Page 8 of Interior Design for Demons
“Idiot girl,” he snaps. “Why would you do something like that?”
“You said I was immortal.”
“Temporarily. Temporarily immortal from inadvertent harm, from accidental death. Not immune or invincible to everything. Do you realize how long it would take to put you back together after a fall like that? You would miss out on orientation at the very least, and possibly the first part of the contest. And I would have failed my assignment.”
“Oh.” I didn’t realize any of that. Didn’t think it through—not that I mind if he fails his freaking assignment. He can go to Hell for all I care.
Except we’re already in Hell. I snort a laugh through my tears of pain. My shaking fingers flutter over the seeping wound in one shoulder. “So your solution was to seriously wound me?”
“This? I can fixthis. What I can’t fix easily is the shattered soul and body of a suicide on the floor of Hell’s atrium.” Rath grips both my shoulders, and a whine of agony escapes me. A moment later, the pain recedes, and his face becomes correspondingly grim. He’s taking my pain away, and healing me as well. In moments, nothing is left of my wounds but a faint flicker of hurt and a series of small scars along each of my shoulders. I probe the scars wonderingly.
“My healing power is intended for repairing the bodies of torture victims so they can be tortured again,” he says stiffly. “It’s not cosmetic in nature.”
“It’s—it’s fine. I don’t mind the scars. I’m just—I’m sorry I caused you more pain with what I did.”
He glares. “Did you just apologize to me? The demon who kidnapped you and carried you off to participate in a design contest to the death?”
“I—guess so?”
“Stop it. No apologizing, and no more trying to end yourself. Just—stop. Stop doing everything except thinking like an interior designer. That’s what we need you for—nothing else.Nothing else.” He says the last two words quietly, firmly, as if he’s reminding himself as well as me.
“Well, well—life is going to be more interesting with her around, isn’t it?” Apollyon lands on the ledge, vanishing a pair of cerulean dragon wings. “I could have caught her, of course, but you made it clear she was yours to manage. I see you’ve done your usual sloppy healing job on her. Just let me clean up the blood, and then we can finally introduce her to the other contestants.” Apollyon passes his fingers over the blood-soaked shoulders of my blouse, and the gore disappears. “I’m sure everyone is dying to meet you, darling.”
The orientation room is large and plain, with gray walls and rows of cold metal folding chairs. There’s a huge screen at the front of the room.
“I didn’t expect Hell to be so—corporate,” I murmur aside to Rath. “It’s weird. I thought there’d be more screaming, and chains, and fire.”
Apollyon leans in from my other side, his voice like a silken noose. “If you like I can chain you up later. I’ll make you writhe and burn and scream.”
I look at him, into those blue serpent’s-eyes of his. Would he really have sex with someone like me? Why, when he could have his pick of human women? Sure, I’m pretty, but I’m no supermodel.
Normally I’d be praising my lucky stars that someone as beautiful as Apollyon wanted to sleep with me. But I have a feeling that sex with him would involve more pain and torment than I’d be comfortable with.
Thankfully I don’t have to answer Apollyon, because Rath hustles me into a row of chairs and pushes me onto a seat. I twist my hands nervously in my lap and stare around at the other twelve humans in the room. A couple of them are weeping quietly. The head of one burly man lolls aside, drool sliding from the corner of his mouth.
“That one kept fighting,” whispers Apollyon in my ear. “We had to subdue him.” He winks at me before striding on down the aisle, toward the front of the room.
Most of the other humans’ faces reflect my own terror and anxiety. There are people of varying races, ages, and nationalities here, all of them very attractive. A man with deep umber skin, wearing a blue suit, turns around in the row ahead and gives me a commiserating half-smile and nod. He’s probably in his forties. The woman a few seats away from him is Asian, wearing a ratty brown hoodie that says “With coffee, everything is possible,” and a pair of pink leggings. Her hair is bunched in a messy knot on top of her head. I wonder if a demon snatched her right out of bed.
“Welcome, everyone, to Hell’s first interior design competition!” Apollyon spreads his arms as if he expects us all to burst into applause. When we don’t, he moves into a short speech, flowery and full of innuendos. Finally, after Rath clears his throat very loudly, Apollyon steps aside, and the lights dim while the screen comes alive.
It’s an animated presentation with oddly cheerful graphics, and it lays everything out for us as clearly as possible. Each human in this room has skill or expertise in room decor and design. We will compete against each other in several rounds featuring different design challenges or assignments.
“At every elimination, one contestant will lose their soul,” the voice-over announces cheerfully. “The final round of the competition involves the three remaining contestants.” Three red stick figures pop up on the screen. “The second runner-up gets to survive and return to the human world after a memory wipe.” One of the stick figures dances off the screen. “The first runner-up will survive, return to the human world, and receive the job offer of their dreams.” Another stick figure is showered with cash and dances off-screen, carrying an armful of bills.
The final stick figure grows larger in the center of the screen. “The winner of the contest will be awarded riches, long life and health beyond the normal human span, and one more very special prize. Each contestant has a loved one, a friend or family member, who has been sent into the Pit for terrible sins committed during their lifetime.”
The stick figure vanishes and the screen fills with a roaring darkness, shot through with fire and fangs and razor blades. A writhing human form appears in the center of the tornado of blades, and we watch, horrified, as its skin is singed off, its flesh is flayed away, and its bones are shaved down to nothing. The human reforms, screaming, and the horrific disassembly begins again.
I am sweating, shaking, my arms rigid, my fingers gripping the edges of my chair.
The Pit. A loved one of mine is in the Pit.
It’s Dad. It must be. He’s there, in that place, with those terrible things happening to him over and over.
“Naturally, each one of you wants to save your loved one from this eternal fate. The winner of the contest may request one soul to be taken from the Pit and placed in the Abeyance.”
A new image flashes onto the screen, and I nearly moan with relief. The Abeyance is bland and gray, a vast maze of concrete and mist where souls wander aimlessly in eternal boredom. But after the bone-deep torture of the Pit, it looks like a damn paradise.
