Chapter Seventeen
Seventeen
“How?” I ask in horror. It’s bad enough being here as an adult. I can’t imagine being a child.
“Don’t look too upset. It was all I knew for the majority of my life,” Luke says. “And how I grew up here isn’t the important question. You should be asking why.”
“Okay, then why?”
He glances at me. “You’re going to want to buckle up for it. Literally.”
I didn’t realize I wasn’t wearing my seat belt. I click it into place, but the mere action catapults my mind back to that night. Telling my mom to buckle up had been on the tip of my tongue, but we were almost home. It seemed a silly thing to do.
“I’ve never met my father,” Luke starts, tugging me away from the edge of falling into the familiar flashback.
“For the record, I’ve never wanted to. He got my mom pregnant with twins and left her on her own.
During the second trimester, she got very sick.
The doctors told her that, ultimately, it would be her or the babies.
While crying over it on a bench near the hospital, a man came up to her.
She didn’t know she was sitting at a crossroads. She didn’t know he was a demon.”
“I didn’t know you’re a twin,” I comment.
“I never said I was one of the babies.”
“Oh, you’re not?”
“No, I was. You just shouldn’t jump to conclusions.
” The corner of his mouth twitches in a grin.
I whack his arm and he continues, gaze glued on the endless road and lilac sky.
“The man offered my mother a deal. She wanted healthy babies so she wouldn’t have to live without them, and they wouldn’t have to live without her.
He said she could get that. For a price. ”
“Why would she pay it?”
“Do you ever order something online and when you get it, it’s nothing like it was in the picture?
That’s how demon deals are. You think you’re the one getting a steal.
That they’re the idiots. But that’s how they work.
He promised her the opportunity to have healthy babies so they could all be together.
Hopeless and alone, she agreed to the deal.
But when she went to sleep that night, he came for her. She woke up on the train to hell.”
“And the babies?”
“Were born in hell. Grew up in hell. Assumed they would die in hell, until…well, plans changed. The end.”
I gawk at him. “You can’t just the end. Until what? How’d you get to Tarrentown? And was everything you told me on the train a lie? You’re not from a lineage of monster hunters?”
“It wasn’t a complete lie,” Luke says, though he sounds apologetic.
“You jumped to that conclusion. It seemed easier than telling the truth, that the monsters hunted us. My entire childhood was spent running. The books you saw at my house were ones I collected in the overworld, but I did have others passed down to me from my mom. Once the reality set in that we were here to stay, she did everything she could to protect us. Read every text, made us memorize every demon and monster type, moved us constantly so we were never in one place for long, and taught us to fight. You saw what it was like on the train. Humans don’t last here. The odds were never in our favor.”
I deserve an award for biting my tongue against making a Hunger Games joke right now. “You said the longer we’re here, the more we start to lose our humanity. But if you lived here for years, then how are you still…”
I trail off. It’s probably uncouth to ask him point-blank if he’s human.
He picks up what I’m putting down. “The same rules don’t apply to children.
They have an innate innocence that protects their hearts until they’re older and lose that.
For others, it’s a slippery slope. While some lose their humanity, many cling to whatever scraps they can despite turning monstrous on the outside.
My mother always said her love for us kept her human at heart.
I guess the same could be said for me. Most beings here have nothing to lose, but I lived in fear of her and my brother getting killed. Fear keeps you human.”
“That must have been a horrific childhood. I’m sorry.”
He lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “I knew nothing else. And not everyone here is terrible. Some, like Hazaar, helped us at certain points. Others did not.”
My gaze snags on the faint horizontal scar across his throat, wondering how he got it and if there are more in places I can’t see.
Before I can think too hard about what resides beneath his clothes, I ask, “When did you make the switch from being the hunted to the hunter?”
He’s silent for a long beat, as if trying to pinpoint the exact moment.
“Most demon deals have some kind of loophole, if you can find it. The deal my mother made was my mother’s, meaning that while she was trapped in hell for all eternity, it didn’t mean I was.
I was betrayed and desperate to leave, so I went to the one person who can grant pardons through the veil.
The devil. I wagered that if he would grant me passage to the overworld, I’d travel the globe hunting down whatever monsters caused trouble in it. He agreed to my terms and let me go.”
I try to imagine Luke confronting the devil, some silver fox man staring down at him from a throne built of bones or brimstone or human teeth. Maybe all three.
“Wouldn’t the devil want a presence in the overworld? So he could…” I gesture vaguely, searching for words. “Try to take over?”
“It’d be more trouble than it’s worth,” Luke says. “Besides, the devil is responsible for keeping hell beings in check, which can only be done on their turf. It’s ideal for everyone to keep to their respective worlds.”
“So you escaped hell just to end up back in it. That sucks.”
“Big-time.” Luke blows out a breath.
“I bet the overworld was a culture shock,” I mention.
“It certainly took getting used to. I had romanticized it, so there were some harsh awakenings to contend with.”
“Like that McDonald’s fries aren’t actually that good?”
His laugh surprises us both. “So awful,” he agrees. “Soggy and too salty yet not salty enough.”
“Burger King’s better.”
“By far.”
I mull over everything he’s said, unable to scrape my mind of two little boys playing hide-and-seek in the chaos of the Night Market. Or of his mother, and what she looked like. Or who betrayed him, a hurt that drove so deep it made him move worlds.
I’m about to ask when his voice cuts the quiet.
“You did well, Brie,” Luke says softly. It’s so simple, three words and my name, and yet the pressure of tears is suddenly, stupidly, behind my eyes.
It’s been months since anyone has told me that and meant it.
“You’re doing well. And I’m not just talking about the bargain with Hazaar.
