This could only mean one thing, if all my calculations in the making of the Soul Token were correct. Something was upsetting Jemma Bliss. Her misery was adding fuel to the token.

I watched the pulsing light. Eventually it slowed, then ceased altogether, leaving the token cool but glowing a little brighter than before. I had captured that misery in the piece of soul that I held in my hand.

So, my theory had been correct. If we took a piece of a human’s soul as collateral for my FiendPay scheme, we could harvest their misery. We could feed the Pit Demons. It wouldn’t be much, just from one human … but with many, we could tide them over until we began owning the full portion of their souls upon their human deaths.

My plan so far seemed to have all the impacts I had expected.

So why did I not feel joyous?

Why did I still feel this odd, queasy rumbling in my stomach?

I was probably hungry. I had not eaten since that box of donuts the previous afternoon.

Yes, that was what my problem was. It had absolutely nothing to do with the unhealthy, voracious need to know what was causing Jemma Bliss’s misery.

A sudden, violent vibration shook the floor beneath me. I grabbed onto the stone wall, but it didn’t subside. The shudders became a roar, interspersed with metallic clanging sounds. The demons below were fighting.

Again.

I sighed, turning back to the nearest staircase. If I didn’t show up to assist when the downstairs demons were having a rebellious tantrum, Hellen would never let me hear the end of it. And then there would be that disappointed frown Father would wear for a solid month afterwards.

The noise escalated as I descended until my ears were ringing with the sounds of a violent brawl. The staircase abruptly ended, opening up onto a ledge into an enormous, sweltering cavern. Stalactites and stalagmites were like teeth, separating us—the royal household—from what lay below, lit by the orange-red glow of the lava lake hundreds of feet down.

The Pit of Hell.

And the demons were very tantrummy today.

“Hungry! Hungry!” they chanted, knocking their horns against one another like a percussion beat. They were a sea of crimson, coal, and claret, their horns sending fireworks ricocheting around the space.

Father and Hellen were already there. Father stood at the edge of the ledge, fist wrapped around a stalagmite, glaring down at them all. His tail twitched, but his shoulders were stiff. His eyes scanned the crowd, his brows furrowed.

Hellen, who was far less practised at keeping her emotions in check, growled from her spot in the shadows, her own tail thrashing violently. Her claws gouged tracks in the lava stone, and her skin pulsed in a variety of shades of eggplant.

“What’s going on?” I hissed just as Father called out, his voice echoing with his fury.

“Silence!”