“Luck?” I parroted.
“In the gaming room?” he replied as if the answer to my question was patently obvious.
“Where are they taking her?” This time he merely shook his head in disbelief at my ignorance and walked me toward a long car with tinted windows that had pulled up outside the club. It was strange to see a car indoors, but the underground tunnels, I realized, were wide enough to fit two cars side by side and were meant to serve as roads. The rear door was opened for me and the guards slid in on either side so I was ensconced between their bulky forms. The smell of cigar smoke clung to them.
We drove for a while through the winding tunnel that seemed to spiral into nowhere. Wandering partygoers shuffled out of the way when they saw us coming. Once we moved away from the club district I noticed that these people didn’t seem to be celebrating. They drifted aimlessly around with staring eyes and vacant faces like the living dead. Looking at them closer, I saw their skin had a grayish tinge to it.
Finally at the end of a steep tunnel we came to a towering building that had perhaps been white, but had now faded to the color of yellowed parchment. It must have been at least twenty stories high and classical in style with plaster scrolls above the windows.
Revolving doors led us into a vast and opulent lobby. The hotel was designed so the rooms on every floor overlooked the lobby, giving the effect of looking up into a maze. The showpiece of the lobby was a curtain of tiny fairy lights. It hung from ceiling to floor illuminating a central marble fountain in which stone nymphs frolicked. Adjacent to the reception desk rose an ornate glass elevator in the shape of a giant capsule. Here the hotel staff were dressed in crisp uniforms and the mood was business-like compared to the seediness of the clubs. When I walked in, they all froze for a moment and fixed me with the eyes of vultures before resuming their duties. Despite their seemingly ordinary appearances, I could see something untamed in their gazes, something that made me squirm inside. I was grateful to be flanked by the two burly security guards, as I would not have liked to be left alone with them.
“Welcome to the Ambrosia,” said the woman behind the reception desk in a light and airy voice. With her tailored suit and blond hair wound in a smooth bun, she was the picture of efficiency. Except for her unblinking, shark-eyed gaze. “We’ve been expecting you. Your rooms are ready.” Her cheerfulness belied the sharp look in her eyes. Her long manicured nails made a soft, clacking sound as they moved fleetingly over the keyboard. “The penthouse has been reserved for you.”
“Thank you,” I said. “It’s a beautiful hotel, but would you mind telling me where I am?”
The woman stopped short, dropping her professional demeanor for a moment.
“He hasn’t told her?” She looked incredulously at my escorts, who exchanged looks as if to say Don’t ask us. I was having trouble containing the feeling of dread growing in the pit of my stomach. It was spreading upward like a fungus. “Well, my dear”—the receptionist’s eyes glinted darkly—“you’re in Hades. Make yourself at home.” She slid a key card in a plastic pouch across the polished counter.
“Excuse me?” I said. “By Hades you don’t mean … you can’t mean …” I faltered. Of course I knew instantly what she meant. I knew from my studies that the literal translation of the place meant “the unseen.” But my mind refused to acknowledge it as true. Until I heard it spoken aloud I didn’t have to believe it.
“Otherwise known as Hell,” the receptionist said breezily. “But don’t let Mr. Thorn catch you calling it that. He prefers the more classical name. And you know how pedantic demon princes can be.”
I only caught part of what she said because I’d stopped listening. My knees began to tremble. The last thing I saw were the bodyguards lunging forward as the black marble floor came up to meet my face.
7
Underground
I woke to a deafening silence. A milky light filtered into the room and I rubbed my eyes to get a better look at my surroundings. The first thing I saw was a sitting area with a fireplace. The last embers were crumbling to a soft glow in the grate, casting shadows across the room and softening the edges of the furniture. The room was richly decorated in dark timbers, and a crystal chandelier hung from the decorative ceiling.
I found myself lying in an oak-paneled bed with gold satin sheets and a rich burgundy coverlet. I was wearing an old-fashioned nightdress with lacy cuffs. I wondered where my costume had gone? I had no memory of taking it off. I propped myself up and looked around, from the plush carpet to the heavy velvet drapes to the vast welcome basket that sat on a low glass table with gilt claw feet. A huge leopard-skin rug was laid out at the foot of the bed. The bed itself was covered in plump pillows and an inordinate amount of tasseled cushions. When I felt something cool and fragrant beneath my cheek, I turned over to see my pillows were scattered with red rose petals.
