Page 70 of Interior Design for Demons
Rath escorts me to my suite and then leaves me sobbing into my pillow.
Round 5 of the competition floats by in a kind of miserable dream. I redesign a files and records room, barely squeaking by with my life, while another contestant loses her soul in the most horrific of ways. My room for Round 5 is decent—it meets all the requirements of each challenge, and it looks darkly lovely when I’m done—but my heart’s not in it. My spirit feels as if it’s already detaching, resigned to its inevitable fate. When I’m on the elimination stage I stare fixedly at the judges, not allowing myself to look for Apollyon in case he’s there and I suffer the unbearable torture of meeting his eyes.
I don’t like who I’m becoming. I’m no longer the vibrant, determined, creative, kind person I was at the start of this competition. I’ve become fickle, lethargic, sad, and apathetic.
And I don’t know how to get myself back. Maybe it won’t matter, because I can’t keep skating by like this. Sooner or later, my lack of vivid inspiration is going to show in my projects, and I’ll be cut.
The Round 5 after-party sucks. The theme is “Black and White,” with a horror-movie twist. I trail around behind Lel and Amanda until the patchwork demon girl calls me a third wheel right to my face.
Rath is in the Earthly plane on assignment, so it’s not like he can make me stay for the whole party. I thread my way through the crowd, dodging and ignoring demons who paw for me, who snag my clothes with their claws and beg me to drink and dance with them.
I’ve learned how to navigate the building better, and I manage to find my way back to my suite after a couple wrong turns. After a bathroom break, I fling myself onto the bed in my underwear, enjoying the feel of the sheets. I’ve moved things around in my room, gradually discarding or hiding the pieces I don’t like, so overall its effect is a bit less busy and excessive. I can look around without wanting to crawl out of my skin.
There’s an ornate clock on the dresser, and I’ve grown fond of its quiet, rhythmic tick, tick, tick. The room is warm, rose-scented, peaceful. I know I’m being watched and recorded, but even that has become normal. I barely care anymore.
Still, I’m feeling slightly horny, and I’d rather not take care of that in front of a potential audience, so I hop out of bed again and turn the lights off. I’m not sure why the demons didn’t install night-vision cameras or whatever—but for some reason, they don’t film what we do in the dark.
I slither under the sheets and touch the cotton of my underwear lightly, experimentally. I haven’t done this in a while. Ever since the night of the carnival, I can’t think about sex without thinking of Apollyon. The heartsick feeling that accompanies thoughts of him isn’t much of an aphrodisiac. And what I did with Rath at the nightclub party sours my desire, too.
Frustrated, I throw both arms above my head and shut my eyes. Forget pleasing myself. I’m just gonna sleep.
Something pops, scrapes, and hisses in the dark, and I sit up fast, frantically clutching the sheet. I scrabble for the bedside lamp and switch it on—but part of me already knows what I’ll see.
The Apollyon-dragon lies coiled around the end of my bed, with his head on the rug at the right side, where I usually step out. His scaly nose touches the leg of the bedside table, and his wings are folded tightly against his body.
“Apollyon,” I gasp, and I turn off the light quickly. If anyone was monitoring my nighttime video feed the last time he visited me in dragon form, they apparently didn’t think it worth including in an episode. It’s more likely that the show-runners overlooked that bit of video, or that Apollyon erased it somehow. But I’d rather not risk it. This past round was a bit lackluster, and I wouldn’t put it past Ishtar to try to shake things up with some more drama. Apollyon’s impending decline into a mindless Pit-monster would certainly be gossip fodder.
“You can’t be here,” I tell him. “I’m not going to be your miracle drug, okay?”
His jaws open, releasing a glowing blue smoke that spirals up to my ceiling.
“Apollyon.” I sit on the edge of the bed, my feet inches from his slender jaws. “You need to leave. Go back to your room and just—wait for it to wear off.”
The dragon looks up at me, mournful crystalline eyes fractured with terror. His mouth opens again, jaws champing, tongue lashing—but no words come out, only a garbled sound half between a growl and a groan.
Last time he could talk in dragon form. But now—
“Can’t you speak?”
He whines and moans. More blue smoke slithers from his flared nostrils, a faint illumination that lets me see a little of his form. His great paneled belly heaves with quick, panicked breaths.
“So it’s worse this time.”
His head rears up on his sinuous neck, his four blue horns like a devilish crown. He looks impossibly wicked and also kind of sexy—and I should go to Hell just for thinking that about an actualdragon. The icy spikes along his spine flex as he brings his long face closer to mine. His tongue glides out, flickering, and I swallow, recalling what Apollyon said about dragons eating maidens. Apollyon and I aren’t on the best of terms right now, and if he’s not totally in control of the dragon…
“Are you here to eat me?” I whisper.
The Apollyon-dragon noses along my cheek, the hot smoke of his breath rippling across my face. I close my eyes and wait, tense and rigid, while he sniffs every inch of my body. At last, apparently satisfied, he nudges me hard with his snout until I scoot away, to the other side of the mattress. And then, gingerly and ponderously, he crawls onto the bed. It creaks horribly as most of his lithe dragon body settles onto it. His tail stays on the floor though; a good thing, because I don’t think the bedframe could handle the extra weight. His claws shear through one of the pillows, sending out a puff of feathers.
“You can’t sleep here,” I squeal. “First of all, I broke up with you. Second, your claws are going to shred me if you’re not careful.”
The Apollyon-dragon recoils, eyes narrowing at my sharp tone. He snaps his jaws once. The rapid movement of his side and flank hasn’t lessened—he’s still scared out of his mind. Maybe hanging out with him for a bit will help him. Last time he reverted to human form fairly quickly.
Plus, sayingnoto a frightened dragon seems kind of stupid.
Good thing Rath’s in the Earthly plane, or he’d have sensed my fear and popped in by now. And that would have been a really awkward conversation.
“Okay,” I breathe. “Okay, fine. You can stay.” With a shaking hand I reach for the dragon’s nose, and he lets me press my palm between the nostrils. “Good dragon. Lie down now.”
