Page 84 of A Serpent in the Garden

“I’m hungry.” I unwound my fingers from his. “And I want to find a shirt that isn’t in tatters.”

“I’ll feed you,” he said, backlit in scarlet, eyes like wildfire, a crooked pink slash of a smile. “I’m sure I have a spare robe somewhere.”

“Finn.” Remy broke in as if he’d had about enough, my voice a demonic rasp. “She’s already got one demon inside her, would you back the fuck off? You’re disturbing.”

Finn’s answering smile was like a sunrise. “He’s always had such a temper.” But he rose from the bed, found a shirt in his wardrobe, and left it unbuttoned as he slid his feet into a pair of boots.

He took his time walking me back. I expected no different. He stopped me when I was just inside the door of Remy’s apartment, holding me fast in his opulent glow, leaning against the doorjamb with his shirt draped artfully open. He looked like a painting of a spoiled lord from a fairy tale, spliced into the cold stone backdrop of Hell. “I’m around if you want me. I’ll wait up for you.”

The smile I gave him felt amused, disdainful. I had the distinct impression he wanted me feeling tongue-tied, lost at sea, toppled by his charm. “You’re crazy if you think I would waltz back through flaming pits on my own just to find you again.”

He tipped his head toward the sizzling fireplace, which had roared like a dragon the moment he’d stood in the threshold of the door. “Call me through the flames. I’ll come get you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” I made to close the door, though I lingered in the crack. “Do you mind if I ask you something?” The question had been burning in me since I’d first entered Hell, though I hadn’t the courage to ask any other demon I’d met, and none but Finn had really taken the trouble to start much of a conversation with me.

“Anything.” Eyes keen, a shimmer of mischief. I could only imagine what he was hoping I’d want from him.

“You know the mist, from the gold wood?”

A dark brow lowered over one of his eyes. “Of course.”

Nervous to ask it, afraid of the answer. “Have you ever known it to kill?”

“It wouldn’t kill,” he said, like I’d asked something adorably stupid yet again. “Where’s the fun in that? It’s your own guilt that keeps you mired in the mist.”

I felt like I’d fall over with relief. But then I remembered that even if Serich had escaped the mist, the rest of the wood was hardly safe. Would he have turned back, sought help from Blathilde? Maybe he was there in her cottage right now, exchanging manual labor for shelter.

You believe it from him but not from me? Remy said, with a touch of irritation.

I was seeking extra confirmation.

The hinges of the door creaked as I shut it until only a sliver of gold shone through the crack. “Goodbye, Finn. Thank you.”

“Goodnight, not goodbye. Goodbye has such an awful finality.”

I’m assuming he’s like that with every woman and I’m not just lucky, I said, closing the door on Remy’s golden brother, quite happy to see the back of him. He’d left me off-kilter with the feeling that my brain had been bludgeoned.

Something like that. I think he’s lording over me the fact that I can’t touch you but he can. And at my noise of dissent as I stripped off my ruined shirt: It’s been six years, he said flatly, and you’re all I’ve had that entire time. Even Finn can add two and two. He’s smarter than he lets on.

He can’t read your mind. For all he knows, you find me slightly repulsive. He’s trying to make me uncomfortable for his own pleasure. That, or he thinks very little of my intelligence. If I ever found myself at the mercy of his dubious charms, he’d forget my name the instant he had his clothes back on. I don’t know whether to laugh or be insulted. I dug through Remy’s newly-polished chest of drawers, looking for a new shirt. There are sheep out back? I asked, once I’d pulled it over my head.

He laughed, loud and a little surprised. And chickens and cows and a few horses. Not all of us eat, but the ones who do aren’t much for meat. We see too much disgusting, damaged meat in the circles. It really puts you off the taste.

I didn’t have to wait long for someone to come bearing food (eggs, bread, a hunk of hard cheese, an apple of palest green) which I ate at the newly uncluttered desk. In a normal room, a window might have been set into the wall there, overlooking the wood, but only impassive stone stared back at me as I chewed.

I wish you had windows, I said, picking apart a bit of bread. I miss the night sky. I haven’t seen it in so long. Even if Monde’s End weren’t covered in fogs, we have to stay inside all night.

You’d probably like my old bedroom in Frost. You’d be delirious from all the stars.

I scoffed, picking up a wine tankard. I’d freeze.

I wouldn’t let you freeze.

You can’t talk me into being warm, I said, washing down a slug. I’d never really drank wine before, and I felt the color deepen in my face with every sip.

I would be speaking very little. One day I’ll take you there.

I knew he meant it to be nice but the lie hurt a little, sweet as it had been intended. It would never happen. What was the point in one-days?