Page 87 of I Hope This Email Finds You in Hell

My eyes widen. “We do?”

“The Strangers’ Soiree.” Luke nods, draining the last dregs of his tea. It rings a bell. Shonda from the Night Market mentioned it. “A celebration of the eclipse about to happen. It’s going to be the biggest party of the year. And the most crowded. It should be easy to get in undetected since it’s a masquerade. It’s held at Hell Headquarters, so there’s no better place to be.”

“And then what are we going to do? Try and corner the devil?”

“Be careful,” Moira warns. The words are something so mom-like that my chest constricts. “I’ve heard he has been very temperamental as of late.”

“The opposite,” Luke says to me. “Ideally, we’ll avoid him at all costs. He guards the veil, which is also at headquarters. With the soiree, he’ll be distracted tonight. We’ll go to the party and blend in as guests, then sneak away once he arrives.”

“What if we get caught and he tries to kill you?” I challenge.

Moira shakes her head at the notion her sons would ever turn against each other so violently. But she hasn’t seen what I have. Luke kneeling before Beliar, sent by his dick of a brother, about to die.

Luke is less bothered. He smirks at me. “Then I guess it’s a good thing you’ll be there to save me. Let’s get ready to go.”

“I should probably shower first if we have time.” Heat blooms across my cheeks, because he, of course, knows exactly why I need to shower. From the way I feel his gaze blaze against my back as I leave the room, I know he’s thinking the same thing.

I spend as little time as possible in the bathroom to avoid the onslaught of memories of what we did just a handful of hours ago. By the time I emerge, Luke has our bags packed in the van. I thank Moira before sliding into the passenger seat. Luke lingers on the front porch.

Moira tells him something I can’t hear from inside the van. Whatever it is, there’s an urgency in her eyes. Eventually, he nods, though he appears reluctant. She wraps her arms around him, a move that takes him off guard. He’s so much bigger, towering over her. Slowly, his arms wrap around her shoulders and his head drops so his cheek presses to the top of her scarfed head.

Longing for a hug from my own mom claws at my heart. I turn away, feeling as if I’m intruding on a moment not meant for me.

Finally, Luke opens the door and slides behind the wheel.

“Are you sure you’re alright to drive?” I ask, nodding at his shoulder. He hasn’t been babying his left side nearly as much as he should.

“Good enough.”

Key in the ignition, the van sputters to life. Luke pulls onto the sandy road, heading west.

“So this soiree…” I bring up after a few moments of silent driving. A thick tension fills the car, though it’s not exactly awkward. Since waking up, he’s been uptight and reserved—more like the Luke from Curated Care than the Luke who’s becoming something more. I want to bring up what happened in the bathroom, peel him open layer by layer, but I can’t bring myself to. “Are we going to need costumes?”

“Something like that.” He glances at me, apprehension across his face.

“Uh-oh. That look says trouble. Do I even want to know where we’re getting them?”

He blows out a breath. “I have another ex we need to pay a visit to.”

• • •

Hours later, we ditch the van in a parking lot and slip through the side door of a seemingly abandoned warehouse. Our footsteps echo as we walk deeper into the cavernous space.

“You know,” I start, hand hovering by the dagger sheathed at my thigh, “this is the part in movies where the main characters fall into a trap. I know you haven’t seen a lot of them, and that’s something we’re going to work on, so take my word for it. This is the definition of sketchy.”

“Believe me, this is my most questionable idea yet,” Luke mutters.

“Which is saying something, considering the whole vampire-motel thing,” I point out.

As if on cue, the lights flicker on. The change is jarring and I have to blink away bright spots before I can take in the space. It is a warehouse, but it’s not even close to empty. Instead, the walls are lined with clothing racks that tower from floor to ceiling, punctuated by giant rolling ladders. The space is reminiscent of a grand library except for clothes. It’s like a department store on steroids.

“Welcome to Chryser’s Apparel Emporium,” a voice booms. “I’m Chryser, at your service.”

The echo makes it difficult to locate where the voice is coming from, but finally I see the silhouette of a person behind an ornate folding screen.

“He likes to set the scene,” Luke whispers in my ear. “Play along.”

I blink at him. But then an attractive man emerges from behind the screen. He’s dressed like he might be headed to Coachella, wearing a crimson leather vest that clings to his torso, leaving his toned arms bare. His wide-legged pants match, hiding his feet. A strip of tanned skin taunts from between the end of the vest and waist of the pants. He looks human, or at least he would if a tail wasn’t slowly swishing back and forth behind him.