by Bree Despain
I nod. “I understand.”
I also understand that if something goes wrong, if Ethan’s intel is wrong about the bow’s location, or if we can’t make it there in time, I may very well not be returning from this trip.
“Oh and BTW,” Lexie says, polishing off my last cookie, “Terresa has dibs on carrying you.”
“Carrying me?”
“To the Skygate. In the sky, obviously,” Jonathan says. “We’ll be cloud-walking there. Since my wings were clipped long ago, Ethan will have to carry me—which means Terresa will be your ride.”
“Lovely,” I say, imagining fending off Terresa’s advances while being carried through the air in her arms. If I protest too much, she might decide to drop me.
The front door opens and closes, and I hear footsteps coming toward the kitchen.
“Ethan must be back with the supplies,” I say, but when I look up, it’s not just Ethan who has entered the kitchen. He’s accompanied by a very tall female, with long blond hair, and brilliant blue eyes—Daphne’s doppelganger.
“You have a visitor, Joe,” Ethan says nonchalantly as he places a duffle bag on the counter.
Joe swings around from the stove with a bowl and a whisk in his hand.
The bowl hits the ground. Yolky black beads splatter across the tile at his feet.
“Demi?” he says.
“Where the hell is my daughter?” she demands.
chapter twelve
daphne
I sit beside the boulder that blocks the cave entrance with a large rock cradled in my hands. Shady has to come back at some point, which means I need to be ready to try to get past him. That’s what the rock is for. When he rolls away the boulder to duck back inside, I’ll hit him over the head and escape through the opening.
Only, it’s been hours—maybe even more than a day—since he left me here, and I’m starting to wonder if he’s ever coming back. Maybe he’s forgotten about me? Maybe he’s decided I’m too much of a bother? No, he has to come back. This cave is obviously his home. I’d spent a good long while staring at his well-worn nest before the torch burned out, and there was something in one of the corners that looked (and smelled) like a compost heap filled with rotting vegetation and picked-clean bones—luckily none of which looked large enough to have come from a human. More like from small, birdlike creatures. Once the torch flickered out, the light that peeked from behind the boulder was my only source of illumination. But now even that has faded away. It must be night, because it’s as dark as pitch in the cave.
I’m shivering, shaking from the cold, and I shrug deeper into my golden cloak. It’s ripped and tattered from my fall from the chariot, but I am grateful for what little protection it offers against the night air. I’d thought about using the torch to start a campfire before it burned out, but then had visions of dying of smoke inhalation. Isn’t that what happens if you light a fire in an enclosed space?
I’d never considered myself to be claustrophobic, but the darkness pressing in around me makes me wonder if I am. My stomach clenches with hunger. I finished off the gray flowers hours ago. No wonder Shades are so hungry, if that’s their primary food source.
No wonder they came running the second they smelled fresh meat . . .
I shudder and run my hands over the rock I intend to use as a weapon and start to second guess my plan. Shady saved my life after all—twice, actually, if you count not only dragging me away from those Shades at the dock, but also feeding me.
I’ll starve if he doesn’t come back . . . And hitting him in the head doesn’t seem like the best repayment. Maybe I can try reasoning with him?
Can you reason with the dead?
Shady did seem far more cognizant than I had given any of the Shades credit for. I didn’t even know they could speak.
My tongue is thick and dry. It has started to throb again. I bit it deep when my head hit the dock. I listen to the drip, drip, drip noise coming from farther back in the cavern. It’s enough to drive a person crazy when it’s the only sound that seems to exist. Especially for someone who has spent her whole life immersed in music. I listen harder beyond the dripping noise, trying to hear any sound that might indicate that Shady is on his way back. I may not be able to do anything about my hunger on my own, but there is something I can do about my thirst. Only I haven’t been able to will myself to do it, for fear of missing my opportunity to escape.
I listen until I can’t stand it any longer. There’s no way of hearing anything on the other side of the boulder, and my thirst is driving me insane.
