“Azazeltouched my belongings without permission. You know how I feel about that.”
“Over a coffee mug?” He reaches for the mug clutched in my hands, but I snatch it away before he can mar the glaze with his filthy fingerprints.
“It’s ateamug, you daft bastard. And don’t get any ideas unless you’d like to join Azazel in Oblivion.”
He raises his hands in surrender and backs away, his judgmental green eyes boring right through my bloody skull. Unable to withstand the scrutiny, I gaze out across the polished obsidian expanse of the throne room, waiting for the inevitable lecture.
But for the first time in our long, long friendship, Finn remains silent.
“Was there something you needed,” I snap, “or are you just going to stand there and gloat about my millennium’s worth of poor life choices?”
“Not sure you need me for that, Dev. Doing just fine on your own.”
Still not taking the hint, he helps himself to a drink from my bar and saunters over to the balcony, taking in the view of the Fire Rivers of Eshtock.
He doesn’t say anything else, and soon the only sounds are an occasional fiery explosion from the rivers and the constant din of tortured souls.
One drink, he finishes. Back to the bar for another. Finishes that one too. Pours a third and returns to watch the rivers.
Then, finally, when I swear we’ve been ignoring each other for so long the rivers have changed course four times over, he says, “Are we talking about this, or—”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” I rise from the throne, fix myself a drink in my mushroom tea mug. Head to the balcony. Contemplate jumping, for all the good it would do me.
“Your girlfriend is—”
“What in the seventeenth bowel of Hell makes you think she’s my girlfriend?” I snap.
“Oh, I don’t know. The pining, for one. The brooding. Not to mention all the shagging before that and the—”
I glare at him, horns out, full-terror mode engaged.
Finn laughs. “I’m just saying you seemed to really like this one, mate.”
“Like her?Likeher?” I scoff. “Violet Pepperdine is the least likable woman I’ve ever met. She’s stubborn as a two-headed demonic mule, refuses to listen to reason, has no idea how self-righteous she is… Bloody nuisance, if you really want to know.”
“Stubborn and self-righteous, right.” Finn sighs, sarcasm dripping from his tone. “I can only imagine how difficult that must be for you.”
“Fuckoff,” I say, but the fight in me fizzles right out. “She’s just… she’s gone, Finn. And it’s my own fault.”
There’s no ire in my words. Just the deep resignation that comes with knowing you’ve lost something precious. A thing you never even knew you wanted, never believed you deserved, and when you finally got it, you cocked it all up anyway.
It’s been an eternity since she sent me away. An eternity since I returned to Hell, not even bothering with a stopover in L.A.
And I’ve never before felt so utterly lost.
My family was not here to greet me. My father was not waiting with open arms, ready to admit he was wrong. There was no red-carpet welcome, no tearful reunion. No redemption for the Prince of Darkness and his band of loyal demons.
Only a cold and empty throne, crumbling from centuries of disuse, and a destiny I’m no longer sure I understand, if I ever understood it at all.
A single hour on the mortal plane feels like a lifetime in Hell's unending sameness, and no matter how many nights pass, no matter how much I try to distract myself with the underworld reunion tour, with the simple pleasures of torture and ruin, nothing has dimmed the memory of her touch from my skin. The taste of her kiss from my lips. The pain of her parting words from my ears.
Gods be damned, how did it evencometo this? From the very instant she summoned me to Wayward Bay with her ridiculous drunken spreadsheet magic, all I wanted to do was find a way to escape.
Until one day, I didn’t.
Now, it hurts to envision a future—anyfuture—without her. Without that snorting laugh serving as the soundtrack of my morning and her soft sighs as the soundtrack of my nights. Without her bottomless blue eyes shining from behind those enormous glasses. Without the tea and the grilled cheese and our beloved Ambrosia Divine. Without Grumpy and Sunshine, the feline friends I never knew I needed.
It’s not just Violet, either. Thinking of Wayward Bay fills me with a fierce longing too. The aunts. The sisters. The Mayor. The pottery-painting woman. The fae and demon couple who own the liquor store. The kids in their silly goblin masks. The apple-scented air and the autumn leaves and the stately trees and the silver-blue bay glittering in the distance.
