“No matter what?” I asked.
“Just as it’s always been, in this life, the past, and the next.”
Methodic dripping lulled me while he waited for a response.
Finally, I said, “There is no going back, is there.”
Drip, drip, drip.
“Not anymore.”
September 13, age 26
I’d been dressed by Hell’s finest once before.
Now I was ready to see what mortal hands could do when they were blessed with an infernal touch.
I stepped out of our town car onto the streets of Manhattan and readied for a similarly intimidating experience. Even in the pinkish morning hours, the sidewalk was filled with well-dressed commuters. Horns honked in the early morning traffic. I craned my neck as I looked up at the pre-war building and grimaced at what I might find inside.
Precisely one moment after the enormous, iron sliding door rolled away, I realized how wrong I’d been. This was nothing like my experience in Hell.
Ianna, her presence a Hellish blur of fashion and sophistication, had been everything I’d expected out of a polished socialite. I’d been simultaneously terrified and in love while in the shock and awe of her presence. She’d been cold, brusque, and absolutely stunning. We’d been measured, prodded, and had left her shop truly ready to encounter the King of Hell.
She was the devil too fancy for Prada.
Vibrant color shook me of all preconceived notions.
If Ianna was winter, Adrien was spring.
We were welcomed into an impossibly tall room—exposed piping from the next-story ceiling all painted in monochrome as it melted into the building. Mirrors, art-deco backsplashes in neon, metallic, circular modeling platforms, and quarter-scale framed images of what I assumed were Adrien’s fashionpieces on the runway decorated his space.
He was just shy of six feet, with a lithe stature and sparkling blue eyes. He may have been a year or two younger than me, though my age blindness and what was undoubtedly an excellent skin care routine on his part kept me from certainty. Besides, he’d bleached his hair, which, if he kept the look as an eternal signature, would prevent anyone from spying a stray silver giveaway from now until the end of time. Black on black was an industry staple in fashion, but he’d made the turtleneck in the heat of summer into an entire statement.
“Come, come, come to me, my babies!” he said enthusiastically, greeting us with unbridled acceptance and joy. He counted us off like Mother Goose numbering her ducklings as myself, Nia, Kirby, Xuân, and Priscilla marched in.
Though Adrien was a Duchess Vapula devotee, his clairabilities didn’t appear to reveal the angel and demon flanking us as a security detail.
Adrien’s energy melted the frosty uncertainty of wandering into somewhere we didn’t belong. I’d worn my Merit mask, marching us forward as a fearless leader, intimidated by nothing and no one. But his warm face, crushing hug, and insistence that we settle in and make ourselves at home were the sunny rays I needed to let Merit drip from her protective shell, becoming Marlow once more.
“I think I’m in love with you,” I murmured to Adrien as he shoved a mug of hot coffee into my hands.
He marched several racks filled with stunning pieces from the back room to the dressing area.
A faithful daily practitioner of Duchess Vapula, it had taken exactly one meeting for him to promise to close his studio for the day, devoting his energy to us alone. We’d all have to wear off-the-rack, but the body inclusivity of his sleek, gasp-worthy collection made it seem truly possible. He’d already had a delivery service drop off pastries, and he informed us we’d get vegan lunches delivered by his assistantwhen she rolled in sometime past noon.
“It’s an honor to meet you,” Priscilla said warmly. “I don’t get to meet a lot of the Duchess’s faithful.”
He waved a hand. “She’s my Infernal mother! We’ve been together forever. But I feel you. It’s so sexy to call on the Hellenic pantheon these days. Only the lucky few have demons in our corner.” He ended with a wink, which Priscilla appreciated.
His head tilted to the side. “Wait, what was that?”
Priscilla’s lips quirked upward. “She speaks to you.”
His lips pursed. “I’m told you belong to the Spider Queen. Wow, that’s…”
“She’s intimidating,” Priscilla said. “Being in her presence can be…a lot.”
“But let me guess,” he said. “There’s nothing you’d rather be doing.”
