Kit/Kat

Kit/Kat

Holy fuck buckets, Charlie Brown.

The moment we step into the underground ballroom, I’m hit by the sheer opulence. Firey colored crystal chandeliers dangle like frozen flames from the vaulted ceiling, casting dancing shadows over the walls, which are etched with ancient runes that seem to pulse with a life of their own. Tables draped in black velvet line the edges of the room, each one groaning under the weight of golden candelabras and exotic flowers that hiss and steam, giving off an eerie light.

I tighten my grip on Slash’s arm as the finely dressed demon males from Discordia strut around downstairs, their suits tailored to stress powerful shoulders and devilish grins. They’re nothing compared to the royal-looking adults, who converse in hushed tones in corners around the room, their eyes glinting with power and secrets. Their attire is a dizzying array of silks and brocades, jewels winking from every conceivable place.

I’m going to go insane with all the fucking rich people's bullshit tonight. I just know it.

Across the room, I spy what has to be the Bamford Academy contingent. They wear their thrifted finery like battle armor, a variety of funky hats, suits, and dresses with daring colors and chains that scream defiance. There’s a wildness to them, a sense of chaos barely contained beneath threadbare seams. They seem just as irritated as I am about the high society tinge to this party, and I wonder for a moment if I’d be able to relate to these demons better than anyone else in the room.

I won’t have time to find out because their disdain pales compared to the Brimstone Academy elites. These females are a vision of every possible species of demonic beauty, each one more stunning than the last, with their gowns hugging curves that promise both pleasure and peril. They move with a grace that’s almost hypnotic, their laughter tinkling like chimes in the sulfur-tinged air. Just watching them makes my pulse race as I remember the laughter of some of the queen bees from my past.

It would be best if we stay as far from those chicks as possible—both because they make want to have an episode, but also because they might guess my secret.

“Kit, are you okay?” Slash mutters, his voice grounding me back to the present. His enormous frame is comforting and I draw in a shaky breath before I answer.

“I’m fine,” I lie, swallowing hard as I take in the grandeur and the expectant looks directed our way. Our caliphate’s reputation precedes us, and I can feel the weight of every scrutinizing gaze. “Or… I will be once we land somewhere.”

“Everyone here is mostly bluster and bravado for attention,” Jasper growls from the front, leading us down the steps with an air of entitlement that only true royalty can muster. “You are with some of the most influential demons in this room already.”

“That lot from Bamford isn’t a concern,” Anton adds, nodding towards the scrappy group. “All bark, no bite—they’ve got magical constraint spells when they aren’t on campus. So don’t worry about them trying to cause trouble for you.”

I snort, giving him an amused expression. “They are the least of my worries, you snob. I’d probably have more in common with them than you guys.”

Slash puts his big hand over mine. “Perhaps, little demon, but we are demons. We are fine with so many things humans are not and those students are the people we feel should be locked up. Consider what their crimes might have been to earn that distinction.”

Okay, that’s probably true, though I suspect some of them simply fell afoul of the wrong rich dude.

“Watch out for the Brimstone girls, though,” Zavida chimes in, his voice smooth and unreadable. “They’ll come for your throat without hesitation—that’s how they’ve been raised. Their goal is to land a well-placed husband and then rule the section of their line with an iron fist. You’re an obstacle.”

“Focus on just breathing, Kit,” Oriel murmurs as he slips his arm through mine, joining Slash in a protective sandwich. His touch is surprisingly comforting, reminding me I’m not alone in this sea of demonic aristocracy. “You’ll be fine if you don’t let all of this trigger panic. Two points of contact, remember?”

“We’ve got you—I promise,” Salem says as he looks over his shoulder at me. “Keep swimming like that silly fish you made me watch, right?”

“Right. And… thank you,” I manage, trying to mimic their confidence as we continue our descent. Inside, my heart is racing, anxiety clawing at my throat with every step we take into the belly of the beast.

Hell may be my new home, but tonight, it feels more foreign than ever.

Lucian’s silhouette materializes before us with all the subtlety of a thunderclap in a silent chamber. His steaming drink wafts from the golden skull chalice like the smug smoke of his self-satisfaction. I can’t help but roll my eyes at the cliche villainy he exudes, more suited for a cheesy human magic movie than the hallowed halls of Discordia.

Of course, this fuckface would make himself known.

“Ah, our esteemed royal caliphate,” he coos, his voice dripping with insincerity. “Welcome to the festivities.”

The air thickens with tension as my demon compatriots puff up around me, each emitting their own brand of warning—low growls, narrowed eyes, and subtle shifts into half-transformed stances that would make any sensible creature think twice. Lucian merely chuckles, amused by the display, his eyes glinting with malice beneath the ballroom’s elaborate chandeliers. He knows they won’t do anything in this public forum, so their fury feeds his over-inflated ego.

“Delighted to see you too, Headmaster,” I say, cloaking my disdain in courteous venom. “If you’ll excuse us, we have some culinary delights to attend to. I don’t wish to spoil my appetite with unpleasant thoughts associated with classes.”

His fake laughter follows us, but it’s quickly drowned out by the encouraging snickers of my group. They enjoy when I cut people off at the knees, but I’m surprised Jasper gave me the opportunity to handle it on my own. He also likes to assert his dominance with the nasty assholes, but this time, he let me do it.

Weird shit going on at the Circle K tonight.

