A Taste of the Divine

PREVIEW: CHAPTER 1

A note to the reader:

This is a preview of my full length novel, A Taste of the Divine. It can be found for preorder on all platforms as of 3/15, and will be released on 4/30/2024.

This is a tale of fantasy that stems from my own curious exploration of “what if we were wrong?” It’s a story of discovery, growth, and truly fighting for what is right.However, there are a few things to consider if you choose to continue beyond this page.

If you hold any monotheistic or biblical based faith as something that is important to you, if you are easily offended by the idea that God is the bad guy, if you carry the firm belief that the Devil is nothing more than a being of darkness that exists to damn your soul to an eternity of torture, this book is not for you.

This story comes from my imagination; however, it is loosely based upon the stories from the Bible, the Book of Enoch, Judaism, Greek mythology, and Egyptian lore. I’ve heavily embellished upon the stories I know well, as well as the one’s I learned while writing this story. I’ve also added a few of my own.

It’s a story meant for entertainment purposes only.

And maybe a little inspiration.

Do with that what you will.

Chapter 1

I’m in Hell.

No, literally. I am in Hell.

And, other than the stereotypical pillars of black obsidian, the walls dripping in blood red drapes, and the statues of winged, twisted faced demons hanging from the flaming ceiling, it looks a lot like the DMV.

The last thing I remember is driving down the 405 Freeway towards my apartment in Santa Monica, then there was a lot of noise — metallic crunching noise — and a bright white light, and then… nothing. Until I opened my eyes and found myself standing in a line, sandwiched between two men. In front of me stands a hunched and hairy man in a leather biker’s cut, his arms stained red, and blood still dripping from his finger- tips. Behind me stands a man in a priest’s collared robe. His face is battered and his head is bleeding. I’m not sure which one makes me more uncomfortable, to be honest. All I can do is stand as still as possible and not get any closer to either of them.

What the fuck?

I don’t know how this happened. There must be some kind of mistake. I’m a good person. I’ve never been hugely religious, but I don’t believe in nothing…and I’m a good person! I do charity work, I text back right away, I am kind to telemarketers…I drive a hybrid, for Christ’s sake!

Maybe I shouldn’t say that here. Or maybe it’s fine?

Lord, is it getting hotter in here?

Why am I even asking him? He’s clearly not —

“Next!”

The female voice dominates the massive room, the flames throwing themselves brighter and hotter across the ceiling, emphasizing the sudden sound. Wiping a bead of sweat from my brow I step forward, careful not to allow the gaps between myself and the men on either side of me to get any smaller. Wishing for a hair band, I tuck a lock of my long, dark hair behind my ear, only to feel that the dark strands are wet and sticky as my fingers move through them. Checking my fingers, I see a hand full of broken nails and blood, dark and clotting. Wincing, I touch my head and find a massive gash along my temple, still warm and damp with my own blood, only half dried within my hair. Despite the mess, I feel no pain.

Is this what killed me? A bonk on the head and now I’m dead?

Fuck, I’m dead. Actually dead. Six feet under, pushing up daisies, crossed the rainbow bridge, shit the cosmic bed fucking dead. Waiting in line to be let into Hell. Oh, I think I’m going to be sick. One more glance at the blood dripping from that biker’s hands and I will definite- ly be sick. My chest feels too tight. I can’t breathe. Am I supposed to be able to breathe? Do I need to? Why does it have to be so fucking hot in here?

“Next!”

At least it’s moving quickly. I’m not far from the front of the line, I’m sure I can get this sorted out once I get my turn at the desk. I just have to stay calm a little while longer, and then everything will be fine. I’m fine.

“ Next!”

Only three people in front of me. I can see the desk from my place behind the biker’s looming shoulders. A long, black counter made from the same obsidian as the pillars towering around me houses a small female creature, her frame much too small for the way her voice carries across the room. Her skin shimmers with blue and purple iridescence underneath the ceiling’s flames. Shiny black hair is piled on top of her head. The perfect messy bun sits between a pair of dark gray horns that spiral out of her hairline; they remind me of miniature versions of the corkscrewed horns of a mountain goat. If I wasn’t reeling and trembling over the fact that this place is real, and that I’m here at all, I’d admire just how whimsical she is. But I can’t, because this can’t be real.

Her hot pink lips smack open and closed around the piece of gum she pops across her teeth, an expression of annoyed boredom on her face as she waits for the next person to approach.

This is real. There’s no way I could make this up, even in a weird, red wine induced nightmare.