A huge marble vanity stood against one wall; its mirror encrusted with gemstones. Displayed on it was a mother-of-pearl hairbrush and a hand mirror along with an array of expensive-looking perfumes and lotions in blue glass jars. An ivory silk dressing gown was draped over the foot of the bed. Two wingback armchairs had been strategically arranged in front of the fire. The bathroom door was open and I caught a glimpse of gold taps and an antique tub. There appeared to be no consistent theme to the decor; it was as if someone had opened a magazine and randomly pointed to whatever suggested opulence and had it delivered to this room.
A breakfast tray with a pot of steaming tea and pastries had been left on the low table. When I tried the door, I found it locked. My throat felt dry and parched so I poured myself a cup and sat on the plush carpet to drink it while I gathered my thoughts. Despite the luxurious surroundings I knew I was a prisoner.
Someone had taken away the key card so there was no way out of the room. Even if I managed to escape and made it down to the lobby, it would be crawling with Jake’s allies. I could try and get past them and make a run for it but how far would I get before being recaptured?
There was only one thing I knew for certain. I could tell by the stone-cold feeling in my chest that I’d been torn away from everything I loved. I was here because of Jake Thorn, but what was his motivation? Was it revenge? If so, why hadn’t he killed me when he had the chance? Did he want to somehow prolong my suffering? Or was there some other agenda like there always was with Jake? He’d seemed so genuine about making me feel comfortable. My knowledge of Hell was sketchy as my kind never ventured here. I wracked my brains, trying to recall snippets of information that Gabriel might have shared with me, but I drew a blank. I’d only been told that somewhere, deep underground, there was a pit crawling with creatures so dark they were unfathomable to us. Jake must have brought me here as punishment for humiliating him. Unless … A new thought suddenly dawned on me. He hadn’t seemed particularly vindictive; in fact there’d been a strange excitement in his eyes. Was it possible he actually thought I could be happy here? An angel in Hell? That only proved how little he understood. My only objective was to return home to my loved ones. This wasn’t my world and never would be. The longer I stayed here, the harder it would be to find my way back. I knew one thing for sure: Something like this had never happened before. An angel had never been captured, plucked from the earth, and dragged into a prison of fire. Maybe this went deeper than Jake’s bizarre attachment to me. Maybe something terrible was on the brink of being unleashed.
A row of tall windows stretched along the length of one wall, but they looked out onto a swirling gray mist. There was no sunrise here and daybreak appeared to be marked by a watery light that looked as if it’d filtered down through a fissure in the earth. The thought of not seeing the sunlight for a long time brought tears to my eyes. But I blinked them away and gathered up the silk dressing gown, wrapping it around myself. I went into the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth, then ran a comb through my hair to unravel the knots that had appeared. There was a suffocating silence in the hotel suite. Every noise I m
ade seemed exaggeratedly loud. With a pang of longing I remembered what it was like to wake up in Venus Cove. I associated it with a cacophony of sound: music playing, birds singing, and Phantom loping up the stairs. I could picture in perfect detail my bedroom with its pockmarked boards and rickety writing desk. If I closed my eyes, I could almost remember the feel of my soft white bedspread against my skin and the way the canopy made me feel as if I were cocooned in my own little nest. Mornings there were met with a silvery predawn light that was quickly broken by streams of golden sunlight. It would wash over the rooftops and dance over the waves of the ocean, setting the whole town alight. I remembered how I used to wake to the sound of birdsong and the breeze tapping lightly against the balcony doors as if to rouse me. Even when the house was empty, the sea was always there, calling to me, reminding me that I wasn’t alone. I remembered the mornings when I’d come downstairs to hear Gabriel’s fingers lazily strumming his guitar and to smell the inviting aroma of waffles in the air. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen my family or how we came to be separated. When I thought of Venus Cove, I felt a brief flutter of hope in my chest, as though I could will myself back to my old life. But a moment later it was gone, transformed into despair as heavy as a stone pressing on my heart.
