by Cindi Madsen
Telling him the whole complicated I’ve been here before for short visits, but now I’m here on a more permanent basis story seemed, well, complicated. “New full-time resident and apparently I have no option but to complete the training program.”
It suddenly hit me that this guy might want to be here. Even if he was sort of evil, I didn’t want to go offending him on my first day. “I mean, I guess if you chose to be here, more power to you and all, but I’m just not cut out to be a temptress or whatever this is supposed to turn me into.”
He glanced around again, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed. “Not that I’m not enjoying our little chat, but I’m in a bit of a hurry. Trapped down here for eternity, and they insist we keep a tight time schedule. No rest for the wicked and all that.”
I gulped. Was he admitting he was wicked?
What did you think, that he’s down here for summer vacation? That honor goes to me.
“By all means…” I swung my arm down the hall. “Don’t let me hold you up.”
“I’ll catch you later, okay?” He flashed me a grin and then moved past me, disappearing around the corner.
I returned my attention to the door Baal had indicated and wondered if I was going to get yelled at for being tardy. Did they still do detention when the whole day was pretty much detention?
Focusing on being quiet as possible, I turned the knob and slipped into the room.
Anyway, that was what I was trying to do when my shirt caught on the latch. I yanked, but the fabric wouldn’t come free. The next tug worked but sent me stumbling into one of the desks. It scooted across the floor with screech, and books tumbled to the ground, the noise echoing through the room.
All heads turned toward me. The female teacher, who must’ve been a Playboy Bunny in her old life, was dressed in an outfit that showed off lots of skin. She glared at me, eyes red. Unfortunately I wasn’t exaggerating or being metaphorical about the red, either.
Two seconds into my first class, and I was already off to a killer start.
Six
My Persuasion class should’ve been called Being a Tramp for Dummies. It was all about flaunting what you got or creating an illusion of what you don’t. The scantily clad platinum-blond succubus teaching the class went by Ms. Bing.
Not my biggest fan, by the way, but once she learned who I was, she clamped her overly collagenated lips and instructed me to take a seat. On my way out of the classroom at the end of the hour, she handed me a syllabus so I could “catch up.”
Seriously. A syllabus.
According to it, we’d alternate between seduction techniques—which I hoped we wouldn’t have to practice in front of the class—and physical force. Since we were supposed to meet in the gym on physical force days, that meant demonstrating for sure. I was also sure I’d be awful at it.
Fingers crossed I get paired up with someone who got sent here for killing somebody.
With that cheery thought in mind, I made my way to Granting Wishes in Exchange for Souls. Man, when would people learn they should really hang on to those things?
As I entered the classroom, people stared and pointed. They weren’t even attempting to be subtle about it, and they weren’t oh-look-how-cute-her-outfit-is points either. They were more like we-have-decided-to-hate-you.
Hmm. Wonder if I can exchange my soul for getting everyone here to just leave me alone.
Just kidding.
Kind of.
Seven Deadly Sins (and How To Get People To Commit Them) was similar to Bible class, only opposite, where they taught you the sins so you could encourage people to commit them. Cost Analysis went over how to get quality souls, and why Tempters and Temptresses shouldn’t spend a lot of time on, say, crack dealers who beat their girlfriends, because they’d make it to Hell all on their own.
I exited the last class of the day, depressed and feeling an invisible but heavy weight on my shoulders.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted the guy from earlier—the one that’d given me tips and smiled at me. His gaze met mine, and unlike everyone else in this entire place, he wasn’t sending hate vibes my way.
“Well, if it isn’t spider girl,” he said in that charming accent of his.
“Actually, it’s more like girl who thinks spiders are super freaky and would rather not hear that word ever again. But that’s a little long, so you can just call me Lily.”
He smiled, and it lit up his whole face. Then he went all old-school and held out his hand. “I’m Tristan.”
