Page 41 of Interior Design for Demons
“Why not?” says a voice at my elbow. It’s Slate, and she’s grinning at my mask as if she knows exactly who’s behind it. “Yes, Rusala told me what to look for. Don’t worry, we won’t tell anyone else. The joke of you hiding from Rath is too delicious. You do know he’ll be furious, don’t you?”
A chill runs over my body. “You think so?”
“He was looking forward to this. Selected your costumes himself.”
“Did he really,” I muse. Rath selected an angel costume as one of my choices? Odd, when he seems so averse to them. Maybe he has a secret, shameful angel fetish. Or maybe he thought it would be like an inside joke between us. We would have made a fine couple—the golden angel and the golden lion.
“So…the band.” I harness my thoughts to a different topic. “Why humans?”
“They’re just better,” Slate says. “More inspired in their performances. Some of our demons are quite good, as you saw at the first gala—but we bring humans here to perform occasionally. There’s a lot of paperwork involved, but the humans get to be famous in the Earthly plane afterwards, and we get fantastic music, so it’s a win-win.”
“Who are the most talented and creative demons, would you say?” I ask.
“Creative?” She shrinks a little, as if I said a bad word. “No, we’re not creative. True creativity is a sign of weakness, an indication that a demon is going soft—reverting, losing their power. No, our demon performers are simply very, very good at mimicking human entertainment. Baal, Sabazios, and Ramu are some of my favorites—but for dancing and singing, many of the demons prefer Apollyon.”
“He sings?” Stupid fluttering heart.
“Like an angel.” Slate snickers into her drink.
I desperately want to ask more questions about Apollyon, but I can’t risk feeding the rumors about the two of us. So instead I say, “Why aren’t you in costume?”
“I’ve been to a hundred of these parties.” She rolls her eyes. “Dressing up is nothing special. In fact, most demons feel that way. A lot of them are only here to try out the faces of their favorites. Brilliant right?” She points to a masked guest wearing Hisae’s face.
“Yeah, brilliant.” I edge away from her. “I’m going to dance. See you around.”
“Have fun pretending to be free,” she calls after me.
Her words generate a cold core of icy dread inside me. Because she’s right—my costume is all about me being able to hide in plain sight, to be free from judgment or influence for one night. But it’s a farce, because no matter how deadly I look or how well-crafted my ensemble is, I’m still a prisoner, dancing among her jailers, drinking and dining between the bars of her cell.
Teeth clenched, hot tears licking at the corners of my eyes, I throw myself into the dance. Fueled by drink and desperation, I dance like I’ve never danced before—a twisting, writhing, slashing, swaying whirlwind of torment. I let demons or humans—I’m not sure which—graze my skin with their nails, cup my rear and my hip and my breast. Some of their knuckles and fingers come away bloody, torn on the spikes and jagged edges of my costume.
Then a hulking form rears up before me, its torn eye bouncing, tethered by a red optic nerve. Its mouth is a twisted mess of slaver and fangs.
I can’t help it—I release an ear-shattering shriek.
The demons around me laugh and draw nearer. “What’s this?” coos one of them, concealed behind a frozen white mask of cracked porcelain. “Did you scream, duckling? Could there be a weency little human behind that mask?”
“Let’s peel it away and see.” Another demon reaches out with blade-sharp claws.
A disturbance roils in the crowd nearby, and through the smoky colored lights I glimpse Rath’s shaggy lion’s-head mask. He has sensed my fear, and he’s here to protect me, to collect me, to claim me.
But I’m sure of it now—I don’t want to be claimed, not by him, regardless of what I promised him by the jade staircase. Though I vowed to be his, I amnot. A broken promise is a sin, but they welcome sins here in Hell, right?
As Rath fights his way toward me, I wriggle away from the knife-like hands of the oncoming demon. Ducking under someone’s arm, behind someone else’s back, I notice a dark-robed figure—is it the same one I saw earlier? It wears a beautiful glossy white mask with silver swirls, crystals, and painted lavender flowers. But when it turns its head, the other side of the mask depicts oily decay, seeping rotten flesh, exposed tendons. It’s all painted, but no less gruesome. Still, this is the only person nearby with big billowing robes. So of course I make the smart move—and by that I mean the incredibly stupid move—of darting beneath those billowy robes to hide myself.
Yup. I dive in, masked horned head and all, and I huddle against the body of the being underneath. It’s stuffy in there, and feathery, and heavily scented with spices and herbs, as if the owner is trying to mask some odor—hopefully not the smell of rotting flesh.
“Sorry,” I whisper. “I need somewhere to hide.”
The person sweeps a robed arm around me and begins to move, slowly and purposefully. I shuffle along, unable to see. All I’m aware of is the throbbing music, and the demons shrieking and shouting, “Come back here, human!” while Rath bellows, “She’smyhuman! A contestant, under my guardianship!”
I keep shuffling, stumbling along, trying to stay under the cloak and keep my head down. After what seems like an eternity, the person stops moving. The music seems fainter now, and when I duck out from beneath the robes, I discover that I’m in a curtained alcove at the edge of the party space. It’s basically a tiny room, with a couch and a table. Unfortunately the olive couch contrasts awfully with the orange curtains—but the ivory pillows aren’t too bad.
There’s a bucket of ice, two glasses, and a bottle of wine—I’m not familiar with the vintage but it looks safe enough. Obviously these alcoves are intended for guests who want a few moments of privacy. And my new ally brought me here to get me clear of Rath and the others.
“Thank you for getting me out of there.” I pick up the bottle of wine. “Do you mind?”
The robed figure stands motionless, its glossy mask placid and unreadable. I can’t even make out the color of the eyes, they’re so shadowed by the mask.
