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I kept it up like a mantra until, finally, the mist spat us out in front of the gates to the second circle. I crawled forward on my hands and knees and sucked in a massive breath. The chain jingled behind me, and there she was. Windblown and looking terrified but alive and well. I crawled forward and snatched her into my arms, unable to explain to her how relieved I was. I kissed her forehead, the top of her head, her eyelids—whatever I could reach.
“Happy to see me?” she said after a minute, wiggling a little out of my tight hold.
“For a moment there, I thought you might be gone,” I said breathlessly. I moved to stand and then helped her to her feet. Her eyes flickered to the gates behind me, and her mouth dropped open a little.
“The gates,” she said, awestruck as she looked up.
I turned to face them, though my expression was far less impressed. “There they are.”
Like all other gates, the gates to Lust were made of iron, but instead of twining curlicues or scrollwork, the bars and embellishments on the gate were different human forms intertwined in sensuous acts. Huge, gleaming rubies were inserted into where their eyes would be, like fat, juicy drops of blood. Over the entire thing arched the words, “Lust, forgetful of future suffering, hurries us down the forbidden path.” That was from some old philosopher, though sometimes the quote changed. They’d even used a Madonna quote once. I’m sure I’ll get to tell her about it someday.
This time, before we strolled in, I didn’t grab her hand to comfort her. Physical contact was going to be impossible to avoid, but why tempt fate? Her chain would have to be enough to tie us together, though even that could be used in all sorts of sinful ways. I swallowed and wiped the sweat off my forehead. Lust was already working on me.
“Come on,” I said grimly, tugging her gently forward.
Walking into the circle of Lust was like immediately sucking down eight shots of tequila. I was immediately warm, almost sweaty, and my entire body felt like it was both loose and wildly tense. The entire place looked like a seductive dream—a combination of Las Vegas, the forbidden pleasures of Amsterdam, and a dash of Moulin Rouge. All three of those places had been unknown to me in my life, though I knew the King liked Vegas. I always wished I could ask him about it, but he wasn’t down here. From what I heard, he wasn’t in Heaven either, and there were more than a few theories that he’d become some sort of god figure in a forgotten religion. Anyway, I’d only learned of lust’s architectural and geographical inspirations once I was in Hell, and from what I’d seen… the cities topside had taken their cue from Hell, not the other way around.
“Oh,” Marnie said simply as she tilted her face to look up at me. “Oh, this is…” She fidgeted with her dress and her chain, her body unsure of what to do with itself.
“It’ll only get worse,” I said darkly. “The longer we stay, the harder it is to resist. We have to move fast.”
She brushed her fingers through her tangled locks and made a noncommittal noise deep in her throat. Her eyes were the size of dinner plates as she drank in the sights and bright neons. Every inch of the city was meant to be stared at, and it was also meant to suck you in. It was a feast for the senses, and she was undoubtedly having a hard time processing it all.
The buildings were both modern and old-fashioned, and every brick, window, and door seemed to be dripping with white twinkling lights or deep crimson neons. It was perpetually night, but it was lit up by the signs advertising bars, strip clubs, brothels, and other houses of sin. Women, men, and every creature in between draped themselves in doorways and windows, advertising every inch of their bodies. Many windows in the buildings were either open or without curtains. That way, you could see and hear every act the couples were doing inside. Like the gate, sex was part of the architecture and art, and everywhere you looked was something sensuous. Phalluses or sex acts were carved into buildings or part of a railing, and a breast might be a doorknob. I know that sounds weird, but it was subtle enough to be alluring and interesting. I wrapped Marnie’s chain twice around my hand and began to walk, dragging her a bit behind as she stared at everything.
“It smells… surprisingly good,” she said as we walked along.
“Keep your head down,” I advised her. “I know you want to see, but you’re tempting in a normal realm. This realm is… worse. And the smell is perfume, wine, chocolate, cigars—anything intoxicating or romantic. Anything to lure someone in. Sometimes, it can smell like the person you lusted after most in life.”
“Leather, smoke,” she said a little dreamily. “I smell you.”
My heart thudded in my chest, and I bit down on the inside of my cheek to keep myself focused. Every inch of me wanted to turn around and seal my mouth over hers until she couldn’t breathe. I wanted to bury my hands in her hair and rip her dress open until she said my name like a prayer.
Jesus, we’d only been inside the gates for two minutes.
To make matters worse, a moan of ecstasy cut through the air as we walked past an open window. I hurried us along, not wanting to think about what kind of sounds Marnie might make.
“This doesn’t feel like a punishment,” she said after a moment, her voice peppered with breaths.
“I assure you it is,” I replied. “It’s a lot like gluttony for some folks. You know, they can watch every sexy thing they can think of, but they can never have it. Or they can never reach orgasm no matter how hard they try. Some people are chained just in front of their lovers, both of them always looking at each other but never able to reach.”
“Mmm,” she said, half-hearing me as she looked around and ran her hand down her stomach nervously.
“Not gruesome enough?” I said. “There’s a literal burning passion. Imagine being burnt to a crisp over and over. Or, if you used lust or good looks as a weapon, you might be transformed into something grotesque down here. You could be forced to perform or prostitute yourself without ever receiving your own satisfaction. Or you could continually reenact the moment you lost your true love. Is that bad enough?” I turned to face her. “Marnie?”
Her eyes were glassy. She’d barely heard me.
“I feel like I can’t even breathe,” she said, fanning herself. “My clothes feel restrictive. My heart and my… um, well… it’s too big for my body.” Her cheeks were flushed red, and I noticed a dewy sweat over her exposed skin.
“We have to walk fast,” I said, my own body reacting to the way she looked. Her pupils were wide with desire, and as I spoke, she stared at me hungrily.
“I need… I need a drink,” she growled. She yanked her chain from my hands without warning, throwing me off my guard enough that it slipped from my hands. She took off running immediately, heading toward a bar that was lit up in red neons like a casino. Her dress flew behind her like a black flag.
“Marnie!” I yelled, bolting after her.
Inside, the bar was opulent. Crimson drapes and flocked wallpaper covered the scene, reminding me of a heart’s chamber… or something more womanly. The only lighting was from low twinkle lights or flickering candles. Plush, blood-red booths beckoned to be used for all sorts of things. The bar itself was a polished obsidian slab, illuminated by an eerie, crimson glow that emanated from beneath its surface. Sinuous, serpent-like statues twisted and writhed along the bar’s edges, carved into it, and I averted my eyes so as not to be drawn in by whatever they were doing. The same went for the explicit paintings that lined the walls. There was no bartender, only a line of shots along the bar, waiting to be drunk.
“Don’t!” I yelled as she slammed one back, the red liquid disappearing down her throat.