Instead of shaking my hand as soon as I slipped mine into his, the way I’d expected him to, he simply held on for a moment. Butterflies filled my stomach and fluttered up to my chest.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, a nagging voice reminded me that the guy was in Hell and I should be careful. It also made me feel guilty for daring to experience butterflies when I’d barely gotten out of a relationship.
But I needed a friend, no matter what Tristan had done, and being in the hallway next to him was the best I’d felt all day.
Tristan pushed out the door, holding it open for me. “So, like I was saying earlier, the key is to stay under the radar. Just nod, take notes, and act like you’re interested in the whacked-out information they’re shoving down our throats.” His fingertips lightly brushed my lower back, and my pulse picked up speed. “Just stick with me, and I’ll help you through it.”
“Thanks. Earlier, I wasn’t even sure I’d survive the day.”
“It’s not so bad. It beats day in and day out of physical labor, even if—”
“Tristan!” A blond girl whose short, pin-curled hair made her look like a thirties-era movie star stepped up to Tristan and gripped his elbow, tugging him toward her. “What are you doing?”
“Just chatting with the new recruit. Lily, Constance. Constance—”
“Don’t you know who she is?” Constance asked.
He glanced at me, an easy smile on his lips. “She’s the girl who added a little entertainment to my morning, and you know that’s not easy to find around here.”
“She’s Satan’s daughter.” Constance’s fingers tightened around Tristan’s arm. “You know, the one we all heard rumors about. Turns out she actually does exist.”
Every ounce of humor drained from Tristan’s expression, and his posture stiffened. His gaze bored into mine, asking a question without words.
I swiped a stray strand of hair that’d fallen out of my bun off my face. “It’s not like I—”
“She lives in the castle and everything.” Constance sneered, her contempt aimed at me. “She’s the Princess of Hell.”
I opened my mouth to explain—to do anything to take away the coldness suddenly filling Tristan’s eyes—but Baal chose that moment to show up. In human form, at least, but still not great timing.
Baal gestured me over with a wave of his fingers. “Come on, Lilith. Your father’s eagerly awaiting your arrival.”
Tristan took a step back, his revulsion clear. It was the same way everyone had been looking at me all day, and even though we barely knew each other, it hurt a lot more coming from him.
“Lilith,” Baal repeated, voice firm.
“It’s Lily! Is that really so hard to remember?” I stomped over to him, too upset to care that I was acting like some kind of spoiled princess.
Baal started down the trail, and I took one last glance over my shoulder at Tristan.
It was a mistake.
The nice thing was, when all the friends I’d made at school asked how to get to my house so they could hang out with me, like they were obviously going to, I could tell them to follow the giant bone-looking spires. Then I’d add, Just cross through the rib cage of what must have been a dinosaur, and there you are.
I walked into the castle and slammed the door behind me.
When I passed the entryway to the living room, Dad looked up from his seat on the red velvet wingback chair next to the fireplace—as if we’d ever need to start
a fire. A sideways crescent moon shape topped the black frame of the chair, and from the right angle Daddy Dearest appeared to have the horns most illustrations depicted him with.
He set the papers he’d been studying on the gold and glass coffee table in front of him. “How’d it go?”
“I’m in Hell,” I said through gritted teeth. “How do you think it went? And Baal doesn’t need to escort me everywhere. It’s awful enough without him adding to it, trying to freak me out with the spider thing all the time.”
“As soon as you’ve proved you’ll go of your own free will, I’ll allow you to walk back and forth unsupervised.”
A mirthless laugh escaped my lips. “My own free will? That’s rich.” I glared at him and dared to ask the question that I was also terrified to ask. “How long are you forcing me to stay here? Or am I just damned, and I don’t even get a say about it?”
Dad exhaled as if I were being exhausting. “The contract states that you must complete one year of Temptress Training. On your eighteenth birthday you’ll be free to go, if that’s what you still want.”
“Oh, I’ll want it. What I really want is for this year to be over already.”
Dad unfolded himself from his seat and crossed the room to stand in front of me. “Doesn’t it make sense to at least try out the training and see if it’s something you enjoy?” I opened my mouth to argue, but Dad cut me off. “You have to complete it anyway, and if you tap into your power, you’ll see how incredible it can be.”
I wanted to look away but couldn’t seem to bring myself to do so.
“It’s in your blood,” he whispered, his voice pouring over me like the sweetest, most irresistible honey as he placed his hand on my shoulder, “just waiting for you to take advantage of it.”
A surge of cool electricity tingled through his fingertips and into me, and my body hummed with the power. Pleasantly buzzed, my fears melted away and I felt invincible. Like I could have my heart’s desire with a simple snap of my fingers.
Like I deserved everything and more, at that.
Part of me wanted to hold on to the intoxicating sensation, but I knew he was trying to manipulate me, and I knew all too well what happened when people let him in.
Gathering every bit of self-control I could summon up, I stumbled back, out of his grasp.
Immediately my own emotions rushed back: anger, frustration, longing for my old life, and a hopelessness that hollowed out my insides.
“I’ve always envisioned someone at my side,” Dad said as I blinked and worked to regain my bearings. “Since I’ve never been good with the ladies—actually, the problem is being too good with the ladi—”
“Dad! Ew! You want my ears to start bleeding?” I shuddered. “Sheesh.”
“Anyway, who better than my own family. My own blood. Think of the fun, luring people into Hell.”
“Yeah, I’m sure it’s a blast. Right up there with jamming sharp objects in my eye.”
“Together, we’d be unstoppable.” Dad’s voice dripped with glory and greed. A scary gleam lit his onyx eyes. For a moment it was like he was seeing through me, and then his vision cleared and his attention homed in on me. “All you’ve got to do is try it out for a year. If at the end of your training, you decide to leave, I’ll never force you down here again.”
His words were even more intoxicating than the power I’d felt earlier. “Never? All I have to do is survive this year and you’ll leave me alone?”
He hesitated for a second and then slowly nodded.
“Throw Mom into the deal.” I crossed my arms and did my best to mask the raw desperation flooding my system. “You’ll leave me alone, and you’ll leave Mom alone. Give me your word. Swear it on all the souls of Hell.”
Dad pressed his lips together, and a contemplative crinkle creased his forehead. “That’s a powerful promise.”
“The only kind I know you can’t break.”
Right as I was about to insist again that he seal his promise, he held up his hand like he was being sworn in at court. No Bible, of course. There wasn’t exactly a plethora of those lying around down here. “One year. I swear upon all the souls of Hell that if you don’t want to become a Temptress or the Princess of Hell after one year, I will leave you and Rachel alone. Unless of course you do something that sends you here. I can’t get rid of those repercussions. It wouldn’t be fair to all the other sinners.”
“Like you care about fair.” But he’d sworn. A glimmer of hope shone through the darkness. I could survive a year, no matter how bad it got, if it meant Mom’s and my freedom.
Hell High for twelve months without eviling out? How hard could it be?
Seven
Dad informed me I was expected to come down for dinner at six sharp, and insisted I dress nice. I wasn’t exactly sure how nice I needed to go, but I went through my clothes and pulled out the three summer dresses I’d brought. One was a white halter top with lace on the bottom. The perfect image of innocence.
Dad would hate it.
The smile on my face as I put on the dress was far from innocent. I pulled my angel wing pendant out from underneath the fabric, making sure it was on display for all to see, and then headed downstairs.
The dining room was filled with Dad’s top guys. I struggled to remember names, but it wasn’t like anyone here was named Bob. There was Merihim, the Prince of Pestilence; Geryon, the giant centaur who guarded Hell. I thought his iron helmet with bone-colored horns was scary, but once I got a look at his oozing, boil-covered face, I wished for the helmet.
So is he just going to stand while the rest of us sit around the table and eat? Talk about awkward.
Next to Geryon were the dukes: Valefar, who glowed green and tempted to steal, Shax, who did something I couldn’t remember and at least appeared semihuman, and the Grand Duke of them all, Abigor.
Abigor looked up as I stepped farther into the room, and a killer grin spread across full lips that were punctuated by dimples. I gave him a smile and an awkward little wave. The thing about Abigor was, demon or not, with his shortly shorn jet-black hair, deep umber skin, and rippling muscles, it was basically impossible not to drool over him. I mean, dayum.
Okay, remember. Demons are bad. Even if they look like a ridiculously sexy combination of athlete, blockbuster actor, and male supermodel.
“Lilith.” He bowed his head. “Lovely as always.”
The flush of heat that corkscrewed through me had nothing to do with the temperature.
Every head turned toward me, and Dad walked over and put his hand on my elbow. Two creases formed between his eyebrows as he examined my dress. “I have access to the best fabric and tailors in the world. I’d love to have more princess-appropriate dresses made up.”
“Thanks, but I’m good,” I said, voice low, and the corners of his mouth tightened. But thanks to our audience, a pleasant host facade overtook his features, and he led me around the room. “You remember Merihim?”
“Of course.” I took the hand Merihim extended. Peering into his pupilless eyes always sent a chill deep into my bones, even in roasty, toasty Hell, so I focused on the silver buttons on his suit.
“Happy birthday,” he said, his voice cool. I don’t know what I’d ever done to him, but I always got the feeling that he despised me. Or maybe being the prince of deadly diseases wasn’t the riot it sounded like.
I nodded and exchanged greetings as Dad walked me around the room.
In the back corner stood Caim. He was the President of Hell and got that title for being the first person to ever commit murder. Back on Earth, he used to go by Cain.
“Lilith.” He opened his arms and pulled me into a hug. His long black hair tickled my cheek. “So good to see you again.”
“You too, Uncle Caim.” Despite his past sins, he was actually one of the few demons I was comfortable with. When I was a little girl, he’d brought me the best presents. There was a Christmas when the doll I wanted was out of stock, and while Mom apologized over and over,
Caim showed up on our doorstep Christmas Day, bearing the very doll I’d spent months wishing for.
During one of my earliest custody visits, I’d fallen down and scraped my knee, and he’d carried me inside the castle and tenderly patched me up. He’d used magic to do so, skipping the long, itchy process of bandages and weeks of healing.
With all the greetings over and done with, Dad led me to the head of the table. “I’m so glad you could all be here to welcome Lilith home.”
I cleared my throat, and Dad glanced at me. “Lily,” I whispered. Anger seeped into his features, and I quickly added, “Please. If that’s okay.”
He blew out his breath. “Lily turned seventeen today, and I wanted you all to be here for this special occasion.”
Goblets filled with red wine were raised in my honor, and Dad jerked his chin toward the ornate gold goblet on the table in front of me.
I lifted it along with the others.
Dad’s booming voice filled the room. “To Lily, Princess of Hell, and her success here.”
The others muttered, “To Lily,” before tipping back their glasses. Dad’s gaze bored into me, and I took a sip.
Ugh. Tasted like hairspray. Better than blood, I guess.
After the toast, people settled into their seats—even Geryon, who folded his horse legs under him and appeared completely at ease in his chair.
Abigor sat to my left, while Dad took the chair to my right, at the head of the table. Dad leaned over me and asked Abigor about the legions his men were in charge of, and I tuned out, thinking I should be with Dominic and Hailey right now, celebrating my birthday the way I wanted. Like at a movie or at home with a stack of pizza boxes and a TV show to binge. Anything not involving the who’s who of Hell.
A nudge pulled me back to the present.
Abigor leaned in, his shoulder bumping against mine. “I know we toasted to it, but I wanted to say happy birthday. I’ve been waiting for—”
“Lilith,” Caim said from across the table. “How was your first day of Temptress Training? Are you learning a lot?”
