Page 36 of The Devil She Knows
The Instant Pot beeped, and she quickly flipped the release knob to vent, manually releasing the pressure, snatching her hand back to avoid getting burned by the steam that swiftly poured out, the pot whistling shrilly like a kettle.
“Can I let you in on a secret?” Daphne asked, joining Sam at the stove. “I didn’t make you competent, Sam.”
She dropped the cap to the whisky bottle. “What? What do you mean you didn’t—”
“Relax.” Daphne rolled her eyes and bent to pick up the cap from where it had almost rolled beneath the adjacent oven. She stood and set the cap on the counter. “I’m saying I didn’t have to. News flash—you alreadyarecompetent, Samantha.” She paused, lips pursed consideringly. “An extremely competent chef, that is. You were an embarrassment of a crime lord.”
“Would you hush?” Sam threw a look at the camera, thenturned and scowled at Daphne. “Did you forget we’re on television?”
Theyou ninnywas silent but implied.
“Yes, closed-circuit television.” Daphne had the audacity to look amused. “What? Did you think we were on Food Network? Oh sure, we’re slotted in right betweenDiners, Drive-Ins and DivesandThe Pioneer Woman.”
Sam frowned. That was precisely what she’d thought. “Closed circuit? Where exactly are we broadcasting?”
Daphne’s face split into a grin. “The nine concentric circles of Hell. Oh, and Purgatory. But the signal gets a little spotty the higher up you go on the mountain.”
A pit formed in Sam’s stomach. She was afraid to ask, but not knowing would be worse. “And we are … where, exactly?”
“Sam, Sam, Sam.” Daphne chuckled. “Where do you think we are, silly?” She swept out an arm. “Take a closer look.”
Barely breathing, Sam gritted her teeth and turned slowly, eyes sweeping the amphitheater warily.
Okay? It was an arena. It was an arena with stands surrounding the—
Her hand rose to her throat, and she held back a scream.
As if a veil had been lifted, Sam could see clearly into the stands, and she wished she couldn’t, wished she could go back to not knowing.
A heavy, icy rain beat down on the bleachers that weren’t really bleachers at all, but a sloping pit, as if someone had carved into a hillside. In the pit, people wallowed, writhing in waist-high slush, howling like wild dogs,hungrydogs,hands scraping at the mud, their faces twisted gruesomely in agony.
It washorrifying.It was … it was …
Hellish.
“You brought me toHell?” Sam’s voice rose above the desperate din of the damned. Across the arena, Hannah looked over and frowned.
“Calm your tits, sweetheart,” Daphne said, entirely too calm. “You’re only visiting.” She tapped the bright pink sticker on the breast of Sam’s jacket, a sticker Sam only now noticed. Visitor, it read, and beneath, her name scrawled in handwriting too ornamental to be hers.
“Five minutes!” Daphne shouted, and Hannah returned her attention to the plates in front of her.
Sam swallowed thickly over the lump in her throat. “Does Hannah know that—”
“Relax. She’s none the wiser,” Daphne said, pressing the bottle of rye whisky into Sam’s hand, and it took her a moment to remember what she had been doing before, what she was supposed to be doing now, to realize Daphne wasn’t giving her the whisky to calm her nerves or try to forget any of this had happened. Sam took a nip from the bottle anyway. “I cast a glamour over the place; Hannah thinks we’re in Kitchen Stadium. Though, even if I hadn’t, I doubt it would have made a difference. People so often miss what’s in front of them, especially if they don’t know what they’re looking for.”
Sam’s hands shook as she eyeballed a quarter cup of whisky into the saucepan. “Why are you doing this?”
“Doing what? Granting wishes? It’s my whole raison d’être, Sam.”
She added another splash of absinthe to the pot. “No, I want to know why you brought mehere. Why a cooking competition? Why am I competing against Hannah? What does any of this have to do with—”
“Slow down. One question at a time.” Daphne passed Sam the bottle of Peychaud’s bitters. “You wanted to be the outrageously successful, wealthy, competent executive chef of Glut without a taste for crime and with a healthy work-life balance, right? I gave you exactly what you wished for. You should be thanking me right now.”
“Thankingyou?” Sam scoffed. “You dragged me to Hell—”
“You aresodramatic.” Daphne dropped her head back with a groan. “There was no dragging.”
Sam slammed the bottle of bitters down hard. “You promised me—”
