I shake my head and come back to myself.
If Poppy wasn’t already planning to leave me to my fate, she definitely is now.
Screw not letting my panic show. I try to pull away from the demon, but its grip is too strong. I give one last frantic look at Poppy, and then I’m yanked into the darkness.
Everything is silent.
And still.
No light, no time, no air.
A single moment stretched into an eternity.
This void is all that’s ever existed.
All that ever will exist.
I don’t exist.
Then air rushes into my lungs. Or at least whatever serves as air in the Afterlife. Sight returns to me. Tremors rack my body and bile burns the back of my throat as I take in my new surroundings. A barren wasteland of scorched earth. Dark clouds roil through the deep crimson sky, occasionally illuminated by flashes of light. The eerie silence that has settled over us is broken by a distant wail, a rattle of chains.
“So this is hell,” I say, licking my lips. “It’s like Fenway after the Sox lose.”
There’s something like a laugh beside me, and I turn. Where there was a demon a moment ago, now stands a hellhound in whatI assume is its natural form: a hooded figure draped in tattered robes, a glowing scythe in its bony hand. It’s like it went to Spirit Halloween and asked for a Grim Reaper costume, was unimpressed with their selection, killed everyone in the store, and then made its own cloak out of their hides.
“Hell has better parking,” it says in a deep voice.
I let out a shocked laugh, then blink. And blink again. “What?”
Hellhounds don’t talk. They don’t make jokes. Or acknowledge the Beforedeath. They hunt, they reap, they terrify. That’s it. But I can feel this one watching me from the shadows of its hood, like it’s waiting for something.
And then suddenly it clicks.
The demon who dragged me through the portal? Gone. In its place? A hellhound.
Holy shit.
“Demons are hellhounds,” I whisper. “Hellhounds are demons.”
The hellhound—the demon—beside me nods.
But it doesn’t make sense. I mean, sure, they both instill the same feeling of fear. But demons are basically all-powerful. Why would they moonlight as Afterlife security guards?
“Sorry, I…Why—how—what?”
I sense the demon smirk. “All demons are beholden to a Titan. They use our abilities as they see fit.”
“No, but that means—”
I choke on the implications, my mind spinning. Hellhounds are demons. Demons used to be people. So hellhounds used to be people. Demons work for Titans. Hellhounds are in the Beforedeath. And since hellhounds can change their form at will…
“—demons can shape-shift,” I spit out.
I don’t know why that’s the thing I land on, but my brain is trying to sort through an impossible load of information right now.
“Enough stalling,” the demon says. “It won’t change your fate.”
Before I can respond, it drags me closer to the pit, and all questions about demons and hellhounds and syndicates flee my mind. I’m struck with vertigo. The chasm is unfathomably deep. All I can see of the bottom is a distant orange glow. This all seemed like such a good idea a few hours ago, but now I find it hard to keep standing.
