The prickling was definitely almost gone. I felt less dizzy than before, as though I had slept for some time. I wondered how long I’d been out. I literally had no idea if I had been in Lady Zinc’s house for hours or days, and I couldn’t see a clock. You’d think, considering how much of a curse of modern civilization clocks are, that Hell would be full of them, but no. In fact, they don’t have calendars either, although they kept dates and even seasons of a sort. I guess when you’ve been condemned to infinite punishment you don’t want to dwell on how slowly time is passing. Not to mention that if it was anything like Heaven, time didn’t pass, at least not in any normal way.

As my wits came back, I also realized that I couldn’t trust any of this apparent kindness. Even if it wasn’t some trick, even if Vera herself was the Riprash of her upper-class demon set, that didn’t mean everybody she knew wouldn’t happily eat me or turn me in. I had to be careful.

I staggered toward the window, which to my happiness didn’t look barred or defended in any unusual way, as if I truly was a houseguest. I was hoping a view of the outside might give me an idea of what time of the infernal day it was, which would be a start at orienting myself. It seemed to me that I had been in Hell for months, and although I didn’t have a formal deadline on leaving again, I knew if I didn’t find the Countess of Cold Hands and get out soon I’d never get out at all. The crushing weight of the place, the sheer, dull horror of it was wearing me away. Only the memory of Caz was keeping me moving, the knowledge that if I didn’t do anything, her lot was going to be the same as all these others: eternal misery. In fact, I had probably made it worse for her, and not just by exposing her to my sparkling, charming self. I doubted Eligor was going to let her get back to the real world ever again, so even that small solace was denied her.

No, I couldn’t worry about that now, I told myself: it was too far away, too unlikely. One thing at a time.