I drop the rock, leaving it behind because I need my hands to navigate through the darkness. Near the entrance, the wall of the cave is dry and dusty against my sliding hand, but that eventually gives way to a damp, slick, yet crusty surface that makes me think of a shower that hasn’t been cleaned in years. My injured knee aches even more as I walk, stiff from sitting so long. I worry it’s more than a bruise or a sprain; perhaps a partially torn ligament. I follow the dripping noise, glad for a keen sense of hearing, until I feel my way to what sounds like a pool. Water drips from a stalactite above, filling it. I sit next the pool, and stick my fingers tentatively in the water—hoping beyond hope there’s nothing living in there.
What I find is that the pool is only a few inches deep. A few hours ago, I may have deemed this an unsanitary option, but now I cup some water in my hands and bring it to my mouth. It tastes minerally to say the least, but the cold water is so soothing on my parched tongue and throat that I suck it down and go for another helping.
After I’ve had my fill, it strikes me that at the rate the water is dripping from above, this pool should be deeper . . . which means it must have an outlet! I stick my hand in the water and feel the slight pull of a current. It flows to the right side of the pool. I hear it then, the slight trickling noise of a small stream of water. It’s even darker here than at the entrance of the cave, but I don’t let that stop me. If the water is flowing somewhere, that means there is somewhere for it to go. I abandon my plan of waiting for Shady to return and decide to explore the cave instead, like I had wanted to before Shady stopped me the first time.
His words, “Stay here. Too Dangerous,” echo in my mind as I follow the trickling stream in the dark. I can’t help thinking of that noise I heard earlier that sounded like a rather large rat, or something worse. But I keep going. The cave wall is gradually curving off to the right, as if following the small stream. My already cold feet ache every time a false step lands in the frigid water. The gladiator-style sandals Garrick provided for me are sturdier than my ballet flats had been, but not any warmer. Has no one ever heard of socks and hiking boots in the underworld?
The stream starts to narrow, the water trickling faster, by the sound of it. I pick up my pace, moving as fast as I am physically able in the dark. This has to be another way out.
The sound of the trickling changes slightly. More like a gurgle. I get closer to the ground, listening. I hear then what makes the difference. The water has shifted from flowing across the ground and is now flowing down. Like through a drain. I feel the ground with my hands. There’s a crack in the cave floor. Not even wide enough to stick my hand in all the way. I slam my fist against the crack, splashing water away from me. The stream is escaping through an outlet—but not one I can follow.
But that doesn’t mean there isn’t another way out.
I stand once more, using the cave wall for support. I follow its curving path for another few yards. I keep one hand against the wall and the other one stretched out in front of me, feeling for obstacles. When my fingers touch something hard and cold in front of me, I know it’s all over. There’s a barrier, some sort of wall blocking the path in front of me. This is the end of the line.
But as I start to turn back, I realize—it’s not a wall of stone.
I use both hands to feel in front of me. There’s a barrier blocking my path. But it’s not a vertical wall, and it’s not a solid surface. It’s . . . It’
s a pile.
From the feel of it, the pile is made of all sorts of things. Wood, metal, cloth. Bone?
I snap my hand back. I reach it out again tentatively and touch the smooth object once more. My fingers wrap around it and I pull. It takes a good yank, but the object comes free from the pile. Smoothing my fingers over it, I realize it’s not bone (thank goodness) but a small statue, a figurine of some sort. It’s in the shape of a woman but it’s missing one of its arms. I feel for another object and find what seems to be some sort of medallion with a broken chain. There are scraps of cloth, and another object turns out to be a cracked wooden wheel. It’s a pile of junk.
Perhaps Shady is a hoarder?
I start pulling more objects from the pile, hoping for something that might make a more useful weapon than a rock, or perhaps something that will keep me warm. My hand closes on something soft but stiff. I pull it closer to me and find that my fingers have closed around the brim of a hat.
