Page 91 of I Hope This Email Finds You in Hell

“As I can be,” I murmur back, relishing the feel of his strong arm pressed to mine.

As we pass the hell hounds, I’m careful to keep my right hand by my side, covering the slit of my dress and the dagger hidden behind the folds. It’s not until we’re through the second set of doors that I finally allow myself to breathe again.

My jaw threatens to drop. The inside of the building is like something out of a storybook. The lobby stretches on for practically the length of a football field, featuring a black marble floor with threads of gold and silver weaving through it. It extends to thick columns that punctuate the grand space, giving it a Gothic Grand Central Station feel. The ceiling is high and an exquisite chandelier of silver, gold, and black illuminates the room. Its arms snake above, creating an interwoven design of light. When I look closer, I realize the design is meant to be actual serpents.

The room is surrounded by a balcony, and some guests already lean against the marble railing, surveying the extravagance below them. The entire middle stretch of floor is cleared for mingling and dancing. Long tables of food frame it, filling the space between columns. To the right is a dark wooden bar, with several posh stools already filled. On the left, a stage is shrouded by a black curtain.

We amble toward the far side, where two glass elevators frame a grand staircase made of the same black marble as the floor. About halfway up, it splits into three staircases. The two outer ones lead to the balcony, but the center one leads to a platform with what can only be described as a throne made of jagged black glass upon it. High above it all is a massive clock that looks like a moon.

“This is Hell Headquarters?” I quietly confirm as Luke leads us deeper into the space.

“This is the lobby,” Luke clarifies, as if to drive home the fact that this isn’t even the half of it. I cling to his arm all the harder. “Let’s get a drink.”

And thus kicks off phase 2 of the plan: blend in.

Luke orders us two cocktails as I peruse one of the many tables laden with meats and cheese and every bite-sized food imaginable. And many that I would have never imagined nor have any interest in sampling, like duckling tartar and marrow wedges. Though we’re not eating, I add a few of the least-offensive options to a plate to keep up appearances before meandering back to him.

“There aren’t any tables,” I note. Just a few high-top options, but nothing anyone can sit at.

“There are usually more seating options on the balcony,” Luke says. We hover close to each other, pretending to sip our drinks. “You’ll find that most events here are heavy on the dancing.”

A quip about grinding rises to my lips, but the nerves batting around inside me are too much to force it out. I watch the unending stream of guests quickly fill the cavernous space. Every mask is more horrifying than the last, nailing in the truth we are in a room full of monsters and demons and God knows what else. And somehow, we have to avoid the worst of them to get to the veil.

And once we’re there, it’s still not clear just how Luke plans to fix it.

From the stage, a low string of bass notes play. The black curtain rises and reveals an orchestra of musicians clutching their respective instruments. They wear black suits and dresses, but the clothes hang off them like rags. Their eyes are blank and purple bruises create craters beneath them. Like the fiddler at the Night Market, blood is crusted around their fingers.

“Don’t look at them.” Luke moves to block my view as a song starts. It’s not fast, but there’s something erratic about it. Bodies take to the dance floor, blurring together into a colorful blob.

“Are they human?” I ask.

“They were,” he says. “Desperate musicians who likely made deals they shouldn’t have. Now they’re trapped here, tricked into playing forever.”

I fake another sip, wishing the liquor could coast down my throat instead of the napkin under my glass absorbing it. Drink half empty, it’s nearly soaked now.

“Shit.”

“What?” I ask Luke, following his line of eyesight.

“Badulf and Zekiel have arrived.” He pivots so a column separates us and them.

“How do you know it’s them?”

“All the hell hounds are wearing the same mutt masks. But see those two with the gold ears?”

I peek around the column. Of the handful of hell hounds descending the balcony stairs, the two at the front are the only ones whose masks aren’t entirely black.

“They get that distinction because they’re in command of the hounds. Which is likely why they were sent after us. They’re the best hunters.”

“Can’t be that good if they haven’t caught us by now.”

Luke shoots me a warning look, as if to say don’t jinx it.

“Seems like they’re looking for someone,” I add, clocking the sway of their heads scanning the room. When their eyes skate over me, I remember my mask and force myself to stay still.

Until they reach the bottom of the stairs and start walking our way.

“Scratch that.” I retreat behind the column. “I think they’re looking for us. Fuck, jinxed it. They’re coming this way. But we’re safe, right? Thanks to our disguises.”