She tugs a dark green bottle from down beside the futon, waving it at me, and I don’t need to be from Infernum to recognize it’s liquor.
Tempting.Incrediblytempting, because if ever a situation justified having a drink…But no, I need to keep a clear head and my wits about me. I still have to find a way out of this, somehow. AndthenI will drink until I black out.
“No, thank you,” I say. I risk flicking a gaze toward the wardrobe, wishing I’d thought to look in itbeforeI abandoned my clothes in the washroom.
She shrugs and uncorks the bottle, taking a swig.
“Excuse me,” I say. “But who are you?”
“Your welcome party.” She holds out a hand. “Asterim.”
I’m not really in a position to offend strange demons lurking in my room, so I shuffle forward and briefly squeeze her hand.
“Rose Radley.”
Rather than let go, she keeps hold of my fingers, twisting my hand to get a better look at it.
“You’re married?” she asks, both excited and curious as her eyes land on my wedding ring.
“No,” I say automatically. “Yes. I mean, kind of.”
She smiles, delighted. “Well, I’d love to know what beingkind ofmarried entails. It sounds rather fun. Did you marry them for the alliteration?”
“The…?”
“Rose Radley. RR. Or was that your name to begin with? Fabulous if yes. Sounds like a performer in a music hall.” She releases my hand to take another sip from the bottle. “Do you like the theater? Tell me you’re from Pax. Oh, they have thebestshows.”
“I am,” I say, trying to keep up with the rapid switch in topics. “But I, erm, didn’t really have the time for shows.”
She looks at me sympathetically, as if missing out on the theater was some terrible illness I just told her I’ve endured. I shift uncomfortably, and that seems to remind her I’m standing there in nothing but a linen towel.
“Do you want help choosing something to wear?” she asks.
“I wasn’t sure if there’d be anything in there for me,” I admit, gesturing to the wardrobe.
“Well, let’s find out, shall we?” she says, uncurling from the futon and drifting over to the cupboard. “I’d offer you something of mine, but you’re far too statuesque, I’m afraid. Let’s see…”
She rifles through the cupboard, sighing. “I’m sorry, darling, but it’s slim pickings. Looks like most of the stuff in here is at least a few centuries old.”
“I’d take a sack right now as long as it doesn’t have blood on it,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Well, I respect a woman with a clear vision.”
I can see there are more than enough options in the wardrobe for me to find something to cover myself with. What I’d like most, however, is to not be the subject of this unpredictable demon’s attention any longer. Sure, she seems friendlier than Vizmodeus or Syrus, but maybe I just haven’t found the thing about me that will piss her off yet.
“Thanks for your help, but I, er, think I’d like to sleep now.” I stay polite. Even small demons are stronger than the average human.
She looks disappointed in me and moves over to the door with a sigh, snagging the bottle on her way.
“All right,” she says, turning the handle. “But come find me when you want some company. I know all the best places in Malice, and we so rarely have house guests.”
I can’t suppress my scoff. “I’m not sure you could call me a house guest.”
Her shrewd gaze flicks over my wedding ring and then the cut on my arm.
“Maybe you didn’t plan on being one, but sometimes, darling, you have to make the best of things.”
When she closes the door behind her, everything is suddenly quiet. There’s no click and slide of a latch.
