Page 28 of Interior Design for Demons
Then—an image of me in the shower with Apollyon.
Apollyon and I are way larger than life, completely naked in my shower, splayed across that gigantic screen. In the video clip, my head is tipped back, my features tense, my mouth parted in ecstasy. Nothing’s blurred out. It’s all right there, for everyone to see. Apollyon’s back is partially blocking my body, but this is definitely an X-rated clip, greeted with an eager hiss from the audience.
It’s over in a few seconds, and the episode moves on to the final interviews the contestants did when our rooms were almost complete.
But I’m still stunned, paralyzed.
Because they put a fuckingcamerain my bathroom. They recorded me. They can record anything and everything I do, anytime. They’re demons, and they don’t care about privacy, or good taste, oranything.
Something sharp digs into my shoulder. Rath’s claws.
Of course. He didn’t know about what I did with Apollyon, and he—ow! He’s clearly very angry.
The episode is moving into the final segment now—the big reveal, showing each contestant’s fully designed room. I have no idea how long we’ve been sitting in these chairs. It feels like forever and it also feels like I just sat down, and I wish Rath would stop working his sharp claws into my shoulder. Blood is beginning to soak through my blouse; I can feel it dampening the material, trickling along my skin. But I don’t dare move or speak to him.
Is Apollyon in this auditorium right now? He must be—he’s a high-ranking demon involved in the contest. I wonder what went through his mind when that image of us showed up on the screen. He probably doesn’t care—after all, he danced naked in front of everyone at the gala. Will he get into trouble? When he left me in the shower that day, he mentioned that he likes pain, but not the kind of pain they dish out to demons who disobey. He’s broken the rules before, obviously, and paid for it, and he fears that level of agony. Technically the design part of the first round was over when we had our little interlude, so it’s possible he won’t be punished—
Why am I worrying about the welfare of ademon? I should be worrying about myself, because the rooms showing up on the screen are looking damn good. Linnea’s office space is quiet neutrals, with sleek furnishings, burnished bronze light fixtures, and acrylic desks. Aghilas layered black and white patterns skillfully throughout his space, accenting with gold and red, and while the office looks professional he managed to communicate an atmosphere of luxury and decadence. Hisae’s room uses natural elements like wood and textured fabrics and woven wall hangings, with screens to separate the desks. I’m fairly sure they’re all safe.
The other rooms more or less hit the mark, though one has wildly clashing patterns that hurt my eyes, and another looks like an IKEA catalog gone wrong. I don’t knock IKEA like some designers do. They’ve got good stuff. But there’s a right way and a wrong way to put it together, and that designer missed the mark. Probably because of the high stakes. Not everyone can shut out emotional distractions and focus their creative energy.
Charlie Wentworth’s room shows up next, which means I’ve been left for last—again. It’s like someone already has it in for me, even though I don’t think I’ve made any enemies yet. Except that of course the demons are technically enemies toallof us.
The minute I see Charlie’s room, my heart sinks. Not for me, but forhim.
The office space has been painted to simulate rock walls, and there’s red paint dripping down them in a grotesque and garish mimicry of blood. The light fixtures are torchlike, and the desks have iron spikes jutting from them. Heavy dark cabinets line the walls, and the artwork is scenes of horrific torture.
This is what we were told to moveawayfrom. This is the old Hell aesthetic, the one they want updated. Charlie hasn’t made the look fresh or modern—he has gone way too literal with the “Hell décor” idea.
At least, I think so. Who knows? Maybe this on-the-nose stuff is something the demons will like.
Charlie’s room vanishes, and then it’s my face on the screen, my voice explaining my vision—and there it is, my room, the one I designed and executed with the help of Slate and Rusala.
The tips of Rath’s claws retract from my flesh.
The walls are deep, dark gray, with the faintest tinge of blue wherever the amber lamplight falls. I painted massive burgundy florals on that rich dark background, tempered with sprays of jewel-green foliage and dainty white blossoms. The desks are heavy, glossy wood, yet with modern lines, fresh angles. There’s a shellacked coffin standing upright against the wall, like a bookcase, and I’ve styled it with succulents, abstract sculptures, and bins for files and supplies. Velvety burgundy chairs with ornate black frames sit at the desks, and there are pops of emerald green and royal blue in the paintings and the floral fabric of the accent pillows. The room is dark, and lush, and glorious, and it celebrates my love of deep jewel-tones. There’s a glistening pomegranate paperweight on one desk, and a peacock quill pen on another.
I’m so proud of it I could cry. Even if they hate it, I can die knowing that this room is beautiful, that I love it, and that if I were a demon, and this were my office, I’d enjoy going to work every damn day.
Yeah, I’m going to cry. My eyes are stinging, and my nose prickles inside. But then my chair swivels automatically, turning away from the screen until I’m facing those three demon judges and the entire demon audience. Most of the crowd is swathed in darkness, thankfully, but I can make out faces in the first few rows. The judges have taken on human aspect now, and they look far less frightening dressed in business casual, without their horns and fangs.
“When I call your name, please stand,” says Ishtar. She’s wearing a champagne pantsuit now, and the only sign of her demonic nature is her orange eyes and the flickering of captured flame in the stone around her throat.
I’m listening, but I’m also looking, scanning the crowd for something, something—my gaze snaps to long scarlet hair and slashed cheekbones and crystal-blue eyes that are already fixed on me. My stomach swoops and thrills.
Oh god.
I rip my gaze from Apollyon’s face and focus very hard on Ishtar again.
He waslookingat me. And I had a stupid high-school-crush reaction to him.
I frown, calling up the memory of his inner self, the form he showed me at the gala, the gaunt creature of bone and burning, of unslakable lust and deathly desire. There’s no way I couldlikesomeone like him. He’s one-night-stand material, the guy you take home from the bar and then never see again because he’sbadfor you. Bad, bad, bad.
Five contestants are standing now, and Ishtar hasn’t called my name. Is that a bad thing? Or did I miss my name because I was staring at stupid Apollyon?
“Everyone who is standing, you will remain here to discuss your design choices,” Ishtar says coolly. “Everyone else—congratulations. You’re safe.”
It takes me a minute to process.