It’s not lost on me how horrific the underworld is for those who’ve never been.
You’re brave and I would never blame you if you weren’t, but you’re taking all this much better than I expected. ”
“And what did you expect?”
“A lot more trembling. Maybe some vomit. A gallon of tears.” He glances at me, gaze warm. “At least a few moments where you groveled for me to take you back to the overworld.”
“I bet you were looking forward to that. Me groveling.”
The words suspend themselves. I didn’t mean it to sound so suggestive, but the air between us changes instantly.
He sucks in a breath, grip tightening on the wheel.
His eyes shift to meet mine, lingering for long enough that I’m glad we’re the only ones on the road.
I wonder if he has the same appalling image in his mind that I do of me in the position I was in after escaping the Night Market, on my knees but begging for him.
Desperate to shift things back, I reach for the nearest truth. “If you’re surprised I’m not as fazed as you expected, that’s probably because the most awful thing that could happen to me already did. After driving the car that killed my parents, everything objectively horrific pales in comparison.”
Well, that’s one way to squash the vibes. But in case that wasn’t enough, I add, “I’m also on some powerful SSRIs.”
Not that I’m good at consistently taking them, but he doesn’t need to know that.
A yawn escapes and Luke all but pounces on the conversation change. “You should rest. You could go in the back, where it might be more comfortable.”
“So you care about my comfort now?” I tease, trying to pretend that whatever moment just sizzled between us didn’t leave me short of breath. “Where was that when I asked for a new desk chair with lumbar support?”
“Budget cuts spare no one.”
“What about you? You didn’t sleep on the train, right? You’ve been up for days.”
“I’m fine.” But is it my imagination, or does he sound a bit breathless himself? “I’d rather get us to Chicago.”
I climb into the back and make a pillow with my duffel. Even the motion of lying down has my mind fading. Before sleep can take me, a question bursts from my lips.
“Is your twin identical?”
“Fraternal.” Luke glances at me in the rearview mirror. “And before you ask, yes, I am the more attractive one.”
· · ·
Luke wakes me mid-nightmare, expression unreadable.
“Sorry,” I apologize. Realizing maybe my moaning and groaning could be mistaken for a sex dream, I add, “I have a reoccurring nightmare about the night of the car accident. That’s all it was.”
He frowns. “We’re in Chicago. I was debating letting you sleep, but I guess I’m glad I didn’t.”
“Me, too. I hate it but can’t kick it.”
Nodding in understanding, he says, “I used to have nightmares often. Now, I don’t dream at all.”
“I wish.”
We stop at a gas station and convenience mart to load up on food and water.
I excuse myself to the bathroom to freshen up and change my ripped jeans for a pair of soft leggings.
My hair is a lost cause, and since it’s curly, I can’t comb it unless it’s wet and I have a handful of conditioner.
I rake my fingers through the worst of the knots, throwing it up into a ponytail.
Whether it’s the nap, the much-needed bathroom break, or the outfit change, I emerge feeling like a new woman.
“It’s like a 7-Eleven,” I tell Luke, meeting him in front of the mart.
“Where’s your dagger?” Luke asks. I turn to show him where it’s strapped to my thigh, blending in with my leggings. “I want to put as much distance as possible between ourselves and the Night Market so the hounds don’t have a shot at catching up once it reappears and frees them.”
“Good point.” We amble back to the car with our bags, all of which include nameless snacks.
Luke had to pick them out since I nearly took a container of freeze-dried eyeballs because I assumed they were candy.
He paid using a handful of soul jars. The employee inside looked about as bored and tired as any other 7-Eleven worker I’ve ever seen, indigo skin aside.
“It’s strange,” I comment as we walk. “Hell has convenience stores and diners, but I have yet to see a park. There are chips and pretzels, but not slushies. There are cars, but they look old. Why?”
“Hell beings hate to admit it, but the underworld is largely modeled after the overworld. With limited ways to access it until recently, thanks to whatever shit is going on with the veil, replicating what the overworld has is built on guesses and memories. Most things that are similar are thanks to the humans who have made hell their home after making unfortunate deals with demons that trapped them here.”
“There’s no Bean,” I comment as we walk past what should be Millennium Park but is another skyscraper.
“You won’t find many artistic touches here,” Luke comments as we reach the van. “Especially since Illinois is home to the Engineering Department.”
“Of course it is,” I mutter, climbing into the passenger seat and tossing my duffel to the back.
“What do you want to start with?”
He holds open one of the bags to show the assortment of snacks. It hits me suddenly that I don’t want any of them. I don’t want food at all, actually.
“What is it?” he asks, catching my frown.
“I’m not hungry. Except…We haven’t eaten in over twenty-four hours. I should be starving. I’m always hungry.” A brittle laugh escapes as I meet Luke’s eyes, swallowing down panic. “Why am I not hungry?”
His eyes betray a hint of worry. “Hunger for food is a very mortal feeling. Hunger here is different. Hell beings can go weeks without food, or at least whatever food is for them.”
“Is that what’s happening?” I suck in a breath. “We’ve only been here two days. Am I turning into a hell being already?”
“No.” The word is finite and convincing. “This is your body trying to adapt. You need to eat. Force yourself. That’s another key to staying human. You need to do everything exactly as you would if you were in the overworld.”
He starts driving and I start eating. I stuff my face with chips and crackers and down a full bottle of water, polishing everything off with a packet of crushed Oreos I find in the pocket of my duffel.
By the time we’re on Route 66, the floor beneath my feet is littered with empty bags and used napkins.
I’m full, I think. Or, at least, I should be.
But every bite was less appealing than the last.