Page 54 of I Hope This Email Finds You in Hell

“And what did you expect?”

“A lot more trembling. Maybe some vomit. A gallon of tears.” He glances at me, gaze warm. “At least a few moments where you groveled for me to take you back to the overworld.”

“I bet you were looking forward to that. Me groveling.”

The words suspend themselves. I didn’t mean it to sound so suggestive, but the air between us changes instantly. He sucks in a breath, grip tightening on the wheel. His eyes shift to meet mine, lingering for long enough that I’m glad we’re the only ones on the road. I wonder if he has the same appalling image in his mind that I do of me in the position I was in after escaping the Night Market, on my knees but begging for him.

Desperate to shift things back, I reach for the nearest truth. “If you’re surprised I’m not as fazed as you expected, that’s probably because the most awful thing that could happen to me already did. After driving the car that killed my parents, everything objectively horrific pales in comparison.”

Well, that’s one way to squash the vibes. But in case that wasn’t enough, I add, “I’m also on some powerful SSRIs.”

Not that I’m good at consistently taking them, but he doesn’t need to know that.

A yawn escapes and Luke all but pounces on the conversation change. “You should rest. You could go in the back, where it might be more comfortable.”

“So you care about my comfort now?” I tease, trying to pretend that whatever moment just sizzled between us didn’t leave me short of breath. “Where was that when I asked for a new desk chair with lumbar support?”

“Budget cuts spare no one.”

“What about you? You didn’t sleep on the train, right? You’ve been up for days.”

“I’m fine.” But is it my imagination, or does he sound a bit breathless himself? “I’d rather get us to Chicago.”

I climb into the back and make a pillow with my duffel. Even the motion of lying down has my mind fading. Before sleep can take me, a question bursts from my lips.

“Is your twin identical?”

“Fraternal.” Luke glances at me in the rearview mirror. “And before you ask, yes, I am the more attractive one.”

• • •

Luke wakes me mid-nightmare, expression unreadable.

“Sorry,” I apologize. Realizing maybe my moaning and groaning could be mistaken for a sex dream, I add, “I have a reoccurring nightmare about the night of the car accident. That’s all it was.”

He frowns. “We’re in Chicago. I was debating letting you sleep, but I guess I’m glad I didn’t.”

“Me, too. I hate it but can’t kick it.”

Nodding in understanding, he says, “I used to have nightmares often. Now, I don’t dream at all.”

“I wish.”

We stop at a gas station and convenience mart to load up on food and water. I excuse myself to the bathroom to freshen up and change my ripped jeans for a pair of soft leggings. My hair is a lost cause, and since it’s curly, I can’t comb it unless it’s wet and I have a handful of conditioner. I rake my fingers through the worst of the knots, throwing it up into a ponytail. Whether it’s the nap, the much-needed bathroom break, or the outfit change, I emerge feeling like a new woman.

“It’s like a 7-Eleven,” I tell Luke, meeting him in front of the mart.

“Where’s your dagger?” Luke asks. I turn to show him where it’s strapped to my thigh, blending in with my leggings. “I want to put as much distance as possible between ourselves and the Night Market so the hounds don’t have a shot at catching up once it reappears and frees them.”

“Good point.” We amble back to the car with our bags, all of which include nameless snacks. Luke had to pick them out since I nearly took a container of freeze-dried eyeballs because I assumed they were candy. He paid using a handful of soul jars. The employee inside looked about as bored and tired as any other 7-Eleven worker I’ve ever seen, indigo skin aside.

“It’s strange,” I comment as we walk. “Hell has convenience stores and diners, but I have yet to see a park. There are chips and pretzels, but not slushies. There are cars, but they look old. Why?”

“Hell beings hate to admit it, but the underworld is largely modeled after the overworld. With limited ways to access it until recently, thanks to whatever shit is going on with the veil, replicating what the overworld has is built on guesses and memories. Most things that are similar are thanks to the humans who have made hell their home after making unfortunate deals with demons that trapped them here.”

“There’s no Bean,” I comment as we walk past what should be Millennium Park but is another skyscraper.

“You won’t find many artistic touches here,” Luke comments as we reach the van. “Especially since Illinois is home to the Engineering Department.”