Chapter Eight
“Gods almighty, Hell is fashion-forward.”
I was swept into memories of Ianna, visions of Paris FashionWeek, angles and measurements and the intimidating energy of divine, feminine dominance as I regarded the stunning member of the Ars Goetia in the chapel annex. Perhaps Ianna was responsible for dressing the elite in all of Hell’s courts. The black opium fragrances of bourbon, jasmine, and expensive Saint Laurent overpowered any lingering scents left by Silas, Azrames, or the building’s human visitors.
Duchess Vapula remained on her feet, sinking her weight into one side. Sharply manicured nails drummed in pinks and opals against her hip. She tilted her head ever so slightly, her slick, high bun unmoving as she regarded us. I’d never been more self-conscious in my life.
Duchess Vapula’s jumpsuit was caught between nude and gold, twinkling with thousands of delicately sewn embellishments running in clean, vertical lines. The suit gathered at her narrow waist before opening up in a wide, glistening collar. The outfit would have been stunning in and of itself, but she’d added a sheer, angled jacket in matching beige and gold that perched on her shoulders, hanging to the floor, ending just before her nude, close-toed pumps. Unlike Azrames and his gray skin and polished horns, who would never pass for a person outside the context of impeccable, villainous anime cosplay, the Duchess could have been human…almost.
The corner of her blackberry-painted mouth quirked up as her eyes went to me. “I guess I don’t have to ask which one of you belongs to the Prince.”
I was mortified. “Duchess Vapula.” I choked out her name. “It’s an honor to meet you. I’m so sorry.”
Sorry for what, I wasn’t entirely sure. For bringing her into a human realm. For involving her in our disaster. For being unworthy of Hell. For making someone—something—so refined, so ethereal, so elegant stand in an abandoned building, heels sinking into rubble. For meeting her in my sweatpants, slick with the Prince’s claiming scent, and making her overhear loud, satanic sex?
Maybe my coping mechanism was an eternal need to apologize.
The Duchess did a sweeping appraisal of us, eyes lingering on the matching markings we shared. “Your sigil is clever handiwork. The Prince’s own design?” She didn’t wait for an answer. She looked to Azrames as she asked, “I hear you need what Medusa possesses. Tell me: Where is Alessia speaking? New York, you said? Ah, yes. I see the end goal. I understand what you need…ifshe’ll deem you worthy.”
From the way Az leaned against the wall, I could only assume that whatever formalities they’d required had long since come and gone. Perhaps Alessia famously disliked men, but Azrames and the Duchess appeared to be at ease.
“I’ll get them safely to your servant in Manhattan. And with your practitioner’s help, we’ll be able to modify our wards as we move.”
“Good,” she said, voice like cool honey, soothing and entrapping all at once. “They’ll need to be dressed for the occasion. I’ll tell him to expect you.”
I lifted a finger like little more than a kid in a classroom. “You have a witch in the Garment District? A…male witch? Are they still called witches?”
They both chuckled lightly as if the answer were the most obvious thing in the world. “He’s a demonolater, yes. Wouldyou be surprised to learn how many people have gripped the coattails of demons to carry them on their meteoric rise? There are very few artists, designers, influencers who haven’t—”
“Authors,” Az interjected with a wink.
I frowned, tensing as I rejected the implication. “But I didn’t…” Their shared, curious looks stopped me. Yes, I had. I’d worked with a demon whether I’d known it or not. I’d gone to school. I’d done the research. I’d come up with the novels. I’d written the books. But the rest…the stars that had aligned for doors to open…the luck that had clicked into place time and time again…
Duchess Vapula turned to Priscilla. “How long will it take you to get to New York?”
I looked at Azrames, brows puckered. “Can’t we…realm hop? Or whatever it is you do?”
He met me with softened eyes. “Afraid not. Your sølje could bring you and a singular entity, but not a group of humans. You could each travel with one of us if you were exclusively bound to us, but if we need to change wards at a moment’s notice, we’ll all need to be together.”
I struggled to manage the rules, gnawing on the inside of my cheek as I ran through the numerous impossible things that had been shoved into my brain. Fauna hadn’t been able to hop while in corporeal form, but as far as I knew, no one here had truly taken that form. Time passed how it pleased. Some could be seen, others couldn’t. I knew I needed to either get on board or be left behind. I looked uncertainly at Azrames.
Az folded his hands in front of him. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you can’t be left alone. I’ll be traveling with you, though the painstaking slowness may kill me.”
I leveled my gaze with the Duchess, summoning as much respect as I could conjure. Her thick, full lashes, her heavy, smoky makeup, her bronze skin, amber eyes, ink-dark hair, and shimmering beauty made it hard to make direct eyecontact, but I did my best. She seemed mildly amused at my attempt at reverence. “Will you accompany us to meet… Can I call her Medusa? Or do we stick with Alessia?”
The Duchess examined her fingernails, inspecting her manicure. She made a show of being unimpressed with my disregard for Alessia’s chosen name, and I saw it for the misstep it was. At last, she sighed. “Alessia has famously collected several fae, deities, Infernals, and beings from a number of realms. I’d be surprised if anyone working with her is wholly human, though there may be a halfling or two on staff. You’ll need me there.”
Priscilla supplied, “Duchess Vapula is famously well versed in coercion.” At the Duchess’s arched brow, Priscilla reworded her sentiment. “She’s a great psychotherapist, of sorts. She’s been able to win favor and cooperation of spirits for witches for…well, forever, I suppose. I work with her primarily for dream workings and handcrafts, but this will be one of your many facets I’m eager to explore, Duchess.”
“Mmm,” Duchess Vapula agreed. “And your artistic tapestry has performed spectacularly, sweet Priscilla. Now, we’ll get you all washed, perfumed, and styled by a designer of whom I’m devastatingly proud.”
“Um,” Kirby hedged slightly, caution rubbing against their vocal cords like sandpaper. “Is it rude of me to ask a question? Am I allowed?”
Nia and I both looked at them with surprise. From across the room, the twist of Azrames’s mouth was both pride and entertainment.
Duchess Vapula dipped her chin for Kirby to continue.
“I may get smited—smote?—for this, but…is it like they say? Did this designer sell their soul? Like, crossroads demon lore?”
