Page 5 of Interior Design for Demons
“Why not?” he purrs. “You won’t have the chance to tell other humans about it.”
I swallow hard. “So you’re going to kill me.”
“Eventually. You’ll need to work very hard to win the contest, or at least score a spot as one of the two runners-up. Personally I don’t hold out much hope that you’ll make it that far. You’re likely to fail in the first round or so.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I mutter. “What’s with the competition, anyway? Feels like a reality TV show.” I should know—I’ve watched about a million episodes of different interior decor and design shows, from shows about flipping furniture to flipping houses. One of my favorites is this British show where designers compete against each other to win a big career-making prize. It’s like Project Runway for decorators.
“Demons watch a lot of human TV shows,” says Rath, a little stiffly, as if he’s embarrassed. “Human desires are manifested in the entertainment they enjoy. TV and movies are the escape of choice for many people, so by studying the media that attracts them, we learn how to ensnare them. But a lot of the newer demons are clamoring for more relevant demon-focused content, as well as more modern workspaces. Most of Hell’s decor hasn’t been updated since the Middle Ages. So Dagon convinced Ishtar to torture two souls with one rack, and combine the redesign with a competition that will be broadcast throughout Hell. Even the souls in the Abeyance will get to watch.”
There were so many strange new concepts in that speech of his that I can’t even respond. I just sit there with my mouth open, processing, while neat suburban homes flick past the car windows.
“Hang on tight, Grace. We’re about to enter the portal.”
I grip the door handle and brace my feet against the back of the seat in front of me.
I expected it to be a giant whirling circle of orange fire, or a pit that we’d fall into. I did not expect the car to glide smoothly into the yawning mouth of a dark garage. Only instead of hitting the back of the garage, we keep going in the pitch black—on and on. It feels like we’re rolling down a steep incline, shooting faster and faster into the darkness. We must be going at a terrifying speed by now, but I can’t tell for sure, because I can’t see anything—not even my fingers wiggling in front of my eyeballs. I clutch the stiff leather of the seat and breathe the acrid stench of my own vomit, fighting the pulsing ache that’s starting in my brain.
Tension headaches are a regular thing for me. Normally I would take a couple pills to mute it until I could go sleep off the stress. But I can’t imagine Rath giving me pain pills, or offering me a spot to nap.Here, Grace, you can rest in this convenient and comfortable Hell-nook. Let me know when you’re feeling better.
Rath’s voice slithers through the dark. “Close your eyes.”
“Why? It’s dark already.”
“Do it.”
I’m not sure why I obey him, but I’m glad I do, because the next second my eyelids flash painfully white, then red.
“You can open them now,” he says. “We just passed through a Hellfire ring. Keeps angels and hybrids from sneaking in.”
“Angels...” I say distantly. If there are angels, maybe there’s a chance of my being rescued from this place.
“They’re not allowed here,” Rath says. “They can’t get in unless a demon allows them in for a tryst, but that’s rare. You’re unlikely to see one.”
I blink, astonished. “Can you read my thoughts?”
“No, but I’ve transported enough humans to know their thought patterns. Usually. You’re a bit of an exception. I’ve miscalculated a few times where you’re concerned, but I’m learning. It won’t happen again.”
I barely hear him, because I’m too busy gaping out the window at the landscape of Hell. It’s a towering forest of buildings—crisp needles of concrete and glass resting on massive hunched shoulders of ancient stone. The lower levels, old as the planets themselves, have tiny windows like pockmarks in weathered rocky skin, while the modern sections glimmer with reflective panes, clean and shiny as any skyscraper in the human world—except here, there is no sky. There is nothing, stretching upward into more nothing, and the Nothing continues onward, upward, into black space that keeps going forever—no stars—justnothing. The infinity of it slants my consciousness, angling my brain into a wild panic.
“I can’t—this is—”
“Ah yes, the scope of Hell can be difficult for the human mind to grasp.” Rath sounds bored. “To answer the question you’ll soon ask—yes, Hell is a physical place, or plane, to be precise. Yes, there are depths beneath us so vast that they would blow your mind as surely as this view does. And yes—by magic or miracle you will be able to breathe when you get out of the car.”
“Which is it—magic or miracle?” I force the words out, because I’m desperate to understand just one thing about this place. Just one.
“Miracle, I suppose,” he says. “Your body needs oxygen, and it is the will of the Infernal Sovereign that you do not die just yet, so you will have oxygen.”
“You mean you don’t understand it either? Enforcers don’t know everything, I guess.”
“When did I say I knew everything?” His voice is tinged with irritation now, and the lines of his broad shoulders stiffen.
“There are a lot of modern buildings here. Are none of them furnished?”
“Some are, plainly and inadequately. The building you and the other humans work on will serve as the template for the others. What to do, and—what not to do.”
“And the contestants who design the ‘what not to do’ rooms—they die?” He basically said as much, but I need to know for sure.
“Listen, I’ve told you a lot already. They’ll explain the rest in orientation.”