I opened my eyes to see my reflection in the mirror and realized that something was different. Nothing had changed in terms of my features; there were the same wide brown eyes flecked with gold and green looking back at me, the small pixie ears, and the porcelain skin tinged with pink. But the expression in my eyes was that of a stranger. My eyes that had once sparkled with curiosity were lifeless. The girl in the mirror looked lost.
The room was set at a comfortable temperature, but I still shivered. I walked quickly over to the closet and pulled out the first garment that came to hand—a black tulle cocktail dress with puffy sleeves. I sighed and hunted around for something more appropriate only to find that there wasn’t a single piece of practical clothing in there. The outfits varied from floor-length evening gowns to tailored Chanel suits with silk blouses. I settled on the simplest item I could find (a knee-length, long-sleeved dress in crushed moss green velvet) and some ballet flats. Then I sat on my bed and waited for something to happen.
I remembered Venus Cove and my siblings vividly, but I knew there was something or someone I was forgetting. It nagged at me, an insistent tug at the back of my mind, and trying to remember was exhausting. I lay on the bed and stared at the scrolls on the ceiling. I could feel a gnawing pain somewhere inside me, but I couldn’t identify its source. I even wished Jake would show up in case talking to him provided the trigger for these lost memories. I could feel them stirring in the recesses of my mind, but every time I tried to grasp them, they slipped away.
The click of a key card startled me and a round-faced girl entered the room. She was wearing the standard housekeeping uniform: a plain taupe dress with the Hotel Ambrosia logo on the pocket, beige stockings, and comfortable oxfords. Her honey-colored hair was pulled back into a ponytail and held in place with a clasp.
“Excuse me, miss, would you like me to make up your room now or should I come back later?” Her manner was diffident, and she kept her eyes downcast to avoid eye contact. Behind her was a cart laden with cleaning products and piles of fresh linen.
“Oh, that’s really not necessary,” I said, trying to be helpful, but my suggestion only served to make her uncomfortable. She stood at a loss, awaiting further instructions. “Or now is fine,” I said, moving to one of the wingback chairs. The girl looked visibly relieved. She moved with practiced efficiency, straightening the bedclothes and changing the water in the vase, even though she couldn’t have been more than sixteen years old. Her presence was strangely calming. Perhaps it was the open candor of her face that was so at odds with these bizarre surroundings.
“May I ask your name?” I said.
“I am Hanna,” she replied directly. I noticed her English was a little stilted, as if she hadn’t learned it as her mother tongue.
“And you work at this hotel?”
“Yes, miss, I’ve been assigned to you.” My face must have reflected my confusion because she added, “I’m your maid.”
“My maid?” I repeated. “I don’t need a maid.”
The girl misconstrued my irritation as being directed at her. “I will work hard,” she reassured me.
“I’m sure you will,” I said. “But the reason I don’t need a maid is that I’m not planning on staying here very long.”
Hanna gave me a strange look and then shook her head vehemently. “You cannot leave,” she said. “Mr. Thorn never lets anyone leave.” She clapped a hand over her mouth, conscious of having said too much.
“It’s okay, Hanna,” I said. “You can say anything to me. I won’t repeat a word.”
“I’m not meant to speak to you. If the prince were to find out …”
“You mean Jake?” I snorted. “He’s not a prince!”
“You mustn’t say things like that out loud, miss,” Hanna whispered. “He is the prince of the Third Circle and treason is a capital offense.”
I must have looked completely baffled. “There are Nine Circles in this world, each one ruled by a different prince,” she explained. “Mr. Thorn presides over this district.”
“Which idiot gave him so much power?” I snapped and then, seeing the alarm on Hanna’s face, quickly modified my tone. “I mean … how did that come about?”
“He was one of the Originals.” Hanna shrugged as if those six little words explained everything.
“I’ve heard about them,” I said. The term rang a bell. I was sure I’d heard my brother Gabriel use it, and I knew it dated back to the beginning of time and creation.
“When Big Daddy fell from grace …” Hanna began casting a furtive look at the door.
