I picked my jaw up from the floor and leapt forward, but Dad’s face twisted into lines of anger before I could get between them. He lunged from his chair with a snarl, pushing Myrial hard in the chest with both hands. The demon barely moved, but he did look taken aback.
“No,” my father snarled. “You get out of here. We don’t want you here!”
Myrial seemed almost as surprised as I was by the outburst. I pushed my way between the pair, separating them.
“You heard him,” I snapped. “He’s not interested. Now leave, and this time, don’t come back.”
My grandfather’s eyes glowed with red flames, and his features hardened. He grabbed the wrist of the hand I had pressed against his chest, and my surroundings dissipated. They returned a second later and I staggered, wrenching my arm free. We were outside, standing behind the hut amidst a scattering flock of squawking chickens.
“Keep your hands off me,” I bit out, aware on some level that I had precisely zero methods for backing up my trash talk if Myrial had decided to come at me for real.
“Don’t be dramatic,” the demon said. “You want me gone? Fine. But first, you need to know a few things. You think you understand this place, but you don’t. You think Nigellus is a nice guy—a friend—but you’re wrong.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, rubbing my wrist. “I know about changelings. I know about the Tithe, and I understand this place just fine. As far as Nigellus goes, we may not exactly be BFFs, but he’s done a damn sight more to help me and the people I care about than you have.”
Myrial laughed, a short, ugly bark. “Oh, you foolish girl. You think that, do you? Then let me pose you a question. The Tithe has been ongoing for more than two hundred years. So ask yourself—why are there no elderly humans here? And once you’re done asking that, go enquire about the blood wine. When you’ve done that, we’ll talk again, whether you want to or not.”
With that, Myrial disappeared, leaving me alone with the flustered poultry we’d disturbed. I stood there for quite a while, staring at the empty space where the demon had been.
* * *
Part of me wanted to discount what Myrial had said. But a larger part had already fixated on the question. Why weren’t there any old people in the titheling settlement? I’d wondered in passing when I first arrived why none of the so-called elders appeared to be much past their fortieth birthday, if that. Fatima was one of the oldest looking people I’d seen here, and if she was fifty, I’d be shocked.
After a day’s deliberation, my curiosity won out and I cornered Sharalynn.
“How come there are no old people here?” I asked bluntly.
Sharalynn blinked, clearly confused. “Huh? I’m not sure what you mean, hon. There are lots of old people here.”
But I shook my head. “I don’t mean middle-aged, like Li Wei or Fatima. I mean old, like, white hair and needing a cane to get around.”
Sharalynn was still looking at me very oddly. “Zorah, Li Wei is something like a hundred and sixty. I’m pretty sure Fatima is about the same, though she doesn’t like to discuss her age. And, well, sometimes a person will get hurt and need to use a walking stick until they can be healed, but I’ve never seen anyone with... white hair.”
My heart gave that little hiccupping stutter that sometimes came when you learned something that made reality shift around you, sliding into a new configuration.
“One hundred and sixty?” I echoed faintly. “As in, years? Okay, hold up a minute. How old are you?”
“Twenty-nine,” she said without hesitation. “Like I said, I’ve been thinking it’s about time for me to settle down. I like how I feel now, so I’m considering starting the wine soon.”
I tried to parse that statement, but there were too many things whirling in my head. Enquire about the blood wine, Myrial had said. A horrible suspicion was starting to form in the back of my mind, but it seemed so far-fetched as to be almost unbelievable.
“I don’t understand what that means,” I said cautiously. “What does wine have to do with anything?”
Sharalynn opened her mouth, closed it, and seemed to consider her words. “Zorah, I feel like we’re not having the same conversation. I think things must be really different on Earth.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I think you may be right. Could you just... explain what happens here in Hell? Pretend I’m five years old.”
She laughed, a bit nervously. “Right. Okay, so those of us who weren’t born here come here as tithelings from the Enemy—usually at a very young age. You know that part already.”
I nodded.
“So, either way, we grow up with our caretakers—or with our parents, in cases like mine. At some point—and the timing is left up to the individual, though the elders are always available to give us guidance—we decide that we’ve reached our physical and mental peak.”
I nodded again, more slowly this time. “Okay...?”
“When we feel like we’re at a good age, we start drinking the blood wine provided by the demons.” She shrugged. “That’s pretty much it.”
I rubbed a hand down my face and tried to bang enough synapses together to make her words make sense. “And... once you start drinking this blood wine, then what happens? You just... stop aging?”
“Well, I mean, our bodies stop changing. Or at least, any changes are really, really slow after that.” Sharalynn’s brow furrowed in consternation as she tried to put something into words that was clearly self-evident as far as she was concerned. “Obviously, time still passes. We still get older.”
“What else can you tell me about this wine?” I pressed.
She thought for a moment. “Uh... well, like I said, we get it from the demons. I guess it contains a rare ingredient, because I’ve heard that they use magic to