An old woman with a head of puffy white curls and clutching her pink shawl around her shoulders, shuffles to the edge of the desk. I can’t help but wonder what someone like her could have done to end up down here. The blue skinned demon blows a bright pink bubble between her lips and lazily raises her hand into the air. A small puff of smoke bursts from her fingertips, once it dissipates, she pulls the piece of paper that’s appeared between her sharpened nails down onto the desk. She slowly blinks her heavily lashed eyes as she studies the form. The old lady taps her foot nervously as the demon blows another bubble and lets it pop around her lips. Satisfied with what she’s read, she lifts her head and gives the old lady an impish grin. Using the point of her long, black nail, she scrapes the gum from her mouth, not even smudging the bright pink color underneath, then stuffs the gum back inside.

“Marsha Stanley, age eighty-nine, married sixty-five years, four kids, housewife, died of a stroke.” The demon lists the woman’s details like athlete stats, her voice sultry and seductive compared to her shouts. Marsha opens her mouth to speak, perhaps to protest being here, but the demon holds a hand up, silencing her with the palm of her hand and long, black, claw-like nails. “Yeah, yeah, kids are annoying. They’re loud, messy, they break everything, but you’re not supposed to hit them. Or starve them. Tsk, tsk.” She blows another pink bubble, blinking slowly as it grows until it bursts with an audible pop.

The demon waves her hand to the side, where a pillar of smoke appears, rising from the ground next to the desk. “Head on in, go up the stairs, and it’s the first door on your left. They’ll decide if you go to Five or Seven. Welcome to Hell, Mommy Dearest.”

Defeated and trembling, the old woman shuffles towards the billowing tower of smoke, a small whimper escaping her lips as she disappears into the darkness.

“Next!”

I shuffle forward, racking my brain for every awful thing I’ve done that could possibly land me here. I cheated on a spelling test in second grade. In sixth grade, a boy got his pants pulled down in the middle of the crowded lunchroom, and I laughed with the rest of the kids. Although, I felt so guilty for not helping him that the next day I brought him a belt, which I’m sure should negate the laughing at him. Then again, I stole that belt from my father’s closet and never got him a replacement, so maybe not. I got drunk for the first time when I was fourteen. But I got terribly sick and hated it so much that I decided that there was a reason the drinking age was set at twenty-one and didn’t touch another drop until I was legally allowed to. I didn’t wait until marriage to have sex, but I did wait until I was eighteen, and my first time was with a boy I thought I loved. I’ve only had one other boyfriend since. I did have a one-night stand for the very first time a few weeks ago – they’re not really my style, but it’s been nearly a year since my last boyfriend and I broke up, and I was feeling desperate for something other than the vibrator I keep in my nightstand.

Crap. Does masturbation earn a ticket to Hell? Which is worse, sex with myself or sex with a stranger?

I’ve never gotten a speeding ticket. I’m a terrible liar. I grew up wanting for nothing and I make more than enough money as an archi- tect, so stealing has never even crossed my mind. I may work a bit too much, and I’ll admit I can be a little bit of a control freak - and maybe a tad competitive – but you don’t get the lead position on project after project at my age without long hours and paying attention to every detail. Not to mention being the only female architect in an office full of men means I need to work that much harder in order to earn my place among them.

Shit. Pride. It’s one of the Seven Deadly Sins, isn’t it? But, surely, being proud of myself for how much I’ve accomplished in my twenty-seven years isn’t the type of sinful pride that gets one thrown into Hell?

Seriously, Hell?

“Hello!” The shimmering, blue skinned demon snaps her fingers, grabbing my attention. “Next!”

The priest behind me coughs and I jump forward, not wanting any further interaction or attention from him. I take a few hesitant steps away from the line behind me, practicing the words that have strung themselves together in my head, readying to say them out loud.

“Um, hi,” I manage to stammer out, immediately forgetting all of those words as I approach the desk. The cool air radiating off the black stone is refreshing against the heat of the flames above.

The demon flicks a finger up, silencing me as she raises her other hand by her head and waits for my form to appear. She blows another one of her bright pink bubbles while she watches me with black eyes. I don’t know how eyes that dark can look so bored, but they do. Though I’m not sure how she could possibly get bored doing this. Ushering each and every person through, learning the horrible things they’ve done, the shock value alone would keep me going.

Maybe it’s my nosiness that got me here. I do have to admit that I have a weakness for trashy reality TV and a slight penchant for living vicariously through other people’s drama, since I don’t often have much of my own.

The demon’s eyes flick up to her still empty hand and her brow fur- rows in irritation. She wiggles her fingers a few times. Nothing happens.

“Um, I’m not sure I’m supposed to be here,” I say meekly.