Not just any hat. A short-brimmed fedora.
Like the one Tobin had been wearing the last time I’d seen him. Just before the boat crash.
I clasp the fedora to my chest. “Tobin?” I shout. It’s a long shot, I know. But Tobin is never without his hat. “Tobin?” I call again, my voice echoing through the cavern.
I hear movement, the shifting of weight against the cave floor. Someone or something is coming closer in the dark.
“Tobin?” I say, a little more tentatively than before.
A gurgling growl answers me. Two small, glowing circles appear in the darkness. Then another pair. And then a third. Glinting animal eyes. Three pairs of them coming closer, moving as if in unison. I back up instinctively, only to find my way blocked once more by the giant pile of junk.
I’m at a dead end. And that most definitely isn’t Tobin.
chapter thirteen
tobin
“Let’s jump in!” Alexis says with a giggle. She stands at the edge of the swimming pool, wearing jeans and a T-shirt that says This is not the Princess you are looking for on the front.
“We don’t have swimsuits,” I whisper to her, because I’m afraid we’re going to get caught. This isn’t either of our pools. We’ve just snuck away from what has to be the most boring party in the world. All anyone wanted to talk about was the latest football game.
“Swimsuits, schwimsuits,” she says. “Don’t be a wuss, Tobin.”
“I’m not a wuss, I just don’t like getting in trouble.”
“I am pretty sure that is the definition of wuss.” Alexis gives me a devious smirk. Then she grabs her nose and jumps into the pool, making a huge splash.
“Shhh!” I say, when she comes up to surface giggling.
“Come in!” she says, swimming up closer. Water drips from her eyelashes.
“I don’t want to get my clothes wet,” I say. My mom had insisted I wear a suit to the party—which means I showed up looking like the world’s biggest dork.
Alexis laughs and pushes the water in front of her, drenching me with a huge splash. “There,” she says. “You’re already wet, so you don’t have any excuse anymore, wussy boy.”
I’m standing there in my drenched clothing and for a second my temper flashes hot, but then Alexis leans into a back stroke, still giggling. The fabric of her wet shirt rides up a couple of inches, exposing the skin on her stomach. I feel hot for a very different reason and glance away.
Another splash hits my shoes. “Come in,” she calls.
The next thing I know, I’m tearing off my shoes and jumping into the pool in my dress-suit, tie and all. I go deep under the water, holding my breath. Alexis swims over to me, smiling. She grabs me by my tie, pulling me closer.
“Kiss me,” she says, bubbles floating out of her mouth under the water.
I lean in closer and she grins. I close my eyes, hoping I don’t mess up my first kiss . . .
But then nothing happens. I open my eyes and Alexis is gone. I am in an otherwise empty pool. Darkness closes in on me . . .
And I’m drowning.
I wake gasping for air, when a man bursts into the room. No, a boy, I realize as he gets closer. He can’t be any older than I am.
Wait, how old am I?
“She got away!” he shouts. “She must have planned this! How could she have planned this?”
Who got away? Alexis . . . Lexie? I blink at him, feeling groggy. His black cloak is torn and there’s a smear of what must be dried blood on his cheek. I don’t know who this she is that he’s ranting about.
He advances on me and grabs the top of my chair. “We told you we’d put the punishment on you. We told you we’d make you scream and beg for mercy. We told you you’d pay if she didn’t take us to the Key.” He shoves his face so close to mine, I can smell his rank breath. “We could blast you until your eyeballs explode. We could fry your skin until it’s crispy and falls off your bones. What do you think about that, mortal?”
I blink at him again. What was it he said about crispy skin? Was he talking about KFC?
“We’re waiting, Tobin,” he snarls. “Start begging for mercy.”
“I’m sorry, who are you?” I say through a yawn, wishing he’d let me go back to sleep. “And who’s Tobin? Did you say something about chicken?”
