Unhinged

by Chani Lynn Feener

  “Sydney.”

  “What?”

  Quinn’s phone chose that moment to go off and she held up a finger, probably not wanting to miss anything. She chuckled at whatever was on the screen, then tossed the device back onto the bed.

  “Please tell me that wasn’t Hadrian again?” Spencer groaned. “Seriously, I’m starting to think you’re the one with the crush here. I don’t even have the guy’s number.”

  “Um, yeah you do,” Syd disagreed.

  Spencer frowned. “No, I don’t.”

  “You do. I saw it earlier when you went to the bathroom.”

  “You were going through my phone?” she snatched the pillow out of Quinn’s clutches and wacked it across Syd’s back. “Speaking of not cool!”

  “You didn’t have anything interesting in there anyway,” she countered. “But Hadrian’s digits were definitely mixed in with all the boring. He must have given it to you when you weren’t looking.”

  Her friend was joking, but Spencer knew that it must be true. How else could his number have gotten in there? She certainly hadn’t asked for it, and she’d been busy thinking of other things that day at lunch when he’d handed it out to them. When would he have gotten the chance to do it though?

  “Back to Q,” Spencer turned the conversation. “Who was it then?”

  “It’s not Hadrian,” she said. “Chill. I wouldn’t snake you like that. Besides, even if I were willing, he’s not into me.”

  “Have you two forgotten about my boyfriend?” There was absolutely nothing going on between her and the God of the Dead. “You know, Micah? Tall, about six-two? Blond hair, hazel eyes? No? Not ringing any bells?”

  “We’re just messing with you, Spence,” Syd exclaimed. “We know you wouldn’t ever do anything like that to Micah. It’s just…”

  “What?”

  “Well, he is dead.”

  “Hence the deal with Hadrian,” she reminded. “To make him undead.” She paused, thought it over a second and then crinkled her nose up. “In the not zombie or vampire way, of course.”

  “Of course,” Quinn mocked.

  “We’re putting all our money on the God of Death being the freak behind all this then, right?” Syd flopped back down onto the bed. “And we’re being haunted to boot. Great. Ain’t life grand? Let’s just hope that Hadrian can protect us. Oh,” she sat back up and wiggled her trimmed brows, “since you have a boyfriend and all...do you think he’s into blondes?”

  She gave an innocent shrug at Spencer’s look. “What? You swore it wasn’t him, and if he’s not the bad guy then…”

  “I don’t think he’s hot!” Spence broke in, wanting more than anything for this whole topic to be put to rest.

  “Don’t think who’s hot?”

  All three of them screeched and spun towards the bay window where the new voice had come from. When their eyes settled on Ferris, both Spencer and Syd noticeably relaxed. Quinn’s face turned a bright red.

  “Charlie,” Quinn let out a shaky laugh. “How long have you been there?”

  He frowned. “I just got here.”

  “Oh,” she sighed in relief and then seemed to realize how suspicious that looked. “Good. Cool.”

  Syd covered the word “wow” up with a fake cough, receiving a glare back.

  Not seeming to find their exchange strange, he stepped closer to the bed. “I heard you had a run in with a ghost tonight,” he said. “That must have sucked. Nothing weird’s happened since I texted you a few minutes ago, right?”

  “That was you?!” Syd’s eyes practically bugged out of their sockets.

  “Here to take Spence to the Underworld?” Quinn asked in a rush, clearly trying to cover her tracks. “We don’t want to keep you. You two should get going.”

  “You’re probably right,” he agreed, then glanced over towards Spencer. “Remember the drill?”

  She made her way around the bed, trying to present an appearance of confidence she wasn’t feeling. “It hasn’t been that long.”

  “Tell us all about it in the morning!” Syd waved enthusiastically.

  “Have fun,” Quinn added.

  Really? Spencer had just enough time to make a face at the two of them, before being whisked away by the Ferryman.

  Her life had become so messed up.

  Chapter 19:

  They appeared on the balcony again. The sky above was different this time though, almost a neon pink shade, and the air was tinged with sweat.

  “He’ll be with you in a moment,” he told her in an even tone. “Do you need anything before I leave?”

  “Um…” The change over him was off-putting. “No?”

  “Alright then. I’ll see you in a few hours to ferry you back across.” With that, he vanished.

  The sound of clanking metal caught her attention, and she turned back towards the balcony, heading over to the railing to see what was going on. Below there were two men fighting on the black beach, each brandishing a sword, though only one had a shield.

  The one with no shield was slightly smaller in frame than the other, and at least four inches shorter. They were dressed up like the ancient soldiers she’d seen in movies like Troy and 300, complete with helmets.

