way.
Back in the underground lobby I peered past my escorts to see that Pride was only one of several clubs that wove their way underground like catacombs. From the murky depths of one stairwell I could hear muffled moans and soon two men in suits emerged dragging a disheveled-looking girl with a tear-stained face. She wore a lacy corset and a denim skirt that barely covered the tops of her thighs. Her struggle to free herself from their vise-like grip was futile. When her eyes met mine, I saw terror in her face. Instinctively I took a step forward, but my move was intercepted by one of the guards.
I brushed them off and tried to sound casual, doing my best rendition of the way the girls at school spoke. “What’s up with her?” I figured the more alarmed I appeared, the less information I’d be given.
“By the look of it she just ran out of luck,” replied one guard while the other punched numbers into his cell phone and muttered our location to the person on the receiving end.
“Luck?” I parroted.
“In the gaming room?” he replied as if the answer to my question was patently obvious.
“Where are they taking her?” This time he merely shook his head in disbelief at my ignorance and walked me toward a long car with tinted windows that had pulled up outside the club. It was strange to see a car indoors, but the underground tunnels, I realized, were wide enough to fit two cars side by side and were meant to serve as roads. The rear door was opened for me and the guards slid in on either side so I was ensconced between their bulky forms. The smell of cigar smoke clung to them.
We drove for a while through the winding tunnel that seemed to spiral into nowhere. Wandering partygoers shuffled out of the way when they saw us coming. Once we moved away from the club district I noticed that these people didn’t seem to be celebrating. They drifted aimlessly around with staring eyes and vacant faces like the living dead. Looking at them closer, I saw their skin had a grayish tinge to it.
Finally at the end of a steep tunnel we came to a towering building that had perhaps been white, but had now faded to the color of yellowed parchment. It must have been at least twenty stories high and classical in style with plaster scrolls above the windows.
Revolving doors led us into a vast and opulent lobby. The hotel was designed so the rooms on every floor overlooked the lobby, giving the effect of looking up into a maze. The showpiece of the lobby was a curtain of tiny fairy lights. It hung from ceiling to floor illuminating a central marble fountain in which stone nymphs frolicked. Adjacent to the reception desk rose an ornate glass elevator in the shape of a giant capsule. Here the hotel staff were dressed in crisp uniforms and the mood was business-like compared to the seediness of the clubs. When I walked in, they all froze for a moment and fixed me with the eyes of vultures before resuming their duties. Despite their seemingly ordinary appearances, I could see something untamed in their gazes, something that made me squirm inside. I was grateful to be flanked by the two burly security guards, as I would not have liked to be left alone with them.
“Welcome to the Ambrosia,” said the woman behind the reception desk in a light and airy voice. With her tailored suit and blond hair wound in a smooth bun, she was the picture of efficiency. Except for her unblinking, shark-eyed gaze. “We’ve been expecting you. Your rooms are ready.” Her cheerfulness belied the sharp look in her eyes. Her long manicured nails made a soft, clacking sound as they moved fleetingly over the keyboard. “The penthouse has been reserved for you.”
“Thank you,” I said. “It’s a beautiful hotel, but would you mind telling me where I am?”
The woman stopped short, dropping her professional demeanor for a moment.
“He hasn’t told her?” She looked incredulously at my escorts, who exchanged looks as if to say
“Excuse me?” I said. “By Hades you don’t mean … you can’t mean …” I faltered. Of course I knew instantly what she meant. I knew from my studies that the literal translation of the place meant “the unseen.” But my mind refused to acknowledge it as true. Until I heard it spoken aloud I didn’t have to believe it.
“Otherwise known as Hell,” the receptionist said breezily. “But don’t let Mr. Thorn catch you calling it that. He prefers the more classical name. And you know how pedantic demon princes can be.”
I only caught part of what she said because I’d stopped listening. My knees began to tremble. The last thing I saw were the bodyguards lunging forward as the black marble floor came up to meet my face.
7
Underground
I woke to a deafening silence. A milky light filtered into the room and I rubbed my eyes to get a better look at my surroundings. The first thing I saw was a sitting area with a fireplace. The last embers were crumbling to a soft glow in the grate, casting shadows across the room and softening the edges of the furniture. The room was richly decorated in dark timbers, and a crystal chandelier hung from the decorative ceiling.
I found myself lying in an oak-paneled bed with gold satin sheets and a rich burgundy coverlet. I was wearing an old-fashioned nightdress with lacy cuffs. I wondered where my costume had gone? I had no memory of taking it off. I propped myself up and looked around, from the plush carpet to the heavy velvet drapes to the vast welcome basket that sat on a low glass table with gilt claw feet. A huge leopard-skin rug was laid out at the foot of the bed. The bed itself was covered in plump pillows and an inordinate amount of tasseled cushions. When I felt something cool and fragrant beneath my cheek, I turned over to see my pillows were scattered with red rose petals.
A huge marble vanity stood against one wall; its mirror encrusted with gemstones. Displayed on it was a mother-of-pearl hairbrush and a hand mirror along with an array of expensive-looking perfumes and lotions in blue glass jars. An ivory silk dressing gown was draped over the foot of the bed. Two wingback armchairs had been strategically arranged in front of the fire. The bathroom door was open and I caught a glimpse of gold taps and an antique tub. There appeared to be no consistent theme to the decor; it was as if someone had opened a magazine and randomly pointed to whatever suggested opulence and had it delivered to this room.
A breakfast tray with a pot of steaming tea and pastries had been left on the low table. When I tried the door, I found it locked. My throat felt dry and parched so I poured myself a cup and sat on the plush carpet to drink it while I gathered my thoughts. Despite the luxurious surroundings I knew I was a prisoner.
Someone had taken away the key card so there was no way out of the room. Even if I managed to escape and made it down to the lobby, it would be crawling with Jake’s allies. I could try and get past them and make a run for it but how far would I get before being recaptured?
There was only one thing I knew for certain. I could tell by the stone-cold feeling in my chest that I’d been torn away from everything I loved. I was here because of Jake Thorn, but what was his motivation? Was it revenge? If so, why hadn’t he killed me when he had the chance? Did he want to somehow prolong my suffering? Or was there some other agenda like there always was with Jake? He’d seemed so genuine about making me feel comfortable. My knowledge of Hell was sketchy as my kind never ventured here. I wracked my brains, trying to recall snippets of information that Gabriel might have shared with me, but I drew a blank. I’d only been told that somewhere, deep underground, there was a pit crawling with creatures so dark they were unfathomable to us. Jake must have brought me here as punishment for humiliating him. Unless … A new thought suddenly dawned on me. He hadn’t seemed particularly vindictive; in fact there’d been a strange excitement in his eyes. Was it possible he actually thought I could be happy here? An angel in Hell? That only proved how little he understood. My only objective was to return home to my loved ones. This wasn’t my world and never would be. The longer I stayed here, the harder it would be to find my way back. I knew one thing for sure: Something like this had never happened before. An angel had never been captured, plucked from the earth, and dragged into a prison of fire. Maybe this went deeper than Jake’s bizarre attachment to me. Maybe something terrible was on the brink of being unleashed.
A row of tall windows stretched along the length of one wall, but they looked out onto a swirling gray mist. There was no sunrise here and daybreak appeared to be marked by a watery light that looked as if it’d filtered down through a fissure in the earth. The thought of not seeing the sunlight for a long time brought tears to my eyes. But I
