Page 103 of Not Today, Satan
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” I spin at the unfamiliar voice behind me. I’d been so absorbed in the painting I hadn’t heard him approach. The man’s skin is worn with age, but amusement dances through his eyes in the glow of the candlestick he grasps in his left hand.
He presses the candle into the top of a golden stand at the front of the aisle, then lowers himself into the end of the pew with a grunt. “Do you believe in angels, child?”
I laugh, and my voice echoes around us, bouncing off the walls and returning to me colder than I expected. “I do. But I also believe in something worse.”
“As do I.” He spreads his palms. “It would be impossible to have light if we didn’t also have the dark. No Heaven without Hell.” He pats the seat beside him. “Perhaps I can help you locate your own path.”
I stare at the empty spot as water collects around my feet, staining the carpet a deeper red, like the blood that pooled around Gabe’s body after Alex shot him—an image forever burned into my memory. The man smiles and gestures to the seat again.
I sink into the pew across the aisle and rest my head on the back of the bench, gazing up at the vaulted ceiling teeming with painted golden stars.
“What if there’s no way out?” I ask.
“My child, there are always choices. You carve your own path, but I’m willing to hear your story and steer you in the proper direction.”
I take a deep breath and study him in the shadows. His request doesn’t appear insincere. “It’s a long one.”
He nods at the windows. Rain taps a steady rhythm against the panes. A flash of lightning brightens the room for a moment, casting a kaleidoscope of colors along the walls.
“It’s terrible out there,” he says. “And the power went out a few hours ago. I may not have electricity, but what I do have is time.”
“If you’re sure.” I unbutton my damp jacket and shrug it off. “I don’t even know where to start.”
“Start where all stories start, child. The beginning. Where did you come from?”
I frown. “You mean like, where I was born?”
“If that’s where you want to begin,” he says.
I focus on the row of candles burning over his shoulder so I don’t have to meet his eyes. “I come from…down below.”
“Australia? I don’t hear an accent.”
“No, that’s Down Under,” I say. “I come from below here. From a place no one ever wishes to see. A place people fear so much they come to buildings like this to try and avoid it.”
His eyes widen, the candlelight glinting off his pupils. “You don’t mean…?”
“I’m from Hell.”
He doesn’t move.
For a second, I’m sure he’s dead before his chest rises with a gasp.
I stand and drape the jacket over my arm, my knees shaking beneath me. “I should go. This was a bad idea.”
He holds up a hand. “I didn’t ask you to leave, did I? Keep going.”
I shift my weight from one foot to the other, my feet soggy inside my boots.
He hasn’t run yet, which is confusing. His eyes remain inviting, the lines on his face smoothed by the shadows.
And staying here is better than battling a storm and facing Attero right now.
I drop my jacket onto the pew and settle beside it, crossing one ankle over the other before taking a deep breath.
It takes hours to tell him everything.
I lose track of time as I detail my escape—minus the ice castle make-out session of course—the revelation of my mom’s identity, and Attero’s knock on our door.