The boy roars in frustration, his spittle spraying my face. What did I say?
“Dude, you need to brush your teeth, bro,” I say. Then wonder why I can’t lift my arm to wipe my face.
The boy kicks my chair. “What good is torturing someone who can’t remember they’re being tortured?”
“Who said anything about torture? I thought we were going to have chicken?”
He stomps away to the door and calls for guards. Two men enter the room, both carrying swords.
“Cut him free,” the boy orders.
The guards advance on me with their weapons drawn. I wonder why they would listen to the orders of a boy. One stabs his blade into one of the armrests of the chair I sit in. The second guard follows his lead with the other side of the chair. I watch, amused, as they hack at the armrests, and I feel sleepy. I have almost forgotten they were even there until they start yanking on my arms. A strange pain grips my elbows and wrists, as if the chair doesn’t want to let me go. I’m fine with staying, I think, but then I am free.
They pull me from the chair, and try to place me on my feet. My legs waver as if it has been days since I last stood. One of the men grips me tight, holding me up by the shoulder.
A boy in a torn black cloak and a bloodstained face stands in front of me. Where did he come from?
“Where do you want him?” one guard asks.
“On his knees,” the boy says. He holds out both of his hands—they’re encircled by spheres of what looks like blue lightning. “We want to hear him beg.”
The guards push me to my knees. I don’t try to fight them because I still don’t know what’s going on. Is this part of my dream?
“That will be all,” the boy says to the guards. Once they’re gone, the door closed behind them, the boy steps forward. He clasps his hands into fists and the spheres of blue light disappear as if he extinguished them. I can’t help sighing with relief.
“Don’t get comfortable yet. We’re just going to start slow. Mortals are fragile, after all.” He extends his index finger, pointing it at my face. I tense, feeling my eyes widen, as a wisp of blue lighting crackles around his fingertip. He lowers it and jabs his finger into my left shoulder. At first it feels like a little shock, like when you rub your feet on the carpet, and then it grows in intensity. Aching, bursting pain surges down my arm and into my chest. My heart beats so hard it feels like it might break through my ribcage.
Unable to hold it back any longer, I scream.
The boy pulls his finger away. A smirk of delight mars his face.
Sweat puckers up from my pores. I’m panting hard. Just as the pain starts to dissipate, the boy jabs my shoulder again. I don’t even try to hold back this time. I scream b
ecause it helps ease the pain.
When he pulls back a second time, I fall forward. My left arm is locked up, unable to move, and I barely catch myself with my right hand before my nose slams into the stone floor. “Why are you doing this?” I ask through gritted teeth.
“I’m merely trying to jog your memory.” He shocks me again.
I writhe against the ground, my face grinding into the stone. “Who are you?” I ask, bloody saliva dripping from my mouth. He pulls away again. “What do you want from me?”
“You still don’t remember?” he says, looming over me. “Do you need another jog?”
“No,” I shake my head and roll onto my back. I look up at him from my prone position. I force myself to concentrate through the fog that seems to coat my brain. His face comes into focus. I do know him. We’re friends . . . No, allies? There was a gate. A girl. She was my friend. I came to help her, and so did . . .”Garrick?”
“Very good,” he says. “We knew it would come back to you.”
“Why are you doing this? I thought we were on the same team?” I blink rapidly as my mind begins to race. A flood of lost memories hits me like a wrecking ball, and I can barely breathe. I remember Abbie, Sage, my parents, Lexie, Daphne . . . Then the last few days flash through my mind. I remember falling from the boat, almost drowning, being fished from the water by a pack of Shades and then rescued by a troop of Underlord soldiers. They brought me to their palace. I was brought before their new king . . .
I look at Garrick good and hard, as if really seeing him for the first time. He seems taller all of a sudden, wider. As if I had only ever seen him slouching before. He is dressed like royalty, if not a little worse for wear with the torn cloak and a dented breastplate. A crown of golden laurel leaves sits on his head.