by Ivy Asher
I stand there still, absorbing the quiet of the moment and hoping it will silence all the uncertainty and worry I feel inside. I don’t know how to start trying to process everything; it all just feels so overwhelming. I sigh and turn around, forcing myself to leave the refreshing air as I walk back into my room.
Washing all the ash and filth off of me is probably a good place to begin to unravel the knot that is my life right now. I make my way to the black and gray wall at the far end of the room, blinking slightly at the sight of a fern plant potted right beside the first door. I gape at it but then shake my head and toss that into the not gonna talk about it pile. So what if the only plant in this room just so happens to be a fern that’s identical to the only plant at my house?
I shake off the sense of déjà vu and walk through the doorway, finding a very masculine looking bathroom. There’s no shower or even a conventional tub, but there is an onyx toilet built to accommodate wings, and a large sunken pool filled with steaming water.
The hot water is calling to me, and my clothes and skin are still covered in dead demons and wrinkled from my time in the dungeon. I waste no time stripping down and stepping into it. I hiss at the boiling temperature, forced to lower myself inch by overheated inch until my body acclimates enough to be submerged. I let the hot water cocoon me for a minute, trying to get my tense and knotted muscles to relax.
There’s a platter of soaps within reach, so I grab the first bar I see and start going to town, scrubbing myself down. My wings are incredibly heavy now that they’re wet, but they seem to like the hot water, because they flutter out, the ends moving to pop the bubbles that form on the top layer of the water. I jump at the intrusion on my peaceful moment, grimacing at the sight of them.
Ugh.
I don’t want wings. I don’t care if people think they’re cool or pretty or badass. They one hundred percent freak me out, and they don’t belong on me.
“Go away,” I hiss at them. The purple feathers are darker now that they’re wet.
The unwelcome appendages don’t seem to care how I feel about them, and my left one reaches out like a defiant toddler and pops another bubble. I roll my eyes and do my best to ignore them, but I get the distinct impression that they’re taunting me.
Feathers continue to pop bubbles, and I bat the wings away. “Fucking settle down,” I grumble at them, and I’m a little appeased when they actually seem to listen and stop moving, pulling tightly against my back again.
I scrub my skin, but I refuse to look at anything. I keep my eyes trained forward onto the piss throne instead. Seeing any ash or blood will set me off, and I can’t afford to lose my shit. Not when there are a shit ton of Abdicated apparently coming here as Tazreel hosts some fucking useless party because apparently, it’s the “rules” to be like, hey, I stuck my dick in a female and procreated another Nihil. Who’s bringing the keg?
Once I’m sure that I’m clean from hair to toes, I frown at the cloudy gray water I leave behind. I look around, trying to find some sort of drain or plug to pull, but I can’t find anything. I step out, grabbing a towel that feels more like a blanket as I dry myself off. The silky, probably priceless material doesn’t absorb nearly as well as my Dollar Tree thin cotton towels at home, which is a little pathetic.
I search the room for other toiletries, but there’s nothing else in here except for a mirror and a red free-standing sink. I stare at my reflection for a long moment. I’m still me, but not quite the same. My hair is electric and practically glowing. The purple is stunning, and I now have some lighter natural looking violet highlights mixed in with the darker. Just as I suspected, the color looks natural now, some strands lighter like they’ve been kissed by the sun. It’s long and voluminous, and as much as I hate the feathered appendages, they match my hair exactly.
My skin is smooth and radiant. I look at my knee where I used to have a scar from when I skinned it really badly in eighth grade when I was trying to look cool and ride a skateboard. The scar is gone. My gray eyes flicker like the embodiment of storm clouds, but beyond that, there’s nothing overly demonic about me. I’m suddenly a level of hot I don’t really know what to do with, but that seems to be the Abdicated way, judging from Tazreel and his obvious vanity.