Fluttering her lashes in what I think is an eyeroll, she flicks the black pits in my direction. “I’ve never heard that one before. Impressive.” Pop!

“No, really, I can’t think of anything about me that could possibly have led me here,” I argue as I glance upwards towards her still empty, sharp nailed fingers. “Not much at least,” I add, my mind going back to the vibrator in my nightstand drawer.

“I’m sure you were a saint,” she drawls, snapping and wiggling her fingers with even more impatience. “What in the Ninth Circle?” She brings her hand downward, holding it in front of her face. Her black eyes study her palm before she slams it onto the surface of the stone desk. The sound of her skin against the smooth rock echoes through the room and I hear the priest startle behind me.

I shake my head and place my hands against the desk, allowing the cool stone to seep into my skin. “See? There must be some kind of mistake.”

“Hands off.” Her command is sharp, despite the smoky tone.

I take a step backward, my arms falling limply to my sides. Her eyes flick up to my head and then meet my own. She raises her hand again, wiggling her fingers. A devilish grin spreads across her lips as the smoke begins to circle around her fingertips. I let out a shaky breath when I see a sheet of parchment emerge as the smoke clears.

She brings it down, making a point to not break eye contact with me until the very last second, and then she studies the form. Her perfectly arched brows furrow once again.

“Lillian Carmichael, age –”

“I prefer Lilly.” My knee-jerk interruption is met with a depthless, full lashed stare and another jarring pop.

“Lillian Carmichael,” she repeats, mocking me.

Okay, I should have expected that. It is Hell, after all.

“Age twenty-seven, no partner, no kids, architect, died from a head injury sustained in a freeway collision.”

I wait silently for her to continue. My heart hammers so hard behind my rib cage that I’m sure everyone within the endless line behind me can hear it. Just like they’re about to hear about whatever horrible thing I did to end up here. Not that it matters as they must have done something just as bad, if not worse. A shudder rolls down my spine when I hear the swish of the priest’s robes as he shifts on his feet.

The demon’s eyes flick up to meet mine, turning that shudder into a blast of fire, fizzing and crackling across my bones. “There’s nothing else,” she says slowly, her lashes narrowing.

I’m not sure what she means so I remain silent, waiting.

“Were you driving drunk?” she asks suddenly.

My jaw drops and I shake my head. “No, I don’t… I hardly ever… I was on my way home from work.”

“Texting while driving?”

“Of course not!”

“Was the crash your fault? Did you kill anyone in the other car?”

My stomach rolls upon itself. “I have no idea,” I breathe. “I was driving one minute, and here the next.”

The demon studies me while chewing on her bottom lip, the incessant smacking and popping finally halted. “Wait here.” She stands up and my gaze follows her as she turns and disappears behind a new plume of smoke.

A few groans sound from the line behind me, and it takes everything within me not to turn and remind them of where we are and that the suffering has probably only just begun. Long moments pass before the blue, shimmering skinned demon returns, reappearing from the same plume of smoke she stepped into. Her heels clack against the black marble tiles as her slender legs bring her back to her seat behind the desk. My form remains pinched between her fingers. Her stare is hard and cold as she lazily raises her hand and a swirling plume of smoke flares up on the opposite side of the desk that she’s sent everyone before me.

“Follow the corridor until it forks, take a right. Pep’s office is the third door on the left.”

My feet are frozen in place, despite the flames above and the sweat dripping down my neck. “Pep?” I squeak.

“Apep,” she snaps, as if that’s supposed to make anything clearer. Tilting her head and fluttering her lashes at my blank stare, she huffs. “He’s a Chaos Demon, and ironically, the best at sorting things out.” She waves her hand towards the plume impatiently. “He’s expecting you.”

Relief begins to light up inside my chest, and even dares to spread into my gut, calming the incessant rolling sensation. “So, this really is some kind of mistake?”

She shrugs casually. “That has yet to be decided.” Another bounce of her hand towards the smoke tells me she’s done talking.

Unsticking my tingling feet from their spot on the floor, I slowly step towards the smoke. Down the corridor, turn right, third door on the left. I repeat the directions with each step. The last thing I want to do is get lost in Hell, especially if I’m not even supposed to be here in the first place. I stride up to the smoke plume and marvel at the cool, misty sensation as the smoke wraps and coils around my skin. A sweet smell enters my nose, the aroma of roses and bubblegum pushing the scent of sweat and fear from my senses. The smoke curls around my body and I feel myself start to lift, weightless and tingling from the roots of my hair all the way to my toes.

“Next!”

The voice is a distant, echoing sound as I step further into the smoke and thus, further into the depths of Hell itself.