Sleeping Beauty in Hell (Vampires of Hades Book 1) by Stella Del Mar

Author:Stella Del Mar [Del Mar, Stella]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Star Sea
Published: 2021-05-04T16:00:00+00:00

14

Dante

The moment I appear in the diner, the music stops. Ignoring the curious faces, I scan the crowded restaurant for Bea, but she’s nowhere to be found. Fuck.

The next moment, however, hell’s favorite barmaid steps forward. It’s been centuries since I’ve spoken to the demon. Perched on her nose is a ridiculous pair of spectacles, but other than that, she’s the same as she was back when this place still had sawdust floors littered with oyster shells.

“Lord Dante.” Lucille inclines her head. “How may we serve you?”

“I’m looking for a girl,” I tell her. “Curly red hair, green eyes, living.”

The temperature of the demon’s tone drops by several degrees, and her glance shifts to the left as she says, “As you can see, there are only demons and shades here. If there’s nothing else you require, may I suggest that you be on your way?”

Demons twist the truth worse than witches, and this demon is clearly hiding something.

Giving her my best “don’t fuck with me” smile, I say, “Actually, I think I’ll take a table since I’m already in the neighborhood.”

The demon stands very still, too still, as she struggles to come up with a reason to deny my request. Finally, she says, “I’m afraid that won’t be possible.” She points to a sign affixed to the door by a pair of suction cups that reads: No shirt, No Shoes, No Service. “As you can see, we have a dress code now.”

I sigh. While I have the ability to, I fucking hate conjuring material objects. But even more than that, I’m out of patience with this demon’s attitude. “Find me a table, Lucille, or I’ll show you the dress code in Tartarus. Personally.”

“Lord Dante, over here!”

I search the diner for the source of the voice, and my eyes land on a small table in the rear, near where the bathrooms would be if this were a mortal restaurant. At once, I recognize the man, although he was still breathing the last time we met.

Waving off Lucille, I make my way across the crowded diner. When I reach his table, the poet stands. “First, I must apologize,” he says. “When we were introduced after my small reading in London, I didn’t fully grasp the honor.”

“No, Mr. Eliot, believe me, the honor was all mine.” Gesturing for the man to sit back down, I pull out a chair and join him. “I’ve had to settle for meeting most of my favorite poets in Hades, if at all, so it’s always a pleasure when a man with your talent appears in the mortal realm.”

“Please, call me Tom,” he says. “I hope my recitation didn’t displease you. I don’t recall ever seeing you at another.”

“Your recitation was marvelous, Tom…” I hesitate, wondering how much to disclose, conscious that it is T. S. Eliot sitting across from me. “I’m afraid I stayed away due to becoming indisposed after a personal tragedy.”

“Ah, did this tragedy involve a woman by any chance?”

I smile ruefully. “You’re too perceptive by far.

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