Page 47 of I Hope This Email Finds You in Hell

He lays his giant wooden spoon across the top of the cauldron. Descending the small step stool, he wipes his hands on his white apron before turning to me.

“To some. What brings me the pleasure of your visit?”

His eyes are white, as if they rolled all the way to the back of his head and got stuck there like adults love to warn sassy teens about. Aside from his apron, he’s dressed simply in tan trousers, a T-shirt, and a newsboy cap on his bald head. A sheen of sweat shines across his brown skin. If it weren’t for his eyes, I’d assume he’s as human as me.

“I was told to come find you. I have some things I’d like to trade.”

I drop my duffel to the ground so I can shrug off Luke’s backpack and unzip it. Hazaar comes closer, sniffing the air. “You do indeed. Who sent you?”

“My fr—colleague. Luke D’Angelo.”

His brows pinch as if trying to place the name. “Interesting. He’s here with you?”

“Somewhere.” I thought he would have found me by now, given all my detours.

Like me, I assumed Luke had packed his bag full of clothes and essentials. Instead, I pull out mason jars and notebooks and tiny bottles no bigger than a nip. Hazaar holds out an expectant hand and I place the biggest jar full of a bubbly gelatin into it. He removes the top and takes a whiff.

“Mmm,” he hums approvingly. “Sourdough starter.”

“Huh?”

He takes another jar, opening it to dip his finger into the amber contents. Bringing it to his lips, he sucks on it with a pop. “Just as I’d hoped. Honey.”

I shuffle through the other things. More honey, a jar of what looks like coconut oil, a packet of sunflower seeds. “This is all normal stuff. I thought it would be, like, the tongues of baby kittens.”

“Normal to you, perhaps.”

I realize my mistake too late. “I didn’t mean it like—”

He laughs. The easiness of the sound is so similar to my father’s hearty bellow that my lungs are stunned. My throat tightens at the unexpectedness of the parallel, asphyxiating me. I can’t breathe—

“Be calm, mortal.” The rasp of Hazaar’s voice makes my father’s laugh fade until I’m able to suck down a breath. “I’m not interested in anything but the wares you bring. Which are incredibly rare to find in the underworld, by the way. Your Luke knows my desires well. These are pure. Things that would never grow here. I can make some delightful concoctions. How much do you want?”

He thought my reaction was because I’m scared. To prove him wrong, I clear my throat and aim high, stuffing down the urge to correct him that Luke isn’t my anything. “Five hundred.”

He rubs the few wiry hairs extending from his chin. “Three.”

“Four fifty,” I wager.

“Three fifty.” It’s more than Luke told me to get, but the burn to impress him floods me.

“Four twenty-five. Final offer.”

Hazaar laughs, but this time, it’s nothing like my father’s and trickles into a dry cough. “You’re quite the barterer. How about an even four hundred, and I’ll throw in something to sweeten the deal.”

Deal. The hair on the back of my neck rises, but this is the one person I was given the OK to make a deal with, so I ignore the discomfort. “What kind of something?”

“You’re wise to be suspicious. Had I been more jaded, like yourself, maybe I wouldn’t have made a deal that led to me losing these.” He gestures to his unseeing eyes but smiles. “Good thing I don’t need them for this line of work.”

I don’t know if I’m supposed to laugh or not, so I smile back before remembering he can’t see it. “You were going to tell me about what else you’re including.”

“All business, you are! I respect it.” He piles the contents of Luke’s backpack into his arms and deposits them onto one of the already-crowded shelves to my right. One jar nearly rolls off and I open my mouth to belatedly warn him. He catches it despite the words never making it past my lips and sets it down safely. “Close call. Good thing my ears are as strong as my nose.”

He pulls two empty glass vials from the shelf and ambles to the cauldrons. Using a serum dropper—something I was well acquainted with when my now nonexistent skincare routine was at its peak—he sucks up some of the dark green liquid and releases it into the vial, corking the top. He does the same with an opaque yellow liquid a few cauldrons down.

“This”—he holds up the green vial—“is a poison so powerful, it will slay even the strongest of demons, sending them into a fitful rest bound to last a hundred years and six days, impenetrable by neither Reckoning nor summoning. All it takes is a sip or coating a blade that punctures flesh. A scratch, even. I call it Fatality.”

I take it from him. He raises the yellow vial. “This is Vitality. As with all things, balance is needed. While Fatality brings death to your door, Vitality brings life. This single dose can save you from certain death. It’s invaluable to a fragile mortal like yourself.”