Page 9 of A Match Made in Hell

Sathanas catches me before I fall head first into his coffee table.

His fingers dig into my hips as he steadies me, forcing my knees to stop from buckling. My breaths come out in shallow gasps. Although I don’t need them, I feel winded anyway, like I’ve been punched in the chest. What happened to Sasha?

‘Did she . . . Did I kill . . . ?’

He drops his hands. ‘She missed the rocks. Hit the water. She’s in hospital.’

My legs give way, and I stumble into the side of the sofa, my fingers clutching the velvet like it’s the parachute I didn’t have on the cliff.

She’s alive . Well, at least one of us had decent aim.

At least I haven’t been responsible for another person dying because of one of my stupid, stupid ideas. ‘Will she be okay?’

There’s a long pause. ‘I don’t know.’

My fingers dig into the fabric. She has to be okay.

I wish he’d never shown me what happened. What kind of person I am.

‘I hate you,’ I whisper. I hate myself more.

‘You asked for this.’

‘I didn’t ask to –’

‘To see the truth?’

Tears stream down my cheeks. ‘And what is that?’

‘You tell me.’

I know what he wants me to say – that admitting it out loud is the real test – but the words catch on my tongue like flies in honey. The wings of my admission flutter and fail. I always knew I was a disaster; I never realised I was this .

But if I don’t say it out loud, I’ll fail this task too, and I’ll be forced to live here with the knowledge of what I’ve done forever. Another bad memory to add to the pile if I end up in the Void.

Mum was right about me. I’m impulsive. I make split-second decisions without thinking them through.

Every bad thing that’s ever happened is because of a choice I made – her death, and now mine .

If I’d followed the path she’d wanted for me, if I’d done as I promised after she’d died, I wouldn’t have been on that clifftop.

I’d have been safe below, with Noah, the nice, sensible boy she’d chosen for me.

And Sasha wouldn’t be fighting for her life in a hospital bed.

The thought has me choking and spluttering, drowning in my guilt, and I can’t breathe, my chest is too tight, I’m ready to burst open, there’s too many tears and I can’t get them all out – Sathanas swears and hauls me against him, wrapping his arms around my middle.

I’m so surprised he’s helping me that for a moment, I freeze. His warmth and strength seeps into me, solid and unbreakable while I’m fragmenting around him. I feel the rhythm of his breathing against my back, and I use it to try and control mine.

In, out. In, out.

I dig my nails into his forearms.

In, out. In, out.

His mouth is against my ear; I think he says my name.

In, out. In, out.

It’s enough. Two final gasps and I’m sagging against him, breaths even at last. And I say the words.

‘It wasn’t an accident,’ I whisper. The words burn, scraping the back of my throat like acid.

‘It was my idea to jump. I pushed Sasha. I’m the reason I’m dead.

I told myself I was doing better because I’d made it out of bed, but it was a lie.

I was never fine. I was never coping. I kept saying tomorrow would be the day I’d start over, but tomorrow was never going to come, because it was easier to carry on doing stupid shit than admit I didn’t know how to stop. ’

I was never going to become Good Decision Willow. Never going to keep my promises to Mum.

Sathanas sighs. ‘You’ve –’

‘Everything is always my fault,’ I interrupt, louder this time, speaking with more conviction. I know he won’t let me pass unless I confess it all. ‘That night was no different. I was out of control. Doing all the things I said I wouldn’t do. It was my fault . I’m an awful person.’

‘Willow . . .’ He spins me round, keeping his hands on my waist after I make another attempt at falling to the floor. His brow is furrowed. ‘You’ve –’

‘That’s what you want me to say, isn’t it? I’m a monster. I’m the worst person in the whole world. I belong here.’ My voice cracks. ‘Well, I don’t want to belong here. I want to be better.’

The crease in his brow deepens, like this confession still isn’t enough to satisfy him, but eventually he says, softer than I expect, ‘Willow. You’ve passed pride.’

Now he’s got what he wanted, he lets me go like I’m an emotionally damaged hot potato and stalks towards his bar. He settles on a stool, then pours himself a drink – once again failing to offer me anything – and I’m left glowering at his back while trying to stop my chin from wobbling.

I shift from one foot to the other. I appear to have been dismissed, but I’m not ready to leave yet. Not when I don’t know what awaits me in the rest of Asphodel.

‘Are all the tasks going to be like this?’ I ask, partly in an attempt to make conversation, and partly so I can brace myself for the next one. ‘Watching memories?’