Eyes flicking over, I notice that the hanging mirror I’m staring at myself in has some little knobs, and when I pull them, it opens and I find the toiletries I was looking for. I snag a brush and start to comb through my hair as I let the silk blanket-towel hang over my wings, which are dripping huge piles of water all over the floor. I have no idea how to dry these fucking things, so I end up going outside on the balcony again, sitting there wrapped up in a blanket I steal from the bed, deciding to just let them air dry.
It takes a long fucking time. I really wish I had my blow dryer right about now. I lean back in the chair, soaking up whatever it is in the air that feels so invigorating. My thoughts race, but I dread trying to focus on any one of them. They’re all too overwhelming, and I need to focus on getting out of here.
I can lose my shit when I’m in the privacy of my own home again. Until then, I need to shut everything down that wants to derail me.
Just when I’m starting to relax, Tazreel pops out of nowhere, landing right in front of me on the balcony. “How old did you say you were again?” he demands.
I shriek and nearly fall backward in my chair. I clutch my chest and shoot him a scowl, irritated that he thinks he has the right to appear whenever the fuck he wants to. He’s staring at me expectantly, a large looking ledger in his hand. It’s bound in what I would guess is black dragonhide, but I don’t know if that’s my imagination running away with me or if that’s an actual possibility.
“Could you knock before you come barging in?” I scold.
“No. This is my house. How old?” he asks again.
“Twenty-eight,” I repeat on a sigh, and his brows dip in concentration as he flips through the pages of whatever book is in his hands.
He’s mumbling to himself, like he’s doing conversions in his head, like I’m a dog and he’s trying to see how old that would make me in—I listen closer—Marakas, Zael, and Goblin years.
I cringe. “You fucked a goblin?” I ask, my tone bleeding with judgment.
His eyes briefly swing up to me. “They are actually very attentive and gentle lovers. They do amazing things with one’s taint,” he tells me matter-of-factly, like it makes a difference.
“Ugh. I don’t want to hear about your taint,” I snap, suddenly wondering if I jump off this balcony, how quickly could I fly away from this dude.
But just the thought of having to use my bird parts gets me feeling all anxious and squeamish, so I decide against that plan of action.
“I need another book,” he declares, and suddenly, he’s just not there anymore.
Getting up, I head inside, locking the balcony door after me. Not because I think it will actually keep him out, but it feels like a small act of rebellion I can get away with to irritate him.
I make my way over to the second door in the room and pull it open, finding a walk-in closet just like I guessed. Everything hanging up is mostly made of leather, fur, and chains.
Swiping through the clothes, I finally manage to find a semi-normal looking pair of pants, and although they’re made of leather, they’re not stiff, shiny, or squeaky like the pair from the graveyard uniform. Instead, they’re supple and soft.
I find an array of underwear and stare at the pile for a moment, debating what to do. I’m not sure who this stuff belongs to, and I’m trying to decide which is worse: wearing someone else’s underwear, or wearing someone else’s pants without underwear. I snag a pair of panties and sniff a corner just to be sure they’re clean. I side-eye myself as I do it, irritated that Hell has forced me to become a creepy underwear sniffer. Luckily, they’re clean, so I pull them on, huffing at the black silk thong that goes right up my ass crack.
Finding a shirt is more difficult because there are no bras
in sight. I’m not exactly ready to put on the one I was wearing before, but going without isn’t an option either. Going back into the bathroom, I clean the bra in the sink absently, refusing to focus on the ash tainted water that flows from it. I wring it out as much as I can and put the wet bra back on, cringing.
What the hell? This doesn’t fit right.
I look down at my chest, and my cups runneth over. I try to grasp what the fuck is going on. Did the Hell water shrink it? I pull the bra off and squeak in surprise when my boobs don’t do the normal sag. I push one boob down and then let go and watch, shocked, when it bounces right back up, perky as a Playboy Bunny.
Did I get a Nihil boob job to go with the rest of the changes to my body?
I twist and turn, looking at myself in the mirror. It’s undeniable, they’re bigger and higher up than they have been since I hit my late twenties. I put my wet bra back in the pile of dirty clothes that reek of trauma and pain and go back to the closet.
