Hades (17 page)

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 al 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 eventual y 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 Hel ,” 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, Randal ?” 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 stil 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 unintentional y

displeased their host.

“Exactly,” concurred Nash in a fawning manner. He

raised his glass. “Al ow me to be the first to propose a

toast.”

For the first time my attention was drawn to the table,

laden with al manner of delicacies. Al 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 al 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,
Don’t embarrass me now.
But I had little interest in

helping him save face in front of his entourage.

“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 al owed me to find my voice.

“I wouldn’t cal him a god, exactly,” I said flippantly.

There was an appal ed 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 fol owed,

equal y 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 actual y

cal him that?”

“You’l find we’re not big on formalities down here,” Yeats

continued. “Just one big happy family.”

“Sometimes we cal him Papa Luce,” Eloise chimed in

as she downed the contents of her wineglass. “Maybe he’l

let you too when you get to know him better.”

“I have no intention of cal ing him anything,” I proclaimed.

“That’s a shame,” said Yeats. “Seeing as you’re here at

his behest.”

What did that even mean? I glowered at Jake to show

him I demanded an explanation. He smiled at me wanly as

he sipped his wine. He held my glass out to me, indicating I

should do likewise.

“Why don’t we talk about this later, darling,” he said with

an exaggerated sigh. He wrapped a proprietary arm

around my shoulders and tucked a strand of hair that had

come loose behind my ear. “Tonight’s about having fun;

business can wait.”

The demons eventual y lost interest in me and focused

their attention on eating and drinking themselves into a

stupor. Their appetites were voracious given their svelte

forms. After an interval of several hours a few guests rose

to excuse themselves. I saw them stagger and disappear

behind a stone partition leading to an inner chamber.

Sounds of retching and grunting fol owed by the sound of

running water filtered out, but no one seemed to take any

notice. Then the guests would return to the table, dab

delicately at the corners of their mouths with their napkins,

and resume eating.

“Where did they go?” I said, leaning in to Jake.

Diego overheard and answered on his behalf. “To the

vomitorium, of course. Al the best eateries have them

these days.”

“That’s disgusting,” I said, looking away.

Jake shrugged. “Many cultural practices seem disgusting

to outsiders. Beth, you haven’t touched a thing. I hope the

vomitorium thing hasn’t put you off.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Rejecting the food was a symbolic gesture, but I knew

that I couldn’t keep it up indefinitely. I was fading away and

sooner or later I would need sustenance if I planned to

survive. Jake frowned with displeasure.

“You real y should try a little something. Are you sure I

can’t tempt you with anything?” He lifted a fruit platter and

placed it in front of me. The fruit looked plump and

delicious, like it had just been picked and drops of dew stil

clung to the skin. “How about a cherry?” He dangled one in

front of me invitingly and I heard my stomach growl. “Or a

persimmon. Have you ever tried one?” He cut one open

with a knife, exposing the juicy yel ow flesh inside. He slid a

piece onto the end of his knife and offered it to me.

I wanted to turn my face away, but the scent was

intoxicating. I was sure ordinary food didn’t smel this

tempting. The smel seemed to lodge inside my head,

taunting me. Maybe one little mouthful of fruit couldn’t hurt? I

felt a dizzying sense of relief at the idea. But that wasn’t

normal. Food was supposed to serve as sustenance, as

fuel for the body. That was how Gabriel had always

described it. I’d experienced the sensation of physical

hunger many times on earth, but this was like a craving.

Hungry or not, there was no way I was going to share food

with Jake Thorn. I pushed the plate roughly away.

“In time,” Jake said, almost consoling himself. “You’re

strong, Beth, but not so strong that I can’t break you.”

When the feasting was over, the party wandered in a

different direction to an open candlelit space where

cushions and lounges were scattered across the floor. The

mood seemed less languid now as the guests began to

stroke and caress one another with growing urgency. There

was no coupling off, just a press of bodies with the single

intent of seeking gratification. One man leered at Eloise,

who responded by tearing off his shirt with her teeth. I

turned modestly away when she began licking his chest

and he responded with moans of excitement. Jake and I

were the only ones stil seated.

“Not joining them?” I chal enged him.

“Debauchery gets a bit old after two thousand years.”

“Trying celibacy for a change?” My tone could not have

been more caustic.

“No, just looking for something more.” He gazed at me in

a way I found disconcerting and almost a little bit sad.

“Wel , you’re not going to find it with me,” I said sternly.

“Maybe not tonight. But perhaps one day I’l win your trust.

I can afford to be patient. After al , I’ve got al of eternity to

try.”

Eventual y my glumness proved too much even for Jake

because he merciful y let me retire early and I was returned

to the relative safety of Hotel Ambrosia via a limousine.

Tucker was already waiting for me in the lobby, ostensibly

there to escort me to my room.

“How do you stand it?” I fumed as we got into the

elevator.

“How does anyone stand being here? It’s so horrible and

empty.” Tucker gave me a meaningful look and then

pressed a button I guessed wouldn’t take us to the

penthouse floor.

“Fol ow me,” he said simply.

We got out of the elevator and walked in silence through

a deserted corridor until we reached a rich tapestry

hanging on the far wal . The colored silk threads had been

deftly woven to depict a flock of demons as feathered and

clawed birds of prey, descending on a mortal man chained

to a rock. Some tore at his flesh while others

disemboweled him. Even through the fabric, the expression

of agony on the man’s face was so vivid that I shuddered.

Tucker pul ed the tapestry aside to reveal a flight of steps

chiseled into the stone. They seemed to lead deep

underground, into the very core of the hotel. The air smel ed

different here, musty and dank compared with the perfumed

lobby. There were no lights so I couldn’t see more than a

hand’s breadth in front of me.

“Stay close,” Tucker said.

I descended after him, clutching the back of his shirt to

make sure I didn’t lose sight of him in the suffocating

darkness. The staircase was narrow and winding, but we

managed to find our way to the bottom. When Tucker

stopped, a brazier on the wal flickered into life. We

seemed to be in an underground canal, fil ed with murky,

green water. A breeze swirled around my feet and if I

pricked my ears and listened very careful y, I thought I could

hear the sound of voices whispering my name. Moss

covered the earthen wal s and water dripped from the roof

of the tunnel. I noticed a wooden dinghy was moored by a

platform near the steps. Tucker untied it and tossed the

rope aside.

“Get in,” he said. “And try not to make any noise. We

don’t want to disturb anything.” I didn’t like the way he said

“anything” rather than “anyone,” and it unsettled me.

“Like what?” I asked, but Tucker focused his attention on

directing the boat and refused to elaborate further. While

the oars sliced silently through the muddy water of the canal

I sat rigidly, my knuckles white from clutching the sides. I

sensed movement far beneath us. Suddenly the surface

rippled as though someone were skimming stones from the

embankment.

“What’s that?” I whispered in alarm.

“Shh,” he replied. “Don’t make a sound.”

I obeyed but let my eyes wander back to the water.

Bubbles appeared beneath the surface just as something