“I’m sorry?” I interrupted her. “What did you just say?”
“That’s what we call him down here.”
“Call who?”
“Well, I suppose you would know him as Satan or Lucifer.”
I felt the pieces of the puzzle begin to fall together in my mind.
“When Lucifer fell from Heaven there were eight angels who pledged their allegiance to him … ,” I continued the story for her.
“Yes.” Hanna nodded eagerly in confirmation.
“Michael cast them out along with their rebel leader and they became the very first demons. Since then they’ve used whatever means they can to wreak havoc on the earth in retaliation for their expulsion.” I paused to let the enormity of it sink in. I frowned as a paradoxical image came into my head.
“What is it, miss?” Hanna asked, seeing my expression.
“It’s just hard to imagine that Jake was once an angel,” I said.
“I wouldn’t say hard; more like impossible.” Hanna’s words were so blunt that I had to smile.
Still, I couldn’t shake the thought from my head. Jake and I shared a genealogy. We had a common maker. What he’d since become was so far removed from what he was originally created to be. I’d always known it, but I guess I was so eager to banish him from my mind that I’d never allowed myself to think it through properly. I couldn’t reconcile that the Jake I knew, the Jake who had tried to destroy my town and the people I loved, had once been just like me. I knew about the Originals. They were the most faithful servants of Lucifer, the ones who’d been with him right from the word go. Throughout human history he’d sent them to occupy positions in the highest echelons of society. They had crept into communities on earth, enabling them to continue their corrupting influence on mankind. They had infiltrated the ranks of politics and law where they were able to destroy without consequence. Their influence was poisonous. They indulged man, preyed on his weaknesses, and used him to their own advantage. An appalling thought occurred to me. If Jake worked for a higher power, then who was really to blame for what had happened thus far?
“I wonder what Jake wants this time?” I murmu
red.
“That is easy,” said Hanna in her funny, stilted English. She seemed happy to be of use, to impart some information I didn’t possess. “He only wants for you to be happy. After all, you are to be his bride.”
I laughed at first, thinking she was making some horrible, tasteless joke. But when I looked at Hanna with her round, childlike face and big brown eyes, I knew she was only repeating what she’d heard.
“I think I need to see Jake,” I said, slowly trying to conceal my mounting panic. “Right away. Can you take me to him?”
“Yes, miss,” she replied promptly. “The prince has asked to see you anyhow.”
Hanna ushered me down the dimly lit corridors of Hotel Ambrosia, moving like a ghost across the thick carpet. Everything was eerily still, and if there were other occupants, there was no sign of them. We took the glass elevator, suspended in midair like a bubble. Once inside we could see all the way down to the central fountain in the lobby.
“Where are we going?” I said. “Does Jake have a special dungeon he likes to conduct business from?”
“No. There’s a boardroom on the ground floor.” I realized Hanna took everything I said at face value, so sarcasm was pretty much lost on her.
We stopped in front of a pair of imposing paneled doors. Hanna’s reluctance to go any farther was obvious.
“It’s safer if you go in alone, miss,” she said pointedly. “I know he means you no harm.”
I didn’t argue with Hanna. I certainly didn’t want to expose her to the vagaries of Jake’s temper. I didn’t feel frightened now that I was going to come face-to-face with him again. In fact, I wanted a confrontation, even if only to tell him what I thought of him and his heinous plans. He’d done his worst; there was nothing further he could do to hurt me.
Jake looked edgy when I walked in, as if he’d been kept waiting too long. There was a fireplace here too, and Jake was standing with his back to it. He was dressed more formally than usual in tailored pants, an open-collared shirt, and a deep purple dinner jacket. Light danced across his bone white skin. He looked just the same as I remembered, with strands of long dark hair falling across eyes that were glassy and reminded me of a shark’s. When he saw me, he began pacing around the room, pausing to examine one detail or another. There was a vase of long-stemmed roses in the center of the table. Jake plucked one to inhale the scent and then twirled it idly in his hands. He ignored the thorns and trickles of blood that ran down his fingers as if he couldn’t feel any pain at all. I realized he probably couldn’t and the wounds healed a moment later.
Hades Page 7