The Demon's Bride

Cassie pinched the wedding band between her thumb and forefinger and tried to picture herself as married—well, married to this particular prince of hell. The ring was no ordinary gold. When she held it to the light of the candelabra, the metal flickered with ash-grey bands, like tree rings in petrified wood. Old magic. She slid it back on, felt the subtle chill as it hummed against her skin. All the time, Asmodeus eyed her from the couch, jaws working a toothpick left over from whatever charcuterie the demons had scrounged up for their postnuptial snack. He'd already loosened his tie. In his presence, the air always pricked at her arms, as if her body feared he’d touch her even when he didn’t move. He made the mistake of smirking. "You should send a reply," he said. Cassie rolled the ring over her knuckle, then flicked it at him. Not hard, but enough to make him twitch. The ring arced, bounced through a display of cheese rinds, and stopped by his ankle. Asmodeus watched it settle, then picked it up, all slow, deliberate. "I’m not letting you off the hook, Cassandra." He set the ring on the edge of the espresso table—black lacquer, already nicked. When he straightened, the tie fell open at the crook of his throat, and the sight of it made her chest tighten for reasons she’d rather not examine. "I’ll answer when you answer," Cassie said. The letters burned on the table between them, the inked seals broken but the words inside untouched, as if some etiquette demanded they wait until all parties were assembled before reading. Demon etiquette, apparently. She felt ridiculous, sitting across from a demon prince like they were negotiating a mortgage instead of the apocalypse which was what the idea of going home felt like. Asmodeus readjusted himself, sprawled out with the casual insolence of a man who literally did not fear God. "The invitation won’t answer itself. I thought mortals liked their formalities." "I’m not mortal," she reminded him, and braced her feet on the rung of the kitchen chair as if she might launch herself out of it. She probably could. The new ring made her palms sweat, but the chill worked its way up her wrist, like ice in her veins, and she welcomed it. She was better cold. "I’ll do it," she said, and snatched the first envelope before she could second-guess the decision. Up close, the wax had grown frangible, cracked with an almost organic texture, like old blood under a microscope. She slit it with her thumbnail and pulled out the paper, a creamy rectangle so thick it could double as a weapon. The writing was ornate and blue-black, like the imprint of frost on stone. She skimmed the salutation, half expecting it to sizzle in her hand. Instead, the words unfolded in a precise, bloodless script: My dearest and singular Cassie Bright, It is my unfailing pleasure to invite you and your consort to dinner at the abode of my house, seven nights hence, to commemorate your union and permit your public introduction to the Lower Court. Formal attire required. Dietary restrictions are not observed. Your devoted (and, for now, benevolent) host, Lucifer IX. “What do you think?” Az smirkingly mused. Cassie folded the invitation and felt her gaze draw, unwillingly, to the other letter she’d received via Jacob. An invitation to meet the devil himself and her father-in-law in one week and an invitation to her half-sister’s engagement party in three weeks' time. Unfortunately time moved differently in different realms so if she wanted to go to the engagement party in the mortal realm she would have to leave the morning after meeting her father-in-law quite literally in hell; she didn’t want to attend the engagement party. Any sane person would’ve been solely focused and terrified of the Devil’s invitation but then again her biggest nightmare had always been the family who was supposed to love her, the town that was supposed to be her home. What a joke.