CHAPTER THIRTEEN: UNWANTED
875 Words
Lila POV
The courtyards of the Demon Hunting Trials are beautiful in a way I never expected Hell to be. Instead of being dead and covered in flames, it is full of green and life. Different plants fill every corner and line the sides of rocky stone pathways.
The buildings are made of old yellow stone with black metal balconies. There are pillars and archways everywhere I look. This place feels like a mixture between Greek and Foster design. Everything is covered in red-flowered ivy, curling around the statues of the Crescent Mother we pass.
The statues make me feel like I’m back at the academy, where they have statues everywhere.
We head around dim corridors, through pathways, and into one of the tallest buildings at the back of the compound. The structure stretches into a branch that crosses the roof, letting ivy and vines trail around it like they’re embracing it.
I follow Caleb through the entrance hall, which is empty except for a single green sofa, and into a corridor full of dozens of doors. Caleb never glances at them during his long strides, making it clear he knows his way around.
When I don’t owe him my life, I’m going to be nosy and find out what happened last year and how he failed the demon-hunting trials. He must have lived here last year.
The corridors are painted deep forest green with intricate patterns of trees, no doubt mimicking the one outside that Hell itself revolves around. The green complements the dark-wood floors and occasional flower pots we pass.
Every few feet, chandeliers hang from the ceiling, looking like pure glass shaped into diamonds.
They couldn’t be real diamonds… I think.
If the demon hunting goes wrong, I’m stealing one or two of them just in case.
Each door has a gold-plated number on it, and I notice right away they’re all odd numbers.
Why are there no even numbers?
We go around a corner, into the sixties and seventies, before stopping at number seventy-seven.
Funny—seven has always been my lucky number since I was five and tricked seven academy teachers into thinking a raccoon had raided their snack cupboard with my ace acting skills.
Caleb opens the door with two gold keys and slips them into his pocket.
“Can I have my key?” I ask, staring at his back.
He glances at me as he pushes the door open.
“No.”
“Why the f**k not?”
“I don’t remember you having such a rude mouth when you were in Caeli. Don’t they hate swear words or some s**t?”
“I remember the academy teachers telling me off, and I only got away with it because I wasn’t from there.”
“Swearing is frowned upon in Caeli,” I explain. “I never understood it. f**k is as good a word as any in the dictionary. Actually, I think it’s an amazing word. It can mean so many things and insult so many people.”
He laughs and shakes his head, waving a hand toward the door.
“Ladies first.”
“Do I get my own room?” I ask, stepping over the threshold.
He walks past me and turns on the light. He doesn’t even need to feel for the switch—he already knows where it is.
“You do,” he says, pausing as his gaze flickers down my body. I flush. “Unless you want to share?”
“In your dreams, buddy,” I reply, knowing he’s kidding—even if parts of my body are very willing to override my brain and hop on his train.
Down, girl.
He bites his bottom lip and tilts his head, locking his eyes on me. I end up watching the way his lip slips free from between his teeth, wondering what it would feel like if he bit me like that.
I shudder and turn away, shutting the door behind us.
The thud of Caleb walking away reaches me, and I force myself not to look at him. Instead, I focus on the room.
It’s clearly designed in some kind of Foster style—or maybe the Foster got their style from Hell. This place is thousands of years old, after all.
The walls stretch high above us. The same diamond-like chandeliers hang overhead, leading into a large living space. The walls remain dark green but plain, and there are no windows, which is slightly unsettling. Still, it’s bright enough from the lighting.
Three light-green fabric couches sit in the center, surrounding a large coffee table. A massive mark runs through its middle, like a sword sliced it in half and someone poorly glued it back together.
Caleb looks completely at home as he drops his many weapons onto one of the sofas, clearly claiming it as his own.
Instead of watching him disarm piece by piece, I head through a door at the back that leads into a small kitchen. It’s cramped, with dark-wood cabinets and an old yellowing fridge. A microwave is shoved into the corner, looking at least ten years old.
Leaving the kitchen, I open the next door and step into one of the bedrooms.
- Writer
