Chapter One #3
I must’ve lost the ability to speak for a moment, since Mr. Connors dug his elbow into my hip (he was a bit shorter than I). “Yes, thank you, a pleasure as well,” I said at last.
“My son is in charge of our logistics,” the Devil said, a dismissive tone in his voice. “If anything is not to his or my satisfaction, one or both of you will be roasted over a spit in Hell.” He sounded bored, as though this was a punishment he inflicted frequently.
“Ah, yes,” Mr. Connors stammered. “We expect everything will be as you…expected.”
“Good.” The Devil waved his cane in the air.
I could see now it had a sharp blade at the end of it, and what I thought might be live snakes twining around its length.
“Show me to my rooms. I am in need of sustenance.” As he spoke, his lips curled into a decidedly gruesome smile, and I could see inside his mouth, which looked as though it contained far too many teeth.
I didn’t want to think about what might qualify as sustenance—thankfully, I was not in charge of food logistics.
“Yes, indeed,” Mr. Connors said, bobbing his head. “This way, Lord Satan, sir.”
“Just Satan,” the Devil replied as he followed Mr. Connors out of the room.
The entourage all followed him, and I wondered for a moment if there were enough rooms for all of them, but some of the new arrivals were quite small, so I figured they could tuck into a linen closet or something if space was tight.
Though that might not satisfy the Devil. A vision of me tied to a spit because of inadequate accommodation loomed in my imagination, and I swallowed hard.
“When does the Exhibition open?” the marquis asked. His voice was low and seductive. Perhaps that was one of his demonic powers? If so, it was quite effective. I had never heard such an alluring tone.
Why couldn’t the most beautiful being I’d ever seen at least have an unpleasant speaking voice?
“A mo-month,” I stammered. Seriously, I needed to gather myself if I was going to avoid the whole being-burnt-to-a-crisp thing. “A month,” I repeated, in a firmer tone.
“A month,” he echoed, making it sound as though he had some diabolical plans that might take precisely a month.
“Yes, um, thirty days?”
He turned that topaz gaze on me. “I know what a month is, Miss—?” His tone dripped with disdain.
“Hastings,” I said. “Of course, I just wasn’t certain you—”
“Whether we count time the same way in Hell as we do here?” Those red lips curved into a smile, but it wasn’t a kind one. More like when a predator spots its prey. But I would not be cowed. “One could say that here and there are remarkably similar, Miss Hastings.”
I had no idea what that meant, just that it was likely designed to entirely discombobulate me.
It did not work, despite my appreciation for his appearance.
I may have been human, but I had certain strengths at hand.
Namely, the fact that I was generally able to comprehend any situation, gauge the emotions and goals behind it, and adjust accordingly.
Yes, this situation was the most extreme I’d yet encountered in this position, but I was well equipped to manage anything.
After all, before I got this position, I was a governess to no fewer than five ungovernable children, ranging from two to five. Children under six ought to be classified as their own terrifying species.
“Regardless, Lord—” I said, pausing as though I couldn’t remember his name either. I imagined there weren’t very many people who’d met him who didn’t immediately kowtow. After all, he was a demon. But I was a species ombudsman.
His lips tightened. Aha! I thought. Not that I wanted to antagonize the Devil’s spawn, but I did not want him to think he could trample all over me. I had a position to maintain, after all.
“Just Marcellus,” he said.
“Lord Marcellus,” I began, ignoring his annoyed expression, “regardless of all that, since you are in charge of logistics, and I am the point of contact, you may feel free to ask anything you wish of me.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I knew I’d erred.
“Pertaining to the Exhibition,” I added hastily, using a firmer tone than I normally employed with any of the species I dealt with.
Except for the harpies; they wouldn’t listen unless you yelled.
Many times I’d had to go home and apply a poultice to my throat because of all the shouting.
“I see” was all he said, which was maddeningly obscure.
“If you will excuse me?” I said, dipping a brief curtsy.
“I need to return to my office to continue ironing out all the details pertaining to your father’s visit.
” And employ my trusty tea ball, since the only thing that was going to settle me now was a strong cup of tea.
But I wasn’t going to share that tidbit of information with him.
“Return tomorrow at ten o’clock.” It was a command, not a request.
I bit my tongue so I didn’t accidentally say something that would get me spitified, and merely nodded, then strode quickly out of the room.
This assignment was going to be hellish.