“Crunkleberry stuff should be right over there,” Oriel points out, his attention momentarily diverted by Jasper’s disapproving glance. “We should get some of your favorites and you’ll feel less edgy.”

“The shrimp doesn’t need Fae Fizz tonight if he’s eating those,” Jasper warns, though X interjects with a dismissive wave.

“Let Kit Kat decide for himself what he wants. We’re here to enjoy ourselves, aren’t we?” the cobra hybrid retorts, shooting me a conspiratorial smirk. “He and I look fabulous, and we should be able to have anything we want.”

I shoot Prince Prickface a defiant glare, feeling pumped up by X’s praise. “Exactly. I’ll eat or drink whatever I damn well please. You’re not my dad; I don’t even have a dad.”

Slash’s laughter rumbles in his chest, and slowly, the rest of guys turn pointed looks at the dragon prince. He sighs, throwing his arms up as he grumbles, “Don’t do anything stupid we have to deal with if you get buzzed, then.”

Well, that’s the end of his goodwill, I guess.

“Come on, little demon. We should get you fed,” Slash says firmly, leading us to the buffet while X, Anton, and Salem split off toward the bar. “Oriel, you will come as well. Zavida, stay with our prince.”

The buffet is a hedonistic spread of Hellish delicacies: skewered death bird tenders crackling with flame, bowls of writhing shadow serpent pasta, and succulent slices of beast roast sizzling on heated stones. Desserts are equally extravagant; towers of pomegranate tartlets filled with lava cream, trays of frostbite fudge that chills the skin on contact, and delicate crystalline crunkle and Cantu berry confections shimmering with abyssal sugar. I’m entranced by the variety, my mouth watering at the sight of crunkleberry clusters nestled among the fiery and frozen treats.

Come to mama, tasty treats.

“Never seen anything quite like this, huh?” Oriel asks, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he plucks a crunkleberry from the pile to feed it to Dottie. She chitters happily and I smile a bit.

“Only in movies or books. And definitely not exactly like this,” I admit, the spectacle erasing the earlier anxiety and replacing it with a childlike wonder.

As we fill our plates, the excitement of the Samhain Ball finally seeps into my veins, chasing away the shadows of dread. We pick out a mosaic of Hell’s cuisine, then make our way to the table emblazoned with our caliphate crest, a beacon of familiarity in a room where I’m still treading water. The clinking of glass and the hum of demonic chatter serve as a soundtrack to my jitters.

“Slash, do you think Anton and X will be able to tell if this stuff is safe?” My words are barely above a whisper, betraying a vulnerability I can’t fully disguise. “Poison could be on the menu, I suppose.”

“Of course,” Slash responds, his voice a low rumble of assurance that momentarily eases my nerves. “They are both able to test for that sort of thing to some degree without preparation.”

Dottie seems to sense my unease because she detaches from her perch on my shoulder, her small paws clicking against the tabletop as she inspects our haul. When she pauses at a dish — a quivering mass of what looks like garnet jelly — she dances and waves peculiarly, catching all of our attention.

“What’s she doing?” I mutter, a frown creasing my brow until the realization dawns. “Oh.”

Without ceremony, Slash grabs the plate and sends it spinning into the abyss of the ballroom. There’s a satisfying crash followed by indignant shouts, but he only grins, showing off a row of shark teeth. “Sorted.”

“Thanks,” I say, my smile genuine.

Slash’s lack of pretense is refreshing, especially tonight.

The moment is interrupted when Jasper and Zavida stride over, their expressions alive with the urgency of news too tantalizing to keep. Since the Prince rarely looks this eager unless he’s giving me shit, I lean my face on my hand to let him speak without a remark.

“I’m disappointed by what’s buzzing around amongst students. It’s useless. But. amongst the nobles and wanna-be adults demons…” Jasper says, leaning forward with an air of conspiracy. “There’s talk of what will happen after the Games this time. Most of it is cloaked in metaphors and sideways phrasing because people are afraid it might be treasonous.”

“After the Games, people think a similar thing to last time will happen,” I echo, my curiosity piqued despite the weight of the word. It reeks of trouble, yet the prospect stirs something in me, an ember of excitement. “I don’t know how to feel about that.”

“It is not something that should happen now ,” Zavida adds carefully. “Those who make strategy for the actual leaders in waiting placed the timing of this differently, and now that timeline could be pushed forward with little consideration for the rest of the occupants of this realm by bad actors. It will go badly if those demons can succeed.”

Motherfucker. Our suspicions are being confirmed by rumors that certainly have been planted to spread to other parts of Hell at this event.

Before we can discuss it further, Anton, X, and Salem return, bearing a constellation of drinks. Dottie scampers back to my side as Anton sets down the beverages, his eyes scanning our arrangements like a general reviewing troops. He sniffs each drink, his focus intense. Relief washes over me when they pass inspection—no foul play detected in the sweet scent of Fae Fizz or the smoky haze of Shadowbrew.

“Looks like we’re clear,” Salem declares, and we all take our chosen drinks, the cold glasses a comfort in my clammy hands.

“Cheers, my brothers,” X begins, breaking the brief silence that follows. Their gaze sweeps the group, sharp and calculating, ready for whatever game we’re about to play. “Now we have to figure out how to survive the rest of this room full of crooked predators and their progeny without being scarred for eternity.”