Page 96 of I Hope This Email Finds You in Hell

Some things must have stuck, because I don’t immediately plummet to the ground. I tangle in the silks, falling a few feet before coming to a halt. The swinging doesn’t help, especially when I near the balcony I just leapt from and narrowly avoid a swipe from the hell hound.

If I want to get to the ground in one piece, I need to take this slow and steady. I’m already gaining a small audience, but most partyers are focused on everything going on by the throne. I twist my body to free it from the silks so I can descend another handful of feet. It works, but all the swinging has me disoriented and dizzy. I’m not half as strong as Shonda and the artists. I can’t do this.

The panic makes my hands sweaty. My grip slips, the silky fabric sliding past my fingers and burning my palms. It stings like the slice of a blade. But even that can’t compare to the icy fear that grips me as I fall. I just—fall.

The fabric unravels around me, marginally slowing my reckless descent. People scream below, dashing out of the way from my swinging catastrophe. I reach the end of the silks and crash onto a charcuterie table. Meats and cheeses and questionable hors d’oeuvres explode into the atmosphere as the table breaks beneath me, the crack of it hitting the ground piercing the air in an epic finale.

Complete silence. I gasp for breath that’s not there, unsure what pain is worse—my hands or back or the humiliation coursing through my veins. Slowly, laughter starts, an inescapable swell that rises to a crescendo so loud I bet it can be heard in the overworld. The grotesque masked faces blend with the beautiful ones in a nightmarish blur as guests jeer and mock me, taking a peek at the stupid mortal who just put on a spectacular show.

Somehow, I am not dead. Regrettably.

Footsteps approach, clicking across the marble as everyone shuffles out of the way, growing quiet once again. Tears leak out of my eyes, but I can’t tell if it’s because I’m crying or asphyxiating, since I can’t suck down a breath. Despite that, the corset feels looser. I probably tore a handful of stitches. I’d check to make sure my boobs aren’t spilling out, but I don’t think I could survive the additional embarrassment if they are.

I turn my pounding head to see shiny alligator-skin shoes stop beside me. My gaze travels up the length of a black fitted tux as I take in the man looming above. The top half of his face is covered by a simple black mask. The only adornment is the magnificent rams’ horns protruding from his temple and curving up and away from his head.

The lower half of his face betrays a sardonic grin. “If you wanted all the attention for yourself, you should have just asked. You’d be surprised how good I am at sharing. Though it is my party.”

My lungs finally remember how to work as I suck down a breath. Vehemently opposed to the movement, my ribs scream. The pain pales in comparison to my horror as the icy tenor of his voice slides past my likely concussed brain, his words clicking. It is my party. My party. My party.

This is him. This is him.

I think I hear Luke shouting from afar—potentially, possibly. Or maybe it’s wishful thinking as the throbbing pain in my skull makes my vision dim.

Despite the fear pulsing through me, I muster a grin, tasting blood on my teeth.

“You throw a hell of a bash,” I wheeze as darkness pulls me under.

Thirty-one

My nightmare is different this time.

Instead of one pair of golden eyes, the trees surrounding the road are full of them. When the roots wrap around my ankles, I don’t fight it. The car smokes, bent around the trunk, but my parents are beside me. From the shadows, the eyes take form. I brace myself for the advance of demons and monsters, but to my surprise, souls step out. Their phosphorus glow is the only light aside from the moon’s shine. I don’t remember the moon being out that night. It was so dark, and it always is when I relive it. But this time, it’s lighter. Like dawn might be coming.

“Why are they here?” I ask. Some incline their heads, but most peer with their glowing gazes.

“You set them free,” my mom says simply. She reaches for my hand, giving it a squeeze. “Maybe you should do the same for yourself.”

I choke awake, not sure what I’m choking on until I realize my mouth is filled with blood. I instinctively spit it out and the glob lands on the table in front of me. It nearly blends in with the black-stained wood, settling on the surface but not seeping into the grain.

“Brie.”

My head snaps up. Bad move. Stars dot my vision and a groan falls from my mouth. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the pain to pass.

“Careful. I think you’re concussed.”

“No shit,” I snarl back, before it fully clicks who I’m snarling at. Against my better judgment, my eyes fly open, taking in the person sitting across from me as my contacts focus.

No—not just sitting. Tied down. And so am I. We’re both fastened to chairs, ropes around our hands and ankles. Fuuuuuck.

“Are we in…?” I look around, my eyes adjusting to the dim light—and grateful for it. A concussion is an optimistic hope. I’ll be lucky if it’s not a brain bleed.

My epic balcony fall comes rushing back—and so does Luke’s deception. He watches me carefully, quietly, letting my addled brain sort through everything that led up to me swinging from the ceiling like I was recreating the “Wrecking Ball” music video.

As the last memories slot into place, the urge to launch myself across the table and strangle him nearly overpowers the throbbing behind my eyes. I guess being tied down is a blessing in disguise.

“What happened?” I ask, trying to guess how long I was out. “Where are we?”

“We’re on the top floor of headquarters.” Luke jerks his head back and my gaze follows. Behind him are a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows. We’re above the clouds, though lights from the city below permeate through. It’s beautiful and otherworldly.