The demon wraps his arms around Patrick and then kicks off from the side of the bridge.
They are gone.
Falling toward the thick oil.
The collector may be there an hour, a day. Or he may stay for eternity. It just depends how hard he fights, and for how long. Maybe he’ll let go of his humanity entirely and become one of them. The same way I think Rector has begun to do.
Once I hear the splash of his body hitting the oil, I join Aspen in her battle against the demon. Together, we are able to shove it back toward the dark liquid blanket. Aspen glances around, her breath coming fast.
“Is he gone?” she asks.
“For now,” I answer. “How’s your arm?”
She grips the place where the creature cut her. “I’ll be fine. What now?”
“Stick to the plan. Get to the soul storage room and get out of here. Handle obstacles as they come.” We race toward the end of the bridge as more demons claw their way over the side. Thankfully, they’ll never make it to us in time. We near the door, and I tell Aspen, “Remind me to thank Lincoln for teaching you how to fight. You’re an animal.”
She grins. “That was a lie.”
“What?”
“He didn’t teach me how to fight. I taught him.”
I slow down and stare at her. “How did you—?”
“Dante. The door. Do we need a key or…?”
I shake my head. “Right. No, we just go through.” The door swings open beneath my hand, and we step into the next room. Aspen immediately falls back with fright, but I push her forward. We must close the door behind us, or the demons will keep coming.
Aspen’s hands fly to her ears, and she looks at me, eyes dancing with fear at what she sees.
38 
Fire Dancer
Around the circular room are twelve fireplaces. They are ten feet tall and ten feet wide. Inside them, humans are bound by their ankles. Flames shoot up from stacks of wood at their feet and lick their skin. The moans are louder here than almost anywhere else. Every once in a while someone lets out a scream. When that happens, the fire burns blue. It engulfs their entire body and singes their hair. The demons don’t come when they scream. The fire takes care of that.
The smell of burning flesh and smoke fills my senses, and even though I’ve smelled it a hundred times, I almost heave.
With my chin, I motion toward an empty fireplace. It burns just as bright as the others, but there aren’t any bodies in this one. “That’s where we’re going.”
“Inside there?” Aspen gasps. “With the fire?”
“We just have to walk through it,” I say, as if this is somehow better.
Aspen’s gaze turns to the burning bodies. “Can we do anything for these people?”
I shake my head. “It’s too late for them.”
She bites her lip and cringes. I wonder if it’s the sound they’re making, or the smell, or perhaps the sight of them that bothers her the most. She looks back at the empty fireplace. “Will it hurt?”
I want to tell her no. I want to protect her from all of this. But I can’t. “It will,” I answer honestly. “But only as you pass through it. Once we’re on the other side, your wounds will heal.”
She squats down, and her gloved hands touch the ground. It’s like she’s lost the will to stand. “How much farther?”
“We’re almost there.” I grip her shoulder, and she stands back up. Then she grits her teeth.
“Let’s go, then.”
We clasp hands and approach the flames. They seem to bend toward us, eager for a taste. “Ready?” I ask.
“Could I ever be ready for this? For any of this?”
I almost laugh. Almost.
“Quickly!” I order. We dart toward the hearth, and within seconds we’re engulfed. The scent of my own flesh burning fills my nose, making me gag. Aspen’s hair is on fire, flaming orange. Her mouth is open in a perfect circle of black, but no sound comes out. Pain radiates through every nerve in my body. It’s so intense, I think I’ll collapse.
I forget about Aspen. I forget about Charlie. There’s only agony, slicing open my skin and filling it with blinding heat. The skull buckle on my belt melts and drips silver onto my shoes. My right ear peels off and falls to the ashes below, a hunk of charred meat. The sizzling sound I heard before is now cut in half. My vision blurs, and I know the fire is eating my eyes, sucking them from their sockets like the pimento in a stuffed olive. The misery is too much. The fire is too greedy, too hungry. I’ve done this before, but I can’t do it again. I can’t take another single step after this one.
It’s over.
We fall to the floor on the other side of the hearth. Aspen wraps her arms around herself and rolls on her back, but our skin has already repaired itself. Even my clothing and belt buckle look untouched. That’s the beauty of hell. Your body is never destroyed. That way, the pain can always continue.
“You’re okay,” I say, brushing the ashes from her hair. It’s black again. Not red or orange or any other color that makes my stomach churn. “We’re so close.”
Aspen coughs into her open hand, but nothing comes out. Her lungs are perfect. Untouched. She slowly comes to a stand. I offer her my arm, which she refuses. A pang of guilt rushes through me, but I push it down. I can’t think about how horrible it is that she’s here now. If I do, I won’t be able to concentrate on anything else.
We’re in a room that’s a perfect square. The walls and floor are made of charcoal-gray concrete, and it doesn’t seem that threatening. There aren’t giant bears or snakes or demons or even fire. It’s just a room. But we all have our weaknesses. And this has always been the one I hate the most.
The walls start moving.
They push Aspen and me away from the edge of the room. She spins to look for the fireplace, but it’s gone.
Soon, the ceiling is moving, too, sliding down toward the floor with a rumble.
“What’s going on?” Aspen says, twirling like a ballerina to see the walls inching closer. I can tell right away this is different for her. She knows what’s happening, and her body is already writhing with terror.
“We can pass through them,” I say with as much conviction as I can muster. “You have to believe it, though. Just like with the Hall of Mirrors.”
Aspen’s lips curl back with panic. “I can’t do this, Dante. Make them stop.”
I know exactly what she means. There’s only one thing that makes my mind threaten to shut down, and that’s being boxed in. I take her face in my hands. “Listen to me,” I say. “This won’t hurt you.”
The walls grind closer. The ceiling is five feet above our heads. She closes her eyes and shakes her head.
“Aspen, stop it,” I say. “Look at me.”
Aspen grabs onto my wrists but doesn’t open her eyes. “I can’t do this anymore,” she mumbles. “I want to leave. I want to go home.”
I put my mouth close to her ear. “I want you to remember the time you and I were in Sahara’s room. Remember Lincoln painted his nails black and Sahara wanted to be spun in a circle? You couldn’t lift her, but I could. I can lift you now, but you have to believe I can.”
Aspen’s green eyes flash open. They swim with tears as she holds my gaze. “You said you’d never go away.”
“I never will.”
Aspen tilts her head to the side. “I don’t want to die. Not without telling him.”
Confusion crashes through me, but there isn’t time to think on it. The roof comes down and touches the top of my head. I let go of Aspen’s face and fumble for her hand. Squeezing my eyes shut, I tell myself that I am made of air. I am nothing. I am nothing, and the wall is nothing, too.