  The smaller one was wearing armor the color of steel, the breast plate covered in dents of all sizes, some even looking as though he’d been hit by a softball going a million miles per minute. The bare muscles in his thighs bunched as he lifted his sword to block the weapon of his opponent. The weight appeared to be too much, and he dropped to one knee still struggling.

  The way the other fighter moved seemed familiar, but with his helmet on she couldn’t see his face or even the color of his hair. He was graceful, fluid, and he wore his pitch black armor better than even Brad Pitt had in Troy. Even his sword was entirely black, shining like onyx in the light.

  The man in the black armor pushed, shoving the other back. He brought the edge of his blade down, slamming it into the sand when his opponent deftly rolled out of the way at the last second.

  Not seeming at all pleased by this, he tracked him the few feet, taking a fighting stance when the one in steel armor got back on his feet.

  He rushed the one in black, clanking his sword against his. He blocked a swing at his side with his shield, and parried another blow that would have cost him his leg. Still, it was obvious even to a girl who knew next to nothing about swordsmanship, who was winning, and it wasn’t him.

  The one in black was too strong, too agile, too quick. He practically danced across the sand, toying with his adversary. She watched in awed amazement as he swiftly rid the guy of his shield, sending it flying some twenty feet across the beach.

  The steel armored soldier hesitated slightly, then dove to the right with the tip of his weapon pointed straight out. Clearly a mistake.

  The other soldier twisted, grabbing onto the steel soldier’s sword arm in the process. He yanked the man back, causing him to lose his balance, and then brought his sword up to his throat.

  The moment the blade slide through the tender flesh there, the steel soldier burst into a cloud of black dust, quickly taken by the wind and dispersed until his particles were unrecognizable from the billions of grains of sand.

  She stood there in horror, unsure whether or not she should turn and run. She’d just witnessed the murder of someone. Someone who’d then exploded. She was gripping the railing so tightly that the sharp edges were digging into her fingers, but she hardly noticed. Her gaze stayed locked onto the remaining soldier.

  For a while they stayed like that, her above and him below still as statues, then he reached up and removed his helmet, exposing midnight hair.

  She sucked in a breath and his gaze whipped to hers, deep blue eyes locking on and holding her as if in a trance. She couldn’t move, was amazed she even had it in her to breathe.

  His expression was tense, his jaw clenched tightly. Lines marred his forehead, which was coated in sweat and dirt. The sword still hung in his righ
t hand, the tip dipped slightly into the sand at his sandal-covered feet. Then all at once he seemed to get a hold of himself, breaking their stare and heading across the beach towards the winding staircase that led up to the balcony.

  She turned as he passed, keeping him in her direct line of vision at all times, even when she lost actual sight of him on the stairs. When he appeared once more at the top and paused on the landing she swallowed the lump in her throat, hoping that she’d somehow masked how impressed she’d been with his display.

  Even if it had ended in him killing someone.

  His armor kept his arms and thighs bare, the well-developed muscles there briefly drawing her eye before she could help herself. There wasn’t a single scratch on his armor, or his skin for that matter. Aside from the sweat and the dirt, there were no signs at all that he’d just been in a fight.

  He stepped forward and her heart practically beat right out of her chest. She didn’t want to think about why that was, but her friends’ earlier words echoed unwanted in her mind.

  Ok, so he was hot. She wasn’t blind.

  He dragged the tip of his sword across the stone floor the entire way, the grating sound growing louder with his approach. Finally after what felt like an eternity he stopped a breath away from her, his face hovering so close that if she moved to her tiptoes she could easily take his mouth.

  Not that she would. Or even wanted to.

  He didn’t speak, and the unease in her gut grew. It had a lot to do with the way he was watching her, eyes boring into her own like he was searching for her soul, trying to discover all of her deepest darkest secrets. Which was scary enough considering he was a god, but made more so by the fact that he was currently holding a very pointy weapon.

  For the first time she noticed his smell; a sharp hint of burning cedar under the salty tang of sweat. It shouldn’t have made her want to take another whiff, but it did. It was nothing like Micah’s spicy fragrance, and the comparison made her feel guilty all over again.

  She cleared her throat, realizing that he’d more than likely be comfortable standing like this all day if she didn’t speak up.

  “Hadrian.” There. Now that the silence was broken, he’d back up. Right?

  Nope.

  He cocked his head, as if needing to view her from a different angle. The corner of his mouth turned up ever so slightly, and his blue eyes flooded with more of that rich cobalt color.

  “So, um,” she tried to shift on her feet, but only ended up bringing herself closer so that there was only a single inch left between them. “What’s up?” this last part came out as a squeak, and she was positive that she flushed a bright red directly after when his smile widened.

  “I’ve slain the messenger,” he told her in a gruff tone. He glanced down at her lips, making her all too aware that she’d been absentmindedly nibbling on them.

