t believe anything that makes the Devil happy is going to be enjoyable for me.

‘Of course, if you’re too scared . . .’

‘I’m not scared of anything,’ I snap, raising my voice to drown out the lie. I’m scared of plenty, but he doesn’t need to know that. Besides, I’m far more scared of failing, of ending up in the Void, than I am of his tasks.

And I’ve never been one to resist a dare.

I match the challenge in his expression and march over to him, taking his hand before I can second-guess myself. Palm to palm, his calluses scrape against my skin, and then everything heats and I’m engulfed in darkness, a black so pure it’s suffocating.

The only thing I’m aware of is Sathanas’s hand in mine, solid and warm and present while everything around me has disappeared.

I open my mouth but no sound comes out; there’s a pressure in my temple like something’s trying to invade my mind, and I squeeze him tighter and tighter, desperate for any connection to reality.

My feet thud on solid ground. He drops my hand. The sting of brine hits my nose.

And I’m home.

I’m home .

My head spins. Both from whatever just happened and the fact I’m here – although, I’m not sure where here is.

I’m on Earth at least, that much I can tell.

There’s sand everywhere and, despite the circumstances, my eyes widen.

What if we’re in Hawaii? Or, ooh, Aruba .

Or Borneo! I wanted to go to Borneo on a gap year before university, but Mum said I shouldn’t distract myself from my studies.

I’d hoped to convince her otherwise but then she heard from her friends at the country club that the Noah Millsbury-Davenport would be attending Royal Holloway with me, and that was that.

We were introduced before term started, at some fancy fundraiser at his parents’ house in London.

He took me to his rooftop garden and told me I was the first person he’d ever brought there, that he recognised I was special the moment he laid eyes on me, and I knew Mum was right. He was everything I needed.

That doesn’t stop me looking around this beach for signs I’ve finally gone further afield, but all I see is a campfire in the distance with a group of figures sat round it.

I tense. If I can get rid of Sathanas, maybe I could convince them to help me. Borrow a phone, call Noah. Or maybe I should just make a run for it – it doesn’t matter that I don’t have money (or shoes, I still don’t have shoes) – if I can get away quickly and flag down a car, I’d be free.

But then one of those figures lets out a familiar laugh, and I realise with a jolt who they are.

Where I am. There’s a bite of chill in the air, too bitter for places with jungles and parrots.

This isn’t some tropical island I’ve always dreamed of visiting; it’s an extremely untropical beach in Margate.

Camping with our three flatmates wasn’t the escape I’d hoped for when I begged Noah for a weekend getaway, but I was making the most of it until . . .

Well.

The sunlight is fading, chilling the sand beneath my feet.

Grains rise between my toes. The rush of waves crashing against the shore forces me back, spray hitting my face.

I usually love that feeling, the cold rush of water like an electric shock to someone who’s been sleepwalking, but I don’t need any more shocks.

Not today. That laugh sounds again, but it’s not possible, can’t be possible, because that’s my laugh.

As though in slow motion, I walk towards the campfire until the figures come into clearer view.

My heart pounds. It is me. Sat on a log by the campfire with my friends, wearing my beloved missing sandals.

My head is on Sasha’s shoulder, a bottle in my hands.

We pass it between us while Danny and Michaela have a contest as to who can stick their tongue the furthest down the other’s throat.

I know what night this is.

My stomach twists. I almost wish Sathanas was still holding my hand. I don’t want to be here on my own. I don’t want to be here at all.

I spin round. Sathanas has been following me without a word this whole time, his light footsteps stalking my path. Not caring whether we’re in earshot of the group – or what’ll happen if we are – I demand, ‘Why are we here?’

‘You know why.’ He runs a hand through his dark hair. ‘You need to admit what happened. What your pride hasn’t let you admit.’ His eyes flick to Sasha, and unease makes goosebumps rise on my skin.

‘There’s nothing to admit,’ I say. ‘This whole night was a mistake. I slipped. It was a freak accident.’

‘Was it?’ he asks quietly. He takes my elbow, drawing me forward, and I regret ever wishing for his presence; I want to be alone now, I don’t want to go there, I don’t want to see –

‘No. No.’ I try to wrench my arm from his grasp, and his fingers dig tighter, turning blinding hot for a moment. My eyes sting. I think I might hate him. ‘Don’t take me. Please, please don’t take me to her.’

‘They can’t see us.’

That’s not the issue. The issue is I’m about to watch myself die. I’m about to watch what I did .

No. No, fuck this. Fuck all of this. No slim sliver of a chance to go home is worth this; I won’t watch it, I won’t.

‘Willow.’ My name on his lips stops my thoughts from scattering any further. ‘You’re panicking.’

I am not panicking. If I was panicking I’d be, I don’t know, running or screaming or something. I haven’t got the energy to do either. My knees are shaking, less stable than melted butter, and my fists are clenched so tight I expect my nails will draw blood. I’m vaguely aware my cheeks are wet.

Noah appears in the distance. Without thinking, I grab Sathanas’s arm for support.

He tenses, but doesn’t pull away. Probably because he knows he’s the only thing keeping me upright.

Sand streams around Noah’s feet as he marches down the length of the beach, the town twinkling behind him and chalky-white cliffs at his side.

His blonde hair is streaked with pink and gold shadows as the sun sets overhead. My chest constricts.

Noah.

Oh, God. He’s got a ring hidden in his underwear drawer – I found it a few days ago and, naturally, panicked – and instead of asking me that question he got to find my dead body instead.