Then—crack.
A sharp noise full of static pierced the silence.
I looked up, eyes narrowing. The sound reminded me of electricity. But there was no electricity in Hell.
Only magic.
Only power.
And that meant he was close.
The candles flickered, and darkness crept along the walls. Squinting, I stood and walked toward the bars.
A male figure slipped from the shadows. My eyes widened. My heart swelled. A smile started to rise—then stopped, frozen.
Shadow.
What was it doing here? How had it even gotten in? Did it not understand the danger? My father had never caught it, sure—but the Devil was another level of monster entirely.
I hissed. “What are you doing here? You need to leave. It’s not safe.”
Its form rippled, its shadowy head tilting to one side in that maddening way. It floated over to the Devil’s desk, rummaged around, then returned—with a pen and paper in hand.
It scribbled and then held it up.
“Not safe for you outside these walls. Very bad things here.”
I read the words once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then narrowed my eyes. “Are you kidding me? You’ve always been intolerable, but this is a little much—even for you.”
It wrote again.
“You’re safe.”
I snorted. “I’m a prisoner, you prick.”
“Still safe.”
Of course. That was its whole purpose, wasn’t it?
To irritate me into madness.
“How did you get in?” I demanded.
“I go wherever you go.”
“Not an answer,” I snapped, spinning away from the door.
A soft flutter, then something landed at my feet.
I glanced down. Another message.
“I told you.”