Inside, I grab what I’m pretty certain is meant to be a dude’s tunic that has a hole for wings in the back. It’s really difficult to put the damn thing on and line it up with the wing holes. When I finally manage to get it on, I’m sweating and out of breath. The hem hits right below my ass, and it’s really loose in the front, but it’s better than the half-naked women’s shirts hanging up. I don’t even think I could manage to get dressed in those without help.
As soon as I walk out of the closet, I see Tazreel appear outside on the balcony again. His face is buried in another black book. I see his mouth move like he’s asking me another question, because he hasn’t noticed he’s missing an audience. When he doesn’t earn a reply from me for whatever he said, he looks around, noticing that I’m not out there. I snicker, but the noise makes him turn his head, eyes landing on me on the other side of the glass panes.
He turns the handle to the balcony door, frowning when he discovers that it’s locked. He gives me a droll look, like I’m a petulant child trying to escape a time-out.
In a blink, he disappears from the balcony and reappears in my room. “Do you dispel black glitter during intercourse?” he asks without preamble.
“What the fuck? No!”
He crosses something off in the book, looking smug. “I knew you couldn’t be part pixie.”
I blink at him. “So...you did fuck a three-inch pixie?”
“No,” he replies brusquely. “She was only a quarter pixie.”
I sigh and rub a hand down my face. “Why the creepy question? What’s in that book?”
“I keep a catalogued account of everyone I’ve fornicated with. I’m searching to see if I can determine who your mother might be.”
My lips purse in full icked-out mode. “Eww, how many books do you have?”
He opens his mouth, but I quickly throw up my hand. “You know what? Never mind. I don’t want to know.”
He nods and keeps reading, but then Lanky appears in my room right beside him, making me jump back, a small yelp coming out of me. “Fuck, can you guys not just pop into my room like that?”
They both ignore me. “Sir, the first guests have arrived.”
Tazreel snaps the book shut with a scowl. “Dammit,” he hisses before finally looking over at me for longer than a second. His eyes narrow as his gaze runs over my damp hair and drooping wings. “What in Nihil are you wearing? You can’t go like that to a party I’m hosting.”
Self-conscious anger lifts a blush into my cheeks. “I didn’t know the party was going to be right fucking now. And besides, I told you before I don’t want to go.”
“You’re going, even if I have to drag you by your purple wings,” he says without room for argument.
“Pass.”
In one smooth movement, Tazreel tosses the book aside, making Lanky dive to catch it before it crashes to the floor. Tazreel stalks toward me, and I scramble backward, until my wings collide with the wall, not liking the menace that’s coming my way. I really should watch my fucking mouth when I’m talking to an Abdicated.
He stares down at me with dominant fury, power pulsing into the room to showcase his anger. “I am your Sire,” he tells me, his gray-gold eyes holding me in place as he looms over me. “Which means everything you do, every move you make, is a direct reflection on me. You will do everything I say, without argument, and uphold my reputation at all costs. Are we understood?”
He doesn’t wait for me to answer. He seems to just expect that his little temper tantrum will put me in line. It does. For now.
Turning his head, he looks over his shoulder at Lanky. “Get Lousen up here to properly attire my offspring.”
Lanky nods and instantly disappears to do his bidding, as Tazreel turns back to me. “And remember,” he says, his tone threatening once more. My breath gets stuck in my throat as his eyes fill with promised vengeance. “If you embarrass me at this gathering, I will hang you up on the wall like a moth, with pins.”
In a blink, he disappears, leaving me reeling. I slump against the wall, my heart racing about a million miles per minute. I barely have time to take in a single shaky breath before another demon is popping into my room.
“Let me guess, Lousen?” I ask the she-demon. She has polka-dotted skin, making it look like someone took an entire box of Crayola markers to her. The large circles are all different colors, while her hair is tar-black, reaching all the way down to her knees.
