Unhinged

by Chani Lynn Feener

  It was like she was being watched by a thousand pairs of eyes. Her skin felt like it was crawling. And yet there was still no one but the two of them.

  A much narrower hallway than the one outside the castle brought them further in, and they stopped in front of yet another door, though this one was closed. There was no knob, but the black wood shifted back, slowly creaking open and exposing pitch darkness within.

  “Go,” Ferris motioned her forward.

  “Aren’t you coming?” she hated the tremor in her voice. She glanced warily into the room.

  “This was your choice, Spencer Perry,” he reminded. “Not mine. I am not allowed in.”

  “Well,” she tried to steady her shaky breathing, “how do you know I am?”

  The corner of his mouth turned up in a tiny smile, though there was no malice behind it. “He would not have permitted me to lead you this far otherwise. Not many mortals have graced these halls. You’re either very fortunate to be allowed access. Or very ill-fated.”

  “What happened to that spiel about there being no such thing as fate?” she asked. “I changed my mind. I liked that spiel. Go back to that spiel.”

  He chuckled, resting a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You came here for a reason, Spencer. Don’t lose that now.”

  “You hate that reason.”

  “Go.”

  The tiny shove he gave her sent her straight through the threshold, and she sucked in a deep breath the second the darkness consumed her. She couldn’t see a damn thing.

  The door slamming shut at her back made her gasp, and she spun. She barely resisted the urge to pound against it. She refused to show that weakness here.

  She took a cautious step forward, and when she wasn’t met with resistance, boldly took another. She counted as she went, making it to thirty-five before finally stopping with an exasperated sigh. She had to have been at it for at least five minutes now, considering she’d been moving so slowly a turtle could have done laps around her.

  “This is ridiculous,” she grumbled to herself. Goosebumps covered her bare arms and she noticed how cold it was despite the fact there wasn’t any obvious air flow. She hadn’t changed out of her black skinny jeans and purple blouse after school. Now she wished she’d at least grabbed a sweatshirt.

  A wounded sound almost forced its way up the back of her throat, but she dutifully held it at bay. What if this was it? What if Ferris had been lying and now she was trapped here forever in nothing but darkness? What if she never got to see Micah again because of her selfishness, her stupid need to have more? Why couldn’t she just be happy with what she had?

  Because she just couldn’t, that’s why. It wasn’t fair. And it wasn’t right. And if there was even the slightest chance that there was a way she could bring him back, then she had to take it. Even if it meant spending the next ten years standing here alone in this black abyss. A hundred years.

  Having gained some of her determination back, Spencer squared her shoulders and spread her feet apart in a wide stance. Clenching her hands at her sides, she lifted her chin defiantly.

  “Hades!” she cried as loud as she could. Like before, the darkness seemed to swallow her words up. “Hades, I know you can hear me!”

  A lie.

  She continued to scream his name anyway. Eventually he’d have to show up and hear it, right?

  She held her ground as she called out for him, not wanting to risk walking into anything. Frankly, she didn’t think she had it in her to walk and yell at the same time. Sure, she was less freaked out now by her renewed sense of purpose, but the fear hadn’t been chased away completely.

  “Hades!”

  “Hadrian.” The strange voice cut through the darkness so swiftly that at first she thought it was her echo finally returning.

  She froze, every fiber of her being going on high alert and standing still all at once. She dared only move her eyes, and even that seemed fruitless.

  Until the lights flickered around her like a forest fire springing to life.

  She sucked in a gasp and lifted her arm to shield her face from the sudden brightness. The whole thing had lit up instantly, a bright orangey-yellow glow illuminating everything in a split second. Once she thought it was safe, she glanced around.

  The walls here were made of the same shiny material as the outer walls of the castle had been. They however reflected lights off their surface. With another shock, she saw that the room she was in was actually much bigger than she’d ever imagined, stretching in all directions at least a hundred feet.

  When she turned forward again and saw him, her eyes went wide.

  He was perched on the edge of a black throne, his right elbow propped up on the arm rest. He was wearing dark pants, and the whitest long sleeved v-neck shirt she’d ever seen. The sleeves were rolled up, and the way he leaned forward gave him the appearance of almost being bored.

  His hair was midnight colored, short and standing up in the front. His eyes—which were focused intently on her—were the color of blue food dye. So blue they didn’t look natural. His full mouth was set, though pursed slightly so that it was obvious he was holding back a smile. If she had to guess his age, not knowing who he was of course, she would have said no older than eighteen.

  He was gorgeous. Definitely not what she was expecting the Lord of the Underworld to look like.

  And that fact was making her a little tongue tied.

  “Um,” she gulped, took a shaky step forward but then thought better of moving closer. There was still a good distance separating them, about thirty feet or so. “Huh?”

  He arched his brows at this, the barest hint of a smirk breaking through.

  “I said,” he told her in a voice smooth as silk, “Hadrian. My name is Hadrian. I am the ruler of the Underworld.”

  Yeah. That much she’d gotten.

  Chapter 6:

  Micah St. James had walked into Phil’s one July afternoon having just come from a pick-up game of basketball. His white undershirt had clung to his body, showing off the plains of a six pack she didn’t recall being there only a few months before.

