night ….” I tried to speak in what I hoped was an assertive tone, but Jake cut me off by waving his hand irritably.
“Enough excuses. I’m not taking no for an answer, so hurry up and get ready.” It struck me that he could be capable of such erratic mood swings. One moment he could be dark and threatening and the next as excited as a schoolboy. Suddenly his tone became more upbeat and he smiled. “Besides, I want to show you off!”
I threw Tucker an imploring look, but his face had returned to its previous expressionless mask. There was nothing he could say or do that wouldn’t get us both into hot water.
“I just want to be left alone,” I said to Jake.
“Bethany, you must understand that there are certain duties attached to your new position. There are important people who are anxiously waiting to meet you. So … I’ll be back in twenty minutes and you’ll be ready.” It was not a request. He was almost out the door when he paused as if a new idea had just occurred to him. “By the way,” he said over his shoulder. “Wear pink tonight. They’ll get a kick out of that.”
Dinner was held in a lavish underground dining room lit by a screen of fire at one end. In place of wall hangings the room had an array of weaponry, including Roman shields, spiked maces, and long blunt stakes — the kind Vlad the Impaler might’ve had in his fourteenth-century Romanian castle.
As Jake and I were the first to arrive, we stood in the flagged foyer as waiters served up finger food on silver platters and French champagne from tall flutes. Peals of frivolous laughter heralded the arrival of the other guests. Looking around I saw they were mostly made up of elite members of Jake’s court. Everyone who approached Jake to pay his or her respects eyed me with unconcealed fascination. Most were dressed elaborately in leather and fur. In my powder pink dress with its scalloped neckline and full knee-length skirt, I felt distinctly out of place. I was relieved to find that I couldn’t see Asia anywhere. I wondered whether her exclusion was intentional. I was sure it would only fuel her resentment toward me.
After a brief lapse of time a gong signaled the commencement of dinner and we were all ushered to our places at the long oak table in the dining room. As host, Jake was seated at the center. Grim-faced, I slunk into my designated seat beside him. Sitting directly in front of us were Diego, Nash, and Yates, whom I’d first encountered in the pit. With them were three strikingly dressed women. In fact, all the assembled guests were beautiful, both male and female alike, but in a strange and frightening way. Their features were perfectly crafted as if from glass and yet they looked so different from Ivy and Gabriel. I felt a pang thinking of my brother and sister, immediately followed by the sting of tears. I bit down hard on my lower lip to hold them back. I might be naive, but I knew how unwise it would be to show vulnerability in front of company like this.
I studied the faces around me. They were rapacious, conceited, and sharp eyed. Their senses seemed accentuated, as if they could hone in on scents and sounds like wild animals programmed to hunt. I knew they could make themselves appear as seductive and tempting as ever when luring human prey. Although their beauty was striking, there were times when I caught fleeting glimpses as subtle as a passing shadow of their real features that lay beneath the masks of perfection. What I saw made me recoil. I could not suppress my shock when I realized that they merely assumed the guise of humans for outward appearances.
In their true form the demons were anything but perfect. Their actual faces were beyond horrifying. I found myself staring at a statuesque female with coils of chocolate brown hair. Her skin was milky pale; her almond eyes an electric blue. Her delicately hooked nose and round shoulders made her look like a Grecian goddess. But beneath the glamorous exterior she was an image of putrefaction. Her skull was misshapen, with a bulging forehead and a chin as pointed as a dagger. Her skin was mottled and bruised, as if someone had beaten her, and her face was covered in weeping sores and welts. Her nose was pushed up into her head so that it resembled a snout. She was bald apart from patches of thin, matted hair that hung around her face. Her real eyes were cloudy and red rimmed and her mouth was little more than a slot through which you could glimpse stumps of teeth and rotting gums when she threw back her head and laughed. I saw similar flashes all around the table and felt my stomach begin to churn.
“Try not to stare,” Jake admonished in my ear. “Just relax and don’t focus on it.” I complied and found that once I took his advice, the flashes stopped and faces of the party returned to their cruel but beautiful masks. My lack of enthusiasm eventually drew their attention and was misconstrued as rudeness.
“What’s the matter, Princess?” Diego asked from across the table. “Our hospitality not up to your standards?” If the group had been holding back until then, Diego’s comment served as a catalyst, encouraging others to voice their thoughts.
“My, my, an angel in Hell,” chuckled a redhead I’d heard Jake address as Eloise. “Who would have thought we’d see the day?”
“Is she staying long?” complained a man with a fastidiously groomed beard. “She reeks of virtue and it’s giving me a headache.”
“What did you expect, Randall?” someone snorted. “The righteous ones are always exhausting to have around.”
“Is she a virgin?” the redhead asked. “I haven’t seen one of those down here in a while. Can we have some fun with her, Jake?”
“Oh, yes, let’s share her!”
“Or sacrifice her. I hear virgin blood can do wonders for the complexion.”
“Does she still have her wings?”
“Of course she does, you moron, she won’t lose those for a while.”
I sat up straighter, alarmed by the implication that I might soon be wingless, but Jake touched my elbow reassuringly and flashed me a look that said he’d explain everything later.
“You’ve outdone yourself this time, Majesty,” pandered another guest.
The voices blurred together in an orchestra of babble. They were like a group of children competing to see who could draw the most attention. Jake tolerated their antics for a while before slamming his fist down on the table so hard the crockery rattled.
“Enough!” he shouted above the rising chatter. “Bethany is not available for rent nor did I bring her here to face an inquisition. Kindly remember that she is my guest.” Some of the demons looked abashed about having unintentionally displeased their host.
“Exactly,” concurred Nash in a fawning manner. He raised his glass. “Allow me to be the first to propose a toast.”
For the first time my attention was drawn to the table, laden with all manner of delicacies. All the food on offer was rich and extravagantly prepared. Someone had gone to extreme lengths to set the table so that the linen napkins, the silverware, and the crystal were all accurately aligned. There was roasted pheasant, pates and terrines, wheels of soft cheeses on timber boards, and platters of exotic fruits. The dusty bottles of wine seemed to outnumber the people. The demons evidently didn’t believe in self-denial and the deadly sin of gluttony was probably a desirable trait here.
I made no effort to touch my glass although they were watching me expectantly. Under the table Jake prompted me by tapping my foot lightly with his. His face seemed to say,
“To Jake and his charming new acquisition,” Nash continued, giving up on waiting for me to participate.
“And to our eternal source of guidance and inspiration,” added Diego, giving me a withering look. “Lucifer, god of the Underworld.”
I don’t know why I chose that moment to speak. I wasn’t feeling particularly brave so perhaps it was sheer indignation that allowed me to find my voice.
“I wouldn’t call him a god, exactly,” I said flippantly.
There was an appalled silence during which Jake looked at me, astounded by my stupidity. His ability to protect me in Hades must have limits and I’d very possibly just crossed the line. Then Yeats broke the tension by clapping his hands and erupting into laughter. The others followed, equally eager to gloss over my faux pas rather than linger on it and spoil the evening. Yeats looked at me with amusement in his eyes, but the threat in his voice was unmistakable.
“I hope you get to meet Big Daddy soon. He’s gonna love you.”
“Big Daddy?” I remembered Hanna using the same absurd nickname. It sounded like something out of a gangster movie. “You can’t be serious,” I said. “You actually call him that?”
“You’ll find we’re not big on formalities down here,” Yeats continued. “Just one big happy family.”
