Chapter Eight
“Gods almighty, Hell is fashion-forward.”
I was swept into memories of Ianna, visions of Paris Fashion Week, angles and measurements and the intimidating energy of divine, feminine dominance as I regarded the stunning member of the Ars Goetia in the chapel annex.
Perhaps Ianna was responsible for dressing the elite in all of Hell’s courts.
The black opium fragrances of bourbon, jasmine, and expensive Saint Laurent overpowered any lingering scents left by Silas, Azrames, or the building’s human visitors.
Duchess Vapula remained on her feet, sinking her weight into one side. Sharply manicured nails drummed in pinks and opals against her hip. She tilted her head ever so slightly, her slick, high bun unmoving as she regarded us. I’d never been more self-conscious in my life.
Duchess Vapula’s jumpsuit was caught between nude and gold, twinkling with thousands of delicately sewn embellishments running in clean, vertical lines.
The suit gathered at her narrow waist before opening up in a wide, glistening collar.
The outfit would have been stunning in and of itself, but she’d added a sheer, angled jacket in matching beige and gold that perched on her shoulders, hanging to the floor, ending just before her nude, close-toed pumps.
Unlike Azrames and his gray skin and polished horns, who would never pass for a person outside the context of impeccable, villainous anime cosplay, the Duchess could have been human… almost.
The corner of her blackberry-painted mouth quirked up as her eyes went to me. “I guess I don’t have to ask which one of you belongs to the Prince.”
I was mortified. “Duchess Vapula.” I choked out her name. “It’s an honor to meet you. I’m so sorry.”
Sorry for what, I wasn’t entirely sure. For bringing her into a human realm.
For involving her in our disaster. For being unworthy of Hell.
For making someone—something—so refined, so ethereal, so elegant stand in an abandoned building, heels sinking into rubble.
For meeting her in my sweatpants, slick with the Prince’s claiming scent, and making her overhear loud, satanic sex?
Maybe my coping mechanism was an eternal need to apologize.
The Duchess did a sweeping appraisal of us, eyes lingering on the matching markings we shared.
“Your sigil is clever handiwork. The Prince’s own design?
” She didn’t wait for an answer. She looked to Azrames as she asked, “I hear you need what Medusa possesses. Tell me: Where is Alessia speaking? New York, you said? Ah, yes. I see the end goal. I understand what you need…if she’ll deem you worthy. ”
From the way Az leaned against the wall, I could only assume that whatever formalities they’d required had long since come and gone. Perhaps Alessia famously disliked men, but Azrames and the Duchess appeared to be at ease.
“I’ll get them safely to your servant in Manhattan. And with your practitioner’s help, we’ll be able to modify our wards as we move.”
“Good,” she said, voice like cool honey, soothing and entrapping all at once. “They’ll need to be dressed for the occasion. I’ll tell him to expect you.”
I lifted a finger like little more than a kid in a classroom. “You have a witch in the Garment District? A…male witch? Are they still called witches?”
They both chuckled lightly as if the answer were the most obvious thing in the world. “He’s a demonolater, yes. Would you be surprised to learn how many people have gripped the coattails of demons to carry them on their meteoric rise? There are very few artists, designers, influencers who haven’t—”
“Authors,” Az interjected with a wink.
I frowned, tensing as I rejected the implication.
“But I didn’t…” Their shared, curious looks stopped me.
Yes, I had. I’d worked with a demon whether I’d known it or not.
I’d gone to school. I’d done the research.
I’d come up with the novels. I’d written the books.
But the rest…the stars that had aligned for doors to open…
the luck that had clicked into place time and time again…
Duchess Vapula turned to Priscilla. “How long will it take you to get to New York?”
I looked at Azrames, brows puckered. “Can’t we…realm hop? Or whatever it is you do?”
He met me with softened eyes. “Afraid not. Your s?lje could bring you and a singular entity, but not a group of humans. You could each travel with one of us if you were exclusively bound to us, but if we need to change wards at a moment’s notice, we’ll all need to be together.”
I struggled to manage the rules, gnawing on the inside of my cheek as I ran through the numerous impossible things that had been shoved into my brain.
Fauna hadn’t been able to hop while in corporeal form, but as far as I knew, no one here had truly taken that form.
Time passed how it pleased. Some could be seen, others couldn’t.
I knew I needed to either get on board or be left behind. I looked uncertainly at Azrames.
Az folded his hands in front of him. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you can’t be left alone. I’ll be traveling with you, though the painstaking slowness may kill me.”
I leveled my gaze with the Duchess, summoning as much respect as I could conjure.
Her thick, full lashes, her heavy, smoky makeup, her bronze skin, amber eyes, ink-dark hair, and shimmering beauty made it hard to make direct eye contact, but I did my best. She seemed mildly amused at my attempt at reverence.
“Will you accompany us to meet… Can I call her Medusa? Or do we stick with Alessia?”
The Duchess examined her fingernails, inspecting her manicure.
She made a show of being unimpressed with my disregard for Alessia’s chosen name, and I saw it for the misstep it was.
At last, she sighed. “Alessia has famously collected several fae, deities, Infernals, and beings from a number of realms. I’d be surprised if anyone working with her is wholly human, though there may be a halfling or two on staff. You’ll need me there.”
Priscilla supplied, “Duchess Vapula is famously well versed in coercion.” At the Duchess’s arched brow, Priscilla reworded her sentiment.
“She’s a great psychotherapist, of sorts.
She’s been able to win favor and cooperation of spirits for witches for…
well, forever, I suppose. I work with her primarily for dream workings and handcrafts, but this will be one of your many facets I’m eager to explore, Duchess. ”
“Mmm,” Duchess Vapula agreed. “And your artistic tapestry has performed spectacularly, sweet Priscilla. Now, we’ll get you all washed, perfumed, and styled by a designer of whom I’m devastatingly proud.”
“Um,” Kirby hedged slightly, caution rubbing against their vocal cords like sandpaper. “Is it rude of me to ask a question? Am I allowed?”
Nia and I both looked at them with surprise. From across the room, the twist of Azrames’s mouth was both pride and entertainment.
Duchess Vapula dipped her chin for Kirby to continue.
“I may get smited—smote?—for this, but…is it like they say? Did this designer sell their soul? Like, crossroads demon lore?”
The Duchess’s blackberry lips spread into a genuine smile, eyes sparkling nearly as much as the clean lines of her glittering jumpsuit and cape. She waved for Azrames to take the answer.
“Mar,” he said, deadpan amusement curling the edges of his question as he asked, “did you sell your soul?”
Invisible fists grabbed for my stomach and lungs, making me nauseous and breathless all at once as I shook my head. “Of course not. Right? I didn’t, did I?”
He chuckled, returning his dark eyes to Kirby.
“No,” he clarified. “Most witches dedicate themselves to their practice. Their devotional offerings are ones of worship. Sometimes it’s wine, or coffee, or incense, or blood.
Some demons want more taxing things as shows of devotion, like labor, discipline, or sex.
Others, like the Duchess, just want you to dedicate the excellence you put into your craft to their name.
With our Mar here, she’s given her love, her time, her heart.
I’d normally say Caliban’s getting the better end of the bargain in terms of who gets what, but he does far more for her than open a few doors for her business arrangements.
He negotiates allegiances with kingdoms, makes back-alley deals with angels, murders goddesses, starts wars for her…
you know, the things you do for the love of all of your lives. ”
Kirby had paled, but they did their best to pretend any of this made sense. “See?” They cleared their throat. “I knew there was something suspicious about you becoming a famous author overnight.”
My heart fluttered, caught between intrigue and fear as Duchess Vapula held up a pointed, perfect finger. I felt so naked as I sucked in a breath, anxiety blotting my forehead, the back of my neck, the space between my breasts with sweat.
“Now, wait,” she cautioned.
Kirby looked at the Duchess as if the demoness were a vampire about to suck them dry.
Instead, the Duchess elaborated, “Marlow wrote the novels. She came up with the ideas. She paid her dues.”
“EG might not agree,” I mumbled beneath my breath. I certainly wasn’t pulling my weight in the industry at the moment. I’d check in when I could, but for now, as far as my publisher and the world knew, I was laying low after a very public doxing scandal.
The Duchess finished, “Working with demons isn’t cheating. It’s an exchange. She loves her Prince, and he loves her in return in as many ways as he can.”
“What did Betty get?” I asked, hoping to change the topic away from Caliban and the Pantheon books.
Azrames’s happy, relaxed posture fell to hardened steel. “She wanted nothing from Hell, save for a job well done,” he said. “Her bills are paid by humans. She and I are partners.”
Duchess Vapula took a few careful steps.
She rested a hand lightly on Azrames’s, allowing it to grace his bicep before it fell to her side.
“And she deserved better than the fate that’s befallen her,” the Duchess said.
As I watched the respectful, intimate exchange, I wondered if Azrames and his work were as famous within the court of the Infernal Divine as they’d been with Caliban and the King.
It was Nia who interrupted the moment.
“Do you have an address for this designer? If we’re going to get moving, we should have a firm plan, right?”
The Duchess pulled away. She waved a finger, and Priscilla’s face scrunched in response as if smoke had been blown into her open eyes.
“Michael changed his name to Adrien Vail a few years ago. He’s everything Givenchy wishes they were.
He’s a shining jewel in my crown, yes, but he’s earned everything he’s accomplished.
You’ll understand once you wear his name on your back.
Now, go. Meet me in Manhattan. And…look better when you do. ”
The Duchess disappeared as if she’d never been there at all.
Priscilla was the first to rise. “That was my Infernal patroness, Duchess Vapula. You’re welcome.”
I suppressed the urge to clap. Instead, I looked at my friends.
“Are they all that hot?” Kirby asked breathlessly.
“Devastatingly so.”
Nia set her jaw. “Give me a moment to call Darius. We’ll hit the Luxury outlets on Hudson, get blowouts at the glamour bar, and should be able to make it to the tattoo shop by Kirbs’s place for walk-ins before they close.”
“Is it safe?” I asked.
Xuan flicked her finger. “Now that you’ve called in the cavalry, you’ve never been safer.”
Az flashed bright, white teeth. “They’re my favorites.”
I sucked in a breath. “You really want to get this tattooed? There’s no going back, Nia. Once you lift the veil—”
“Ignorance is no one’s fault,” she said. “But now, I know. If I go back, I’m closing my eyes to the truth. Willful ignorance is a separate sin entirely. But, first things first.”
“The Duchess said she’d get us dressed.” I frowned. “I don’t know if we have to make a stop by the mall.”
Nia laughed, looking at all of us in our slovenly, mismatched attire. “This Givenchy-in-training is dressing us for a major event. You think I want to walk into his studio looking like we came out of the suburbs?”
“I don’t live in the suburbs,” Kirby mumbled.
“Trust me. We need this,” she said. “We’ll get it all done and make the red-eye.”
It wasn’t her firm command that sent my head spinning, but I couldn’t explain the wave that overtook me. I pressed my fingers to a wall as I was kissed by lightheadedness. Static worked its way through the folds in my brain, buzzing behind my eyes, heating my blood.
Azrames relocated me to a seat on the front pew before I fully understood I was moving.
Nia pressed a bottle of water into my hands and the fabric of her sleeve to my forehead in the same nauseating, hazy blur.
There was conversation; I was sure of it.
Xuan and Priscilla were discussing this or that.
Kirby hadn’t stopped nervously chattering to try to calm me.
“Where’s Silas?” I managed to mumble, vision every bit as foggy as my thoughts.
The question drew frowns from the room, but Az answered. “He dipped out when Caliban arrived. I believe he’s doing what he can to cover what happened at the metaphysical shop. The more time we can buy, the better.”
“He’ll be back?”
“Maybe it’d be better for all of us if he wasn’t,” Azrames said.
I held my head in my palms. “You don’t mean that.”
Friends, witches, strangers, demons, frescos, stained glass windows, pews, dust, debris, smoke, and the lingering perfume of black opium lingered, all competing for my attention as Azrames sighed.
He squeezed my hand as he said, “Maybe I don’t. But perhaps you should.”