His shoulders tense. ‘No.’

Phew. I risk a step closer. ‘So, what –’

‘We’ll talk about them soon,’ Sathanas says, his mouth paused around the rim of his glass. ‘You should get some sleep.’

I don’t want to go to sleep. I’m a bottomless well of questions and we’ve barely touched the surface. His finger taps a drumbeat against the bar. It’s a warning. If the finger stops tapping . . . well, I’m not sure what he’ll do. I suspect I don’t want to find out.

But there’s one thing I have to know before I leave. I clear my throat. ‘How many people get sorted here exactly?’ I say hesitantly. ‘Is there a list of names I could check? I need to see if . . .’

‘You won’t see your mother.’ His voice is flat.

‘Oh.’ I don’t bother to ask how he knows who I meant. I deflate, nervous energy dissipating from me like air from a popped balloon. In a small voice, I ask, ‘Where is she?’

He turns his head a fraction of an inch, but still won’t look at me. ‘I’m responsible for a few millennia’s worth of souls. You’ll have to forgive me for not keeping track of every single one.’

‘But would you know if she was in Asphodel?’ A fresh wave of panic floods my veins. ‘What if she’s in Tartarus?’

But Mum wouldn’t be there. I hope.

‘Tartarus is for the truly irredeemable.’ A muscle in his jaw ticks. ‘Asphodel is more of a . . . middle ground. Some see it as a new beginning, a chance to live again, free of the constraints of Earth.’

When he puts it like that, it doesn’t sound terrible.

He is, of course, conveniently leaving out the part about the constant threat of demons and the Void.

Besides, I don’t want a new beginning. I want to prove myself capable of living the life I was supposed to live all along.

I want to go home and tell Sasha how desperately, desperately sorry I am that I put hers in jeopardy.

‘With that in mind, you’ll find certain areas are locked to you at certain times. The magic here has a way of guiding the dead away from those they had conflict with in the past. If she’s here, you won’t see her. How can you have a fresh start surrounded by the memories of old mistakes?’

All I’ve ever wanted is to be proud of you . I shiver. At least this means I won’t be having a family reunion any time soon.

‘And then, of course, there’s Elysium.’ Sathanas’s voice is the softest I’ve ever heard it.

‘Is that . . . what is that?’ I ask, although I can guess.

‘It’s peace,’ he says, sounding a little wistful. I wonder how much peace he gets, here in Asphodel. ‘An eternal quiet.’

‘So, Tartarus and Elysium are basically Heaven and Hell,’ I say. ‘Why not call them that?’ Elysium is quite the mouthful if you ask me.

He shrugs. ‘They were named long before those terms were coined on Earth. Why ruin a tradition?’

‘Named by who?’

He blinks as though he’s been shaken awake, and then his face turns to stone. He stands, towering over me. ‘That’s enough questions for today.’

‘But –’

He waves a hand and the door sweeps open, handle banging into the wall. ‘Go. I’ll find you when it’s time.’

I stare at him, grinding my teeth and wondering if I dare argue, but black smoke whirls around him, reminding me that he has all the power here. I’m a bug he can squash whenever he likes. He could wake tomorrow and decide he doesn’t need me to do these tasks at all, and punish me for even asking.

‘Fine.’ I drop into a mock bow. ‘I await your command, Your Majesty.’

Flames threaten to shoot from his eyes, so I hurry from the room before one hits me. With some trepidation, I head back into the entrance chamber and down the golden corridor, further into the depths of Asphodel than I’ve gone before.

Rather than light at the end of the tunnel, there’s darkness.

The corridor opens on to a balcony overlooking a vast underground chasm that reeks of sulphur.

I grip the railing, feeling like I’m one misstep from falling into the abyss.

The balcony stretches to the side in both directions, encompassing a curved cliff face embedded with lights – no, windows .

Silhouettes move from one to the other. Laughter and shouts echo through the still air as though there are people out here somewhere, but I can’t see anyone close by.

Above me is another balcony. And another. And another. The cliff extends upwards with no end in sight; a skyscraper with no sky to scrape. It disappears into a swirling black mist instead. Dark objects glide up and down the walls like worker ants. Opposite, lava streams down slick black rock.

The low thump of bass music reverberates from somewhere below, and I lean over the railing to peer into the sheer drop.

My stomach swoops. The cliff spreads downwards, again too far for me to see the bottom.

Perhaps there is no bottom. Just an endless, eternal city of the dead stretching on forever.