Devil's Punch

I didn’t have the heart to start the argument over again. It would be fruitless to claim I had no interest in ascending—whatever the hell that meant—and it might undermine the demon’s loyalty. Right now, Greydusk thought it was getting in on the ground floor of my regime. So I inclined my head in what felt like a laughable manner, but the Imaron didn’t react with mockery, as I half expected. Instead, it bowed.

“The bedroom’s through here,” Chance said.

I followed, needing sleep in the worst way. It had surely been more than one day in the real world, but it wasn’t like I had a watch that could convert from Sheol to Mexico time. However, my body felt as it had during the worst moments of my life, when I didn’t have a bed for the night and would try to snatch some rest in the bus station while keeping one eye out for cops, terminal employees, and people who had bad things on their minds. The result back then had been this same dry-eyed, bleary exhaustion, so I guessed it had been two days.

Our room had an enormous bed with heavy red velvet drapes; it was worthy of Henry VIII. Expensive tapestries with disturbing characters woven into patterns made me dizzy, mostly because they seemed to dance before my eyes, as if they wanted to assemble into forms I could understand. Chance closed the door and went around the room, looking for trouble. I could tell he was dowsing from the low-grade crackle in the air that raised the hair on the nape of my neck.

“All clear?” I asked when he stopped by a set of double doors.

He lifted a shoulder in a familiar half shrug. “Seems to be.”

Chance flung open the doors, revealing an otherworldly garden. I had no words for the shape of the plants that grew here, but they were dark and twisted, thick with thorns. Their stems shone like coppery metal with a patina of green; each leaf was a sculpted marvel, and the flowers exuded a siren smell, so that I wanted to step onto the stones and bury my face in the petals. At the thought, the foliage shivered around me as if it craved that—needed to slice my skin and drink my blood.

I stepped back at once, my flesh crawling. The beauty was unearthly, but it was dangerous too. “Butch can use the bathroom out here, but let’s keep a close watch on him. I don’t trust this place.”

“Me either,” he muttered.

When I peered into my purse, which Chance had been carrying, I found Butch sound asleep, and despite my best efforts, I could not wake him. He had been fine, after the crossing, but this didn’t look natural. Come to think of it, he should have reacted to Sybella, yapped a warning or something, because she had been a threat. Which meant he’d been out ever since we entered her compound.

I shared a worried look with Chance. “What do you think?”

“Not good.”

Though it was futile, I tried a little longer to rouse the dog. Maybe I had a spell that could wake him, but I was too tired to risk Butch’s safety by trying to cast. Look at how I screwed up the forget fog.

Quietly worried, I crossed to the other door and flung it open to reveal a bathroom. It was ridiculously posh, even more so than the one I’d used at Escobar’s estate. Even the fixtures were gilt. Whatever. I didn’t care what the place looked like, as long as it had running water. And it did. I thought it might come out stinking like sulfur, but it was smooth and soft, falling over my body in a hot rush.

I didn’t let the pleasure seduce my senses. I kept myself on task and used the soap and shampoo provided— so odd to think of demons like Gilder bathing. That made them too relatable. Shaking my head at the additional correlation, I stepped out of the tub and dried off. I had no thought to teasing Chance, as I’d done at the old house we rented in Kilmer.

He greeted me with one of his spare T-shirts. I hadn’t packed any underwear when I moved my stuff to his backpack, but that was the least of my worries. The tee was long enough, and I’d get covered up soon. Gods and goddesses, I was tired.

Chance headed toward the bathroom, and then paused. “Where should I sleep?”

Valid question. But I believed he’d changed. I trusted that he had, in fact, loved me at the end, and he’d been coping with his own shit and hadn’t meant to hurt me. Those were enormous leaps of faith.

“With me,” I said quietly. “The bed’s huge.”

He might not want to, though. We hadn’t talked about my confession yet.

“You sure?” he asked.

“Yeah. Well, unless you’d rather not. I can take the floor.”

Closing his eyes, he leaned his head wearily against the doorjamb; I took advantage of his momentary lapse of focus to swap my towel for his shirt, and then I slid between the covers. The sheets felt like the most expensive Egyptian cotton, all buttery soft, and I immediately wondered if this room was actually all dust and rags, whether the Luren could spin illusions like that. A shudder worked through me. I couldn’t trust anything here, not even my own mind. The Chasm of Despair had proven that.

“There’s no reason for either of us to be a martyr,” he said finally. “I’m shocked…and angry. But mostly I’m exhausted.”

“You think I should’ve told you this stuff before we came to Sheol.”

“I feel somewhat misled,” he admitted.

“You didn’t ask how I dealt with Montoya.” After the words came out, I wished I could take them back.

Chance stiffened. “And you didn’t ask whether I had anything to do with my girlfriend’s death. But that lack of curiosity didn’t stop you from blaming me later, after you ended up in the hospital.”

“That’s true,” I said softly. “There’s no defense. I should’ve told you what you were getting into, so you could make an honest decision. I’m sorry.”

“Was it revenge?”

“No,” I said miserably. “I just…I didn’t think you’d want to be with me if you knew the truth.”

“That was always our problem. Too much thinking, not enough trusting.”

“I do trust you.” Now. I wasn’t sure when it had happened, but at some point during the weeks, rebuilding together, he had become a different person in my mind. Not the same man who hurt me.

“You can,” he said. “But it goes both ways. And that means talking to me, even when you’d rather not.”

That stung, as he’d turned my own sentiments against me. “Yeah, you’re definitely mad.”

“Obviously. But I’m too tired to fight.” He smiled in a way that pierced my heart and pinned it to the back of my rib cage, where it fluttered, caught and helpless.

Our gazes clung, and everything I felt for him swamped me a torrential rush. Please don’t break my heart again, I thought.

Since I’d confessed all my secrets, it seemed fair he should do the same. If he froze me out, the rejection might mean he was more than just angry. “Will you tell me about Lily?”

He stilled, just a few seconds; then he came toward me and perched on the edge of the bed. “Of course.”

“Where did you meet her?”

“In college.”

That much was news to me. I hadn’t known that Chance had gone, although I wasn’t surprised, come to think of it. He had a certain polish that came from education, although I suspected he’d grown up poor. It was the only thing that explained his obsession with money—or rather, the fact that no amount could ever be enough. I still found it tough to credit that he’d stopped doing business to be with me.

I’d caught him researching investments, but he was secretive about why he was looking up tablets produced in Taiwan or Japanese technical innovations. Everyone needed a purpose. I didn’t think he was trying to keep me out of the loop, however; this time, I suspected he wanted to have all his ducks in a row before explaining the premise.

I prompted with a small, encouraging sound. “Uh-huh?”

“Lily was a music major. Beautiful voice.”

If I knew anything about Chance, she had a lovely face too. The first time around, I felt like a consolation