Page 18 of Interior Design for Demons
“So sure of yourself, are you?”
“Demons are experts in the pleasures of the flesh. Your body can’t be much different than any other female’s.”
His look of disdain offends me, even though I’m fairly sure he’s forcing the expression to conceal his craving.
“You saw my body in the bath,” I say, lowering my eyelashes. “What did you think of it?”
His throat bobs as he swallows. “What can I say—it’s human. Soft and weak. Standard shape for a woman.”
“Right.” I push myself upright, pulling my shirt over my head. “You said you wanted nothing to do with it. Has that changed?”
“No,” he grunts.
“So you would be performing an unpleasant task.” I unbutton and unzip my pants, pulling them off while sitting on the bed and then tossing them aside. “I’d hate to inconvenience you.” I slide my arms out of my bra straps and unhook the clasp, setting my breasts free. “I think I’ll just take care of myself, if it’s all the same to you.” I lie back, slipping my fingertips beneath the edge of my panties. “You’re welcome to watch.”
Rath has been petrified during my entire speech and the actions that accompanied it, but at this final challenge, he shifts his stance, desperation sparking in his eyes. His gaze fixes on the triangle of fabric between my legs.
I twitch my fingers beneath the material and tilt my head back on the pillows.
Rath flees the room, leaving behind a faint smell of campfires and cinnamon.
But he’s still there in my head, a worthy rival for Apollyon in my mental beauty contest. Rath is an infuriating contradiction, and Apollyon is uncomplicated one-night stand material—so it’s the red-haired, blue-eyed devil who takes the lead role in my fantasy over the next ten minutes or so.
Rude of Rath to keep popping up and making cameo appearances during my inner porn movie. And even after I fall asleep, it’s dark eyes that haunt my dreams—eyes like the very embers of Hellfire.
I’m awakened by a shrill alarm, my stomach thrilling with the dread and anticipation of this day. After cramming a roll from the breakfast tray into my mouth, I shower and dress quickly, putting on a little makeup and using a curling iron to enhance my golden-brown waves. When I check myself in the bathroom mirror, I look professional, and only slightly terrified.
A knock on the door reveals Rath, looking very stiff and formal in a navy suit. Two other demons are with him.
“These are your teammates, Rusala and Slate,” he says. “They’re low-level demons from our construction and maintenance division, assigned to help you with basic tasks like painting or building furniture. You can order them around as you like.”
I frown, eyeing the pair. The male demon, Rusala, wears an off-the-shoulder shirt that shows dozens of golden curlicues tattooed over his skin. He has a large gold ring through his septum and several smaller gold rings through his lips, his cheeks, and the skin of his temples, where his hair has been shaved to a shadow. His ears are pointed like an elf’s, and beneath his black mohawk, his forehead is inset with tiny emeralds in swirling patterns. His lids and brows glimmer with sparkly green makeup.
Slate is pale, with long auburn hair tied into bunches, and a series of vertical black lines tattooed all the way across her face, stretching from mid-cheek to mid-brow. The lines are irregular, like the readout of a heartbeat. A single black line runs from the tip of her nose straight through her lips to the cleft of her chin. While her counterpart wears tight-fitting black clothes, she’s clad in scanty red-brown leather trimmed with fur and slashed with randomly placed zippers. When she smiles, her cloven tongue flicks out briefly.
These demons look way too cool and scary for me to boss around.
“Will they—try to sabotage me?” I hate how hesitant I sound, but I have to ask. They are devils, after all.
Rath shakes his head. “If they assist you well, they will get extra privileges after each round. If you are one of the runners-up in the competition, they will be promoted from Facilitators to Enforcers. Their loyalty is thus assured.”
“In that case—” I manage a shaky smile. “Welcome aboard!”
“We’ll escort you to your assigned room now, where you’ll watch the briefing video and then begin work.”
I barely notice the route Rath takes through the building. I’m too busy practicing every mental calming technique I’ve ever heard of.
Our destination is a hallway so long it seems interminable, flanked by doors that all look exactly the same, save for their numbers. Mine is number 37. As we enter it, I notice Aghilas entering a door further down the hall, followed by a matching set of demons with pale blue skin. Interesting. He gives me a nod, and I wave in response.
Then we’re inside the room whose decor will determine the fate of my soul.
It’s a long, rectangular room, about the shape of a shoebox, with gray walls and no windows at all. The ultimate blank canvas.
The only thing in the space is a glistening eyeball above the door—yes, an actual eyeball.
“That’s for recording your team during the design process,” Rath says. “The contest facilitators will also pull you out for interviews now and then. Just a minute or two, nothing that takes up too much of your prep time. Here. Watch this.” He sticks a large tablet in front of my face and shows me a short video.
According to the video, this space will be the shared office of four low-level Inciter demons—a place for them to return after Earth work to write their reports, do research, manage their targets, and receive information on upcoming assignments. There’s a two-minute personal interview with each of the four demons, and then a couple of slides detailing the items they typically need and use throughout their work periods.