  She’d watched him walk across the restaurant, laughing at something one of the other guys had said. It was like she’d been hypnotized, like she was seeing him for the first time. She’d been shocked that this was the same guy she’d known her entire life.

  Her skin had felt flushed and too tight, her head light and fuzzy. She’d only been able to focus on him, everything else fading into the background like it wasn’t even there.

  Kind of like now.

  If it weren’t for the fact that he was the Lord of the Underworld—and staring at her like she was some sort of interesting, yet meaningless, bug—she’d call him the hottest guy she’d ever seen.

  Suddenly her palms were too sweaty, and she rubbed them against her thighs. It took her a moment, but she realized that the pointed look he was giving her was actually because he was waiting on her to speak.

  “My name is—”

  “Spencer Perry,” he stopped her with the lifting of two fingers from the arm rest. “Unlike some, I like to know who it is I’m getting involved with beforehand.”

  The jab made her narrow her eyes. He didn’t have to be so rude about it. “How was I supposed to know that you’re not called Hades?” She bit her tongue a second too late.

  Surprisingly, he only seemed more amused by this. He waved her closer with the same two fingers. “Come forward, mortal. Let me see you better.”

  “Something tells me you can see me just fine from there.” She was wary about moving closer. Did being the Lord of the Underworld also make him the Devil? Perhaps she should have thought about it before coming up with this asinine plan.

  He laughed, the sound rich and lyrical. It wrapped itself around her like a warm blanket, and she wondered over whether or not he was doing it on purpose or if it was all in her head.

  “What, afraid? Already?” he tisked. “You disappoint me, Spencer. And here I was
looking forward to your attempts at swaying me. Of some spectacular grand gesture of selflessness and ‘the heart wants what the heart wants’ or some such dribble. But no. Instead you come to me with a twisted tongue in place of where a forked one should be.”

  “Forked—” she glared. “I think you’re playing a little role reversal here. I’m not the one in charge of the Underworld, now am I?”

  “No.” Just like that all the humor left him. He was still sprawled out in his seat, but the pose had taken an edge to it, like his entire body had tensed and was now on alert. “No, you are not.”

  Yeah, she was so dead. Again. Here she was allowing fricken Hades—or whatever his name was—bait her. She must have been dropped a few times as a child. That’s what she was going with anyway.

  “Step forward, Spencer, before I change my mind about hearing you out at all.” He left no room for argument in his tone.

  Not having any other choice, she carefully made her way closer, keeping her steps even and trying her hardest to hold her shoulders pinned back in a confidant stance. She was pretty sure she was failing by the returning look of amusement on his face. When she finally stopped less than ten feet away, she crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Do I make you nervous?” he asked her after a moment of silence. The corner of his mouth quirked up once more. “Are you forgetting that you came to me? Is this not what you wanted? An audience with the God of the Dead?”

  “I want Micah back,” the words left her lips in a rush of breath. There, she’d said it.

  He settled himself more comfortably in his seat. “That would be the boyfriend, yeah?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hmm. People die, Spencer, all the time. In fact, during our little conversation here, about 2,140 have—how should I put this?—bit the bullet, so to speak. Could you imagine the type of chaos that would ensue if I were to grant the request of every single person who wanted their loved one returned to them? Go ahead, I’ll give you a minute to ponder—during which roughly another one hundred and seven will die, by the way.”

  She struggled to keep calm. She would not let him convince her to leave here empty handed. She couldn’t. She had to do this for Micah. And for herself.

  “Please,” she whispered, figuring he could hear her just fine no matter how loud she spoke. “I’ll do anything. I just want him back. I need him back.”

  He watched her for a long moment, and then heaved a sigh, shaking his head. “Sorry, no can do. I’m afraid you’ve come all this way just to be disappointed. Death is inevitable. Better get used to it.”

  “No.” This time when the anger and hysterics bubbled up she was able to hold onto it and not lose it to the fear. “There’s got to be something else I can do.”

  “There isn’t.”

  “Maybe there’s someone else I can speak to about this?”

  Her statement seemed to catch him off guard, and he shot her an incredulous look. Apparently he didn’t get questions like that very often.

  “Someone else?” he repeated. “Like who precisely? I am the ruler of the Underworld. There is no one else.”

  “Um,” she took a deep breath, “like Persephone, maybe?” When he frowned she went on. “Or, Penelope?”

  “Penelope?”

  “I don’t know! I thought maybe because instead of Hades your name is Hadrian…I took a shot, ok? Her, though. Is she around?” She twisted her head to see over the throne but there was nothing but darkness at his back. She quickly looked away. She’d had just about enough of that.

  “Persephone?”

  “Yeah.” Crap! It was September. She couldn’t remember if that counted as one of the months Persephone was supposedly down here or not. “Your wife—”

  “I don’t have a wife.”

  The blood drained from her face.

  “Or a girlfriend.”

  And some of it returned.

  “But the myth—”

  “Is just that,” Hadrian said. “A myth. Made up. Fiction. You do know what fiction is, right?”

