Page 60 of Interior Design for Demons
“Yes.”
“Any chance a girl could get a peek into the Earthly plane?” I smile at him hopefully. Everything about Melek is brown—brown skin, brown hair, brown eyes—he has a neatly cut profile, and downturned lips that are also brown, though a paler shade. He’s very attractive, but I don’t feel the same chaotic emotion that I do with Rath, or the tugging connection that I do with Apollyon. I think it’s because his personality is just so very bland.
“I’m not permitted to take anyone through the portal,” he says. “Never been through it myself. I’m a low-level sloth demon.”
“Yet everyone makes you run their errands and do the jobs they’d rather not do.”
“Even sloth demons have to do their part.” He sighs and says dully, “Did you know you’re my favorite contestant?”
“Aw, thanks. I did not know that.”Because you show almost zero emotion.
“Happy to hook up sometime if Apollyon and Rath drop you.” Again, spoken with almost no inflection or enthusiasm at all.
“That’s—sweet.” I force a smile. “But I’m good.”
“I expected so. I’m not powerful or connected like them. Got nothing to offer.” He shrugs. “Here we are.”
The carnival has been set up in the field we walked through during our tour of Hell that first day—the field of gently waving human hair. Hulking tents dominate the scene, garishly uplit with red, orange, and yellow lights, sprawled all the way to the edge of a sheer drop-off in the distance. The rest of the Hellscape is darker than I remember, shrouded in thick rolling clouds of inky black. Probably part of the atmosphere they’re going for. Let’s terrify the little human contestants so they pee their pants and can’t design anything worth beans. Wonderful strategy.
I’m not sure I want to enter that maze of wicked-looking tents and see what Hell’s idea of “circus freaks” is. Besides the obvious insensitivity of the concept, I have a feeling it’s going to be grotesque and gut-twisting. I probably won’t be able to sleep afterward.
But Melek’s hand at my back makes it clear I don’t have a choice. So I inhale deeply and walk forward, into the demonic carnival.
The first thing I see is an enormous demon, easily ten feet tall, with a wicked painted grin, parading around with a couple of small naked humans. Strings attach their limbs to his fingers, and they move jerkily with every twitch and gesture from him. I hesitate, aching to return to my room; but when I look back, Melek is gone, and somehow the carnival tents have closed in behind me—there’s an endless forest of them and I have no idea how to get out. Everything is hazy lamps and scarlet string lights and a smell like burning popcorn, mixed with something sweet and sickening. A soft tendril laces around my bare leg, right above the straps of my shoes, and I jump. It’s hair from the creepy field, coiling against my flesh. I’d better not stand still for too long.
Looking ahead again, I can make out a huge tent in the distance, one with higher peaks and more pennants than the others. That must be the big-top, the tent where the shows would happen at a regular circus. This is anything but a regular circus, and I’m not sure I want to see any Hell-shows, but that tent is a central location. Maybe I can huddle on a bench there and wait until I see someone I know.
There seem to be a lot of shadowy figures milling about through the circus—people who look normal enough until I get close and discover that they’re ghostly, see-through, drifting mournfully between tents. A chill seeps from them, so I tuck my arms close to my body and try not to touch them.
“Souls from the Abeyance,” says a quiet female voice at my elbow. “They’ve been given a special dispensation to attend the carnival tonight. At least that’s what my sponsor told me. Personally I don’t think it’s much of a prize for them, considering the horror I’ve already seen here. But I suppose any change of pace is exciting when you’re dead.”
It’s Hisae, my fellow contestant, and I have never been so happy to see anyone. “Hisae,” I breathe, letting my relief flow through my voice. “Wait a second—you’re not ignoring me or treating me like some kind of pariah.”
“No.” Her English is crisp and pure, with just the hint of an accent. Most of the contestants speak English as a second or third language, for which I’m grateful. And I’m also embarrassed that I only have a bit of high school French to work from. I should really prioritize learning another language—if I survive this competition.
Hisae walks with me, still speaking. “I’ve watched you, Grace, and I know you’re not trying to actively harm anyone or gain an unfair advantage. I think you are a bit careless, not always wise, but not malicious either. You care for one of the demons, yes?”
I hesitate, side-eyeing a naked female demon who’s swallowing a long rapier, pushing it deeper and deeper down her throat. Her legs are spread wide and after a moment the tip of the sword pokes out of her—oh, gross. I look away quickly and refocus on Hisae. She raises her eyebrows and nods, likeI told you so.
“I, um—I do care about one of them—yes.”
“But not Rath, I think.” Hisae’s eyes probe mine.
“No, not him. At first I liked him, but he’s too violent, angry, possessive.”
“Toxic,” she says.
“Well, everyone here is toxic in some way,” I admit. “It’s who they are. Sin and sickness, all twisted up.”
“But the one you care for, he is different?”
“Maybe. Yes.”
I have to be careful. As much as I would love to confide in someone, to do girl-talk and get advice, Hisae is my rival in the competition. And after what Linnea did, sabotaging me, I can’t risk trusting someone else and getting burned again. I can’t give Hisae anything she could use to hurt me.
“What’s that over there?” I point to a nearby tent whose flaps are pinned way back, exposing a rosy lamp-lit interior. I can make out a few small cages in there. Maybe they have some animals on display—not that I like animals being confined that way, but I haven’t seen anything warm and fluffy in so long.
“Don’t,” Hisae cries as I step into the tent.