She looks around, confused for a moment, and I notice in her left hand is a small hanger with what looks like a jeweled diaper on it. Her yellow eyes focus back on me.
“Deltagates?” she asks, like my first and last name are just one word.
“That’s me,” I confirm, and she takes me in from head to toe.
“Oh. Well, it seems we won’t be needing this,” Lousen comments, nodding to the diaper on the hanger. In a flash, it disappears.
“They didn’t tell me we had such a...developed situation on our hands,” she observes, her yellow gaze settling on my perky chest. I cross my arms, suddenly feeling uncomfortable.
“The masses are never going to believe that Tazreel stepped out of line so exponentially,” she squeaks with a smile, like the thought makes her incredibly excited.
“Is it really that big of a deal?” I look around the weird room I’ve been stationed in and try to wrap my mind around all the weird rules this place seems to have.
I feel like I’m hanging with the Mad Hatter at some fucked up tea party. I want to be home alone with my grief so I can mourn in peace and try to figure out what to do next. But instead, I’m here, being forced to go to some ridiculous party, while demons salivate about spilling the tea and bringing my prick of a demon sperm donor down a peg. Not that I can fault them for that. He is shallow, arrogant, and insufferable, and I’ve only known him for a couple of hours.
“He won’t be purged for it, but it will be the talk of the Rings for a bit before someone else does something else shocking. I’ve never heard of a Nihil child not being molded to become the next generation of Hell’s Generals right from birth. That’s usually what these gatherings are for, the little one’s life needs to be carefully mapped out from the start.”
I let her words settle in my mind and try not to sigh. Great. Just what the hell are they going to do with me, then? I don’t want anyone fucking molding me. It was hard enough coming to terms with becoming a Hellgate Guardian. A Hell General sounds a thousand times worse. How am I going to get home now?
Lousen claps her hands together excitedly, pulling me from my racing and worried thoughts. “Enough of that. We need to get started! We have an Abdicated party to get you ready for,” she announces, as if I could possibly forget that fact. “I’ll have you looking positively edible in no time,” she assures me cheerfully, revealing a smile of multicolored teeth as a vanity table and two bushels full of fabric appear behind her.
The second she says edible, my thoughts immediately go to the Savor and his proclivity for eating demon parts, making me cringe.
“You can just call me Delta, and I’d settle for looking not embarrassing instead of edible. Don’t want to give anyone any ideas,” I tell her on a chuckle that sounds nervous even to my own ears.
She gives me a knowing smile and a wink, and I decide to interpret that as capitulation. “So, on a scale from zero to I’m fucked, exactly how bad are these Abdicated assholes?” I ask her.
She looks at me warily, the smile slipping from her face. “Let’s just...get you dressed,” she replies carefully, which answers that question without her even having to say anything more.
Trepidation sinks into my toes, making it hard to move. I have a really bad feeling about this.
5
“That should do it!” Lousen declares in an elated tone. She steps back, her yellow eyes taking me in and filling with warm pride. “You’ll be the envy of every menagerie,” she states, like that’s a good thing.
“Just to be clear, a menagerie isn’t a zoo filled with demonic animals, is it?”
She chortles, her colorful teeth glistening. “Of course not. The menageries are the Abdicated’s harems.”
“I had a feeling you were going to say that,” I grumble under my breath.
I look down at the gown that Lousen practically Bibbity Bobbity Booed out of nowhere and run my hands over the soft thin material now covering my body. I’ve been squeezed into a corset bodysuit that’s the color of my pale skin and will be impossible to get out of on my own. Over that, she’s draped a muted periwinkle fabric that’s softer than chiffon and looks just as delicate.
The gown is strapless, although two very romantic, but otherwise useless, sleeves are dangling down my upper arms. The soft pastel fabric hugs my curves and swaddles the perky twins, flaring out at my waist. The entire dress is covered in what I thought were various sizes of periwinkle pearls, but according to Lousen, they’re actually a rare color of moonstone.