  “Well I thought I did!” she snapped back. “But, hello? Do you see where I’m standing? I’m in the fricken Underworld talking to fricken Hades all because my fricken boyfriend is a fricken ghost!”

  “Tell me how you really feel why don’t you?” he chuckled. “You didn’t honestly come down here with the hope to sweet talk this made up Persephone chick, did you?”

  “I didn’t think she was made up,” she sighed, “but yeah. Basically. I at least thought that if I couldn’t convince you to help me, then I had another shot with her. Fact of the matter is, I haven’t exactly been thinking clearly lately. All I know is that I want Micah back—a breathing version of him—and so coming down here whether she or even you existed was worth it.”

  She wrung her hands before her and rushed on in a last attempt. “I don’t know how often you get these requests, but I am begging you, please give him back to me. I’ve known him since I was four years old. For all intents and purposes, I’m only me when he’s around, and he can’t be around if he’s a ghost.

  “And it isn’t fair, either. He’s so young, too young. And I know that there are tons of people out there who are even more unfortunate and die even younger than he did, but tell me this, did any of their loved ones ever make it this far? I hopped onto a Ferryman to get here, and now I’m standing before you—the King of the Underworld—arguing with you, despite the fact I know full well you could probably kill me before I even have the chance to blink.”

  He cocked his head, inspecting her again, as if looking to see if he’d missed something the first time. “That’s an apt description,” he told her, then, “You said earlier you were willing to do anything. Is this still true?”

  “Yes,” she didn’t hesitate with her response.

  “Are you willing to die, Spencer? To give your life away?”

  She banked down the fear before it could consume her. “If it means I get to be with Micah? Yes, yes I am.”

  “You love him that much?”

  “I do.”

  “And is there nothing else for you then?” he asked softly. There was something in his tone that she couldn’t place. “Nothing else for you to live for?”

  For a brief second she thought of her parents, and of Quinn and Sydney. They would mourn for her for a little while, sure, but they’d get over it. Just like they’d all but gotten over Micah’s death already.

  “No.” The second she spoke she knew things were different. Knew that something had changed between his comment and hers.

  Hadrian shifted to lean forward in his throne, catching her eyes with his own and holding her there. A charming smile touched his dark pink lips. “Ok, Spencer Perry. A deal then. Seeing as how you seem so smitten with the Persephone story, I’ll make you a wager you simply can’t refuse.”

  Think of Micah, she reminded herself. Anything is worth it for Micah.

  “Six months.”

  She blinked, having half expected him to ask for her immortal soul or something along those lines. “Excuse me?”

  “Was that not plain enough for you?” In his eyes she saw he was silently laughing at her. “You’ll remain here with me in the Underworld for six months out of one year. What’s today? The third? Perfect. So until September fourth of next year, you give me six months of your life.”

  “And if I do?” she hardly recognized the sound of her own voice it was so low and meek.

  “I bring your boyfriend back. Good as new. Walking, talking, the whole nine yards.”

  “How?”

  “Oh, a little this, a little that. All you need to know is that I will. I’ll even make it easy for him to recuperate by helping to ‘convince’ some governmental types into claiming they had him under Witness Protection. That his death was a farce needed in order to keep him safe from a deranged lunatic or some such horror.”

  That could work. It would suck for his mom, for her not to have known, but at the same token, wouldn’t she just be
glad to have her son back? And their friends…Everything could go back to the way it was. A few weeks of awkward readjustment and then, a return to normalville. All she had to do was wait another year.

  And spend six months down here in the dark and the cold with the God of the Dead.

  “Well, Spencer?” he asked, breaking into her thoughts. “Do you accept?”

  “Yes.” And with that, she sealed her fate.

  “Brilliant.” He stood in a flourish, grin widening when she inhaled sharply.

  He was so tall. She hadn’t been able to tell as much from his position in the throne but now…He had to be at least six foot three, which meant he had two inches on Micah. And she’d always accused him of being a giant.

  Hadrian made his way slowly down the four step dais that the throne was perched on, heading towards her confidently. A glimmer of mischief surrounded him, heightening when he came to stop less than a foot away from her.

  “Once you shake,” he told her, holding out a hand that had to be twice the size of her own, “there’s no turning back.”

  When she slid her palm into his, a jolt of heat rushed up her arm instantly chasing away the lingering goose bumps. It pooled in her gut, pulsing with an odd tingling sensation that caused her to clear her throat and attempt to yank her hand back.

  He wouldn’t let her. Instead, he held her like a vice, his thumb tracing circles over her knuckles. Every second that ticked by only fueled the flames in her belly, and he seemed to be all too aware of this fact.

  “Let go,” she demanded, but held her hand limply in his.

  Hadrian blinked down at her almost lazily, like a cat. The look that came to his eyes then—a mixture of determination and something else—had her entire body going cold.

  “I’m afraid not, Spencer Perry,” he whispered. “For six months, you’re mine.”

  He released her and stepped back so suddenly that her body actually swayed forward for a second, as if having a mind of its own and wanting to stay close to him, despite the fact that her actual brain was screaming run.