  “You mean that smoke guy down there?” She needed to get the ball rolling so that he’d give her some space and she could stop wondering what it would be like to have his mouth on hers. It was so wrong of her to think it, to want it. But with him as close as he was, it was next to impossible for her to have enough brain functionality to lie, even to herself.

  “Where will his soul go?” She was a little disappointed when this question managed to get his attention off of her lips.

  He met her gaze, holding it for a moment in a searing stare, before he finally relinquished his hold on her and stepped away. Turning towards the open doors leading inside, he sheathed his sword and began removing his gloves.

  “Nowhere,” he told her over his shoulder, his voice completely back to normal once more. Strong and arrogant. “He was a soul, and so now he has no soul. Nothing can’t end up somewhere. It’s a logical impossibility.”

  She trailed behind, keeping a good ten feet between them. Her brain was still trying to defog. She processed his words and then stopped with a frown. “What do you mean?”

  He’d reached the center of the room, and now turned dramatically to face her once more. “A body contains a soul. When a person dies, the soul leaves the body and it comes here. If a soul is destroyed however, everything that soul was simply ceases to exist. Poof,” he flared out his fingers in the universal sign for explosion, “gone.”

  Aside from the fact she hadn’t been aware souls could be destroyed, his explanation sounded intensely horrifying. It was like all of her fears wrapped into one; being nothing, nobody. To just…stop. To end.

  “That’s really sad,” she said aloud before she could help herself.

  He lifted a shoulder in a bored shrug. “That’s the way of things. Come,” he turned and headed to the exit on the other side of the room.

  She was tempted to remind him about the whole “not a dog” discussion they’d had before, but smartly kept her mouth shut. It was important to know which battles to fight for and which to let go. The last thing she needed was to rile him up again and have him corner her…

  She shook those images from her head, silently cursing her inability to contain self control.

  “What was he the messenger of?” she called after him, picking up the pace.

  He was already making his way down the hallway, which was large enough to fit five grown men standing shoulder to shoulder comfortably. Black bricks made up the walls here, reflecting distorted images of the two of them as they passed.

  There were no lights that she could tell, yet everything remained illuminated. A few windows giving glimpses of the pink sky outside scattered about, and at one point they passed a suit of medieval armor placed in a cubby section of the wall to their right. Clearly he wasn’t one for decorating.

  Though it all remained pristine and cleaner than she’d ever seen a place be before, it was lacking the trinkets and touches that made a place a real home. This could just as easily be an empty corporate building as it could a castle. Though with less cubicles and loads of black.

  He didn’t answer her and it became apparent that he wasn’t planning on it, so she asked something else.

  “Where are we going?”

  “I want to show you something,” he said, not bothering to slow so she could catch up. He’d already led her down this hall and winded them through another three.

  There was no way she could find her way back alone; this place was like a maze.

  “What?”

  “You’ll see when we get there.”

  Picking up speed, she ran until she could grab onto his elbow, pulling him to a stop. Ignoring the glare he set on her, she took a breath. “How much further?”

  He seemed to find great amusement in this and then reached out to take her hand in his. He tightened his grip when she tried to tug free, not put off by it in the least. “I was going to give you time to unwind,” he told her, “but you’re always so impatient.”

  She let out a sound of alarm when he yanked her into his arms so fast she lost her balance. She’d shut her eyes in the moment and when she blinked them open again it was to a different place.

  With a frown, she gazed at their surroundings, taking in the glowing red rock walls around them. They towered randomly, bursting out of the sand at odd angles. The sky here was darker, and black smoke seemed to cloud over it. The sand wasn’t black, but a deep red, and the air was so thick it was hard to breathe. Over his shoulder she spotted a river made entirely of lava.

  “Is this another of the five rivers?” she asked, stepping around him to get a closer look. She didn’t need him to tell her that this one made it on the list of “danger, don’t touch”.

  “Yes,” he nodded. “This is Phlegethon, also known as the River of Fire. It leads into the depths of Tartarus,” he pointed over her head where the end of the river disappeared into the darkness, “that way. But it isn’t what I wanted to show you.”

  She recognized the name of the place in the Underworld that most resembled Hell. It was where all of the evil souls, those who’d done wrong in their life, went to suffer and pay for their crimes.
r />   She turned back to him. “It isn’t?”

  He flashed her a devilish grin. “Not the best place to go swimming.”

  The reminder of what they’d done the last time she was here had her looking away.

  He chuckled and then motioned with his chin in the opposite direction of where he’d said Tartarus was.

  The ground beneath them was cracked, sometimes inch wide lightning bolt marks zigzagging through it. In certain areas smoke billowed out, wispy tendrils of grayish white. The river sizzled to her left, glowing a mixture of yellows, oranