Chapter Ten
I ran my fingertips over the coarse, wet limestone.
I was alone with the monotonous dripping from stalactites onto stalagmites.
The dark, damp air clung to my skin; the scent of clean, thin mud overpowered much else.
I could walk deeper into the cave and see if he was hiding in its belly, but the warm, muted light didn’t stretch beyond this room.
“Caliban?”
He was there before I could finish speaking his name. In two quick strides, he was at my side, tucking his fingers around the back of my head and planting a kiss in my hair.
“I’m so glad you called,” he said. “Is everything all right?”
I giggled into his chest at the word. Called.
Like the meditation cave was some demonic cell phone.
I said, “I’m perfectly fine. I’m at the Four Seasons in New York with Nia and Kirby and the witches.
Oh, and Az and Silas are playing babysitter.
Very technically: I’m lying on my back in bed while spa music plays on the speaker. ”
“I’m glad you’re meeting with Alessia soon. Her participation could make a world of difference.”
“Without her, you all make it sound like we’ll be screwed when the angelic legion breaks through their three-day deal.”
“I know what she has,” Caliban says, “but before you even ask, I guarantee it would be best if she explained it herself. And they’re right. You might be the only person who could get it from her willingly. So, what’s the plan?”
Drip, drip, drip went the stalactites.
I shivered against the cave’s chill as I listed our agenda.
“First thing in the morning, we’re off to get dressed by one of Duchess Vapula’s acolytes.
He’s some up-and-comer in fashion. Apparently, even being the Bride of Hell doesn’t guarantee me an audience.
We need to be dressed to impress, or else whatever aid she offers—this device you won’t tell me about—might not happen. ”
“About the device, like I said, you’ll need Alessia to explain it herself. Half the reason we won’t tell you is because we can’t. We’re men. As for the Duchess, please send her my regards.”
“Will do,” I said. “And you’re currently…” I smoothed out the fabric of his shirt and looked up into his eyes. “I actually don’t know how it works for either of us. Are you physically here, in this cave?”
“I’m currently in a meeting with Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva. Their pantheon is incredible. You’ve never seen so many colors.”
I was about to comment on how it made sense that, of the non-monotheistic religions, they’d have the most followers, and therefore the most worship, but I got stuck on another point of his sentence.
“What do you mean, currently?” I asked.
“I mean…” He leaned back against the cave wall and tugged me against him. “I’ve been sitting in that chair for four days of their realm’s time. When I heard you call my name, I simply closed my eyes, and here I am.”
Drip, drip, drip. As bizarre as it was to put myself in the cave, it was even harder to picture him sitting amidst powerful gods of legend and lore while he comforted me. There was nothing he couldn’t do.
“So, if they need you…?”
“My father is also present at this meeting, as are many of Hell’s dignitaries. I’m sure it’s nothing they can’t handle, if only for a few minutes. Besides, if you fail to recruit Medusa…”
My pulse spiked.
“My apologies.” He interrupted his own line of thinking.
“First of all, you won’t fail. Second, if she does not comply, that is not your failure, it is hers.
But what I’m trying to share is this: If anything goes wrong with your plan, I’m creating a backup plan for you, and a plan B to that backup plan, and another, and another.
You are not alone. Not even for a second. ”
Rhythmic water continued in the background, calming me, anchoring me in the cave.
I leaned into him, savoring our brief moment together.
“It’s a cruel irony,” I said. When he waited for me to continue, I elaborated.
“For the first twenty-six years of my life, we could be together as often as we wanted. Whenever it was dark, I’d call out and know you’d come.
Sometimes, even in broad daylight…” I knew my cheeks were pink as my memories wandered to sultry places.
I cleared my throat and said, “But once I knew you were real, it kicked off the series of events that have required you to stay away. The fallout of me choosing you, choosing us, is you ushering in the end of the world.”
Another kiss against my hair as he said, “You’re doing most of the ushering.”
“When will we get to be normal again?”
He chuckled. “When have we ever been normal? I know you don’t want a white picket fence.
You don’t want children, or monogamy, or the American Dream.
When have we ever thrust those upon each other?
I’m yours, and you’re mine, no matter what we do, or where we are, or how that looks.
The more fiercely yourself you become, the more I love you. ”
The sentence was unfamiliar, even if the message was true.
He’d been with me my whole life. He’d been by my side when I’d dated others, when I’d escorted in the human realm, when I’d fallen in love with any gender.
He had been with me when I was a religious devotee.
He had been with me when I’d fallen from grace.
“No matter what?” I asked.
“Just as it’s always been, in this life, the past, and the next.”
Methodic dripping lulled me while he waited for a response.
Finally, I said, “There is no going back, is there.”
Drip, drip, drip.
“Not anymore.”
September 13, age 26
I’d been dressed by Hell’s finest once before.
Now I was ready to see what mortal hands could do when they were blessed with an infernal touch.
I stepped out of our town car onto the streets of Manhattan and readied for a similarly intimidating experience.
Even in the pinkish morning hours, the sidewalk was filled with well-dressed commuters.
Horns honked in the early morning traffic.
I craned my neck as I looked up at the pre-war building and grimaced at what I might find inside.
Precisely one moment after the enormous, iron sliding door rolled away, I realized how wrong I’d been. This was nothing like my experience in Hell.
Ianna, her presence a Hellish blur of fashion and sophistication, had been everything I’d expected out of a polished socialite.
I’d been simultaneously terrified and in love while in the shock and awe of her presence.
She’d been cold, brusque, and absolutely stunning.
We’d been measured, prodded, and had left her shop truly ready to encounter the King of Hell.
She was the devil too fancy for Prada.
Vibrant color shook me of all preconceived notions.
If Ianna was winter, Adrien was spring.
We were welcomed into an impossibly tall room—exposed piping from the next-story ceiling all painted in monochrome as it melted into the building.
Mirrors, art-deco backsplashes in neon, metallic, circular modeling platforms, and quarter-scale framed images of what I assumed were Adrien’s fashion pieces on the runway decorated his space.
He was just shy of six feet, with a lithe stature and sparkling blue eyes.
He may have been a year or two younger than me, though my age blindness and what was undoubtedly an excellent skin care routine on his part kept me from certainty.
Besides, he’d bleached his hair, which, if he kept the look as an eternal signature, would prevent anyone from spying a stray silver giveaway from now until the end of time.
Black on black was an industry staple in fashion, but he’d made the turtleneck in the heat of summer into an entire statement.
“Come, come, come to me, my babies!” he said enthusiastically, greeting us with unbridled acceptance and joy. He counted us off like Mother Goose numbering her ducklings as myself, Nia, Kirby, Xuan, and Priscilla marched in.
Though Adrien was a Duchess Vapula devotee, his clairabilities didn’t appear to reveal the angel and demon flanking us as a security detail.
Adrien’s energy melted the frosty uncertainty of wandering into somewhere we didn’t belong.
I’d worn my Merit mask, marching us forward as a fearless leader, intimidated by nothing and no one.
But his warm face, crushing hug, and insistence that we settle in and make ourselves at home were the sunny rays I needed to let Merit drip from her protective shell, becoming Marlow once more.
“I think I’m in love with you,” I murmured to Adrien as he shoved a mug of hot coffee into my hands.
He marched several racks filled with stunning pieces from the back room to the dressing area.
A faithful daily practitioner of Duchess Vapula, it had taken exactly one meeting for him to promise to close his studio for the day, devoting his energy to us alone.
We’d all have to wear off-the-rack, but the body inclusivity of his sleek, gasp-worthy collection made it seem truly possible.
He’d already had a delivery service drop off pastries, and he informed us we’d get vegan lunches delivered by his assistant when she rolled in sometime past noon.
“It’s an honor to meet you,” Priscilla said warmly. “I don’t get to meet a lot of the Duchess’s faithful.”
He waved a hand. “She’s my Infernal mother! We’ve been together forever. But I feel you. It’s so sexy to call on the Hellenic pantheon these days. Only the lucky few have demons in our corner.” He ended with a wink, which Priscilla appreciated.
His head tilted to the side. “Wait, what was that?”
Priscilla’s lips quirked upward. “She speaks to you.”
His lips pursed. “I’m told you belong to the Spider Queen. Wow, that’s…”
“She’s intimidating,” Priscilla said. “Being in her presence can be…a lot.”
“But let me guess,” he said. “There’s nothing you’d rather be doing.”