Page 73 of Interior Design for Demons
Aghilas is next. Apollyon reads the slip of paper: “Razenath, pride demon.”
Oh my god. Rath’s name was in that cup. I’m relieved and disappointed that I didn’t get his suite. Relieved, because despite our agreement to be friends, I still feel a bit awkward around him, considering our convoluted history. I’m a little bummed, though, because I know him well, and he would have been easier to design for than some random demon.
Negasi gets a gluttony demon, Maksim scores a greed demon, and Zade is assigned to a wrathful demon. Amanda’s demon specializes in envy; that’s going to be a tough one.
I’m the last one to be called, and Apollyon draws the final slip of paper from the cup. I already know it’s going to be a lust demon, a high-ranking one. My nerves buzz with anticipation, and I have a sneaking suspicion that I know whose name is left.
“Apollyon, lust demon,” says Apollyon, in a faint voice that betrays his surprise. He glances over at Dagon, who shrugs his stony shoulders.
This is Ishtar’s work, of course. It looks like chance, but I suspect I was meant to have Apollyon’s room all along, and Ishtar made it happen somehow. Maybe she wants to mash us together to cause conflict, or maybe she wants to catch us having sex during a round, so she can punish us both. Whatever her game is, whatever drama she’s hoping to incite, I’m not falling for it. I’m going to stay professional and treat Apollyon as a client, keeping my distance until the round is over. I’m going to do my best damn work on his suite, and I’m going to move on in the competition.
“One more thing,” says Apollyon. “The six contestants who pass this round will be allowed to request a one-hour session with a soul from the Pit. And each of those requested souls will be granted a 24-hour reprieve from torment.”
Cries and gasps break from the other contestants’ lips. I sit frozen, unable to react.
My father.
My father is the only family member of mine who’s in the Pit, suffering the horrors of eternal torment for his years with the sex trafficking ring.
I barely knew him, and now, if I pass this round, I’ll have the chance to see him. To talk to him.
Nausea lashes through my gut.
Do I even want to see him?
When I first found out why my father was in jail, I was twelve. I had barely learned what sex was, and I still had a pre-teen’s lurid view of the topic. The idea of women being sold, of people being trafficked for their bodies—it wasn’t something I could grasp. I choked on the truth.
Over the next few years, the gravity of what my father had done sank into my soul little by little. At the worst possible moments, a new side of the horror would unfold in my mind—like when I kissed a boy for the first time, felt his tongue in my mouth, and wondered how many girls had sobbed around strange men’s tongues because of my father.
No, I don’t want to see him. I don’t know what I would even say to him… what would Isay?
“I don’t want to see my father, Rath,” I say desperately, turning to him.
He eyes me appraisingly. “You continue to surprise, little rebel. I thought you would jump at the chance.”
“No. No.” I shake my head. “I can’t—we have nothing to say to each other. He hurt me—he ruined my life. My world could have been so different if he hadn’t done what he did—if he wasn’t what he is.” I look into Rath’s eyes, those amber rings around a deep darkness. Tension thrums in the air between us, because the words I spoke of my father could apply to him, too.
“Do you hate him?” Rath asks.
I swallow. “Maybe.”
“Yet you do not hate me. And I have done you far greater wrong. You want to be my friend, I who am not your blood, I who stole you away from your world and struck you. Why am I more deserving of your grace than he is?”
My teeth grind until my jaw hurts. Why does the demon make so much sense?
“I’ll think about talking to him,” I concede.
“Good.” Rath backs away a step, nodding to someone behind me. “I’ll go now, and speak with the designer for my rooms. You’re in good hands.”
“Yielding so easily, Razenath?” Apollyon’s liquid voice glides past my ear, and his cool fingers slide over my shoulder. “You’re losing your edge.”
“Perhaps.” Rath runs thick fingers through his golden hair. “You are as well, are you not?”
There’s a knowing bite to Rath’s tone. When I glance at Apollyon, his blue eyes are bright with caution and alarm.
“I’ve been the one monitoring her nighttime video feeds,” says Rath. “And I’ve held back the footage of your dragon’s visits. I could have used it, though. Anytime.”
He gives Apollyon a tight smile and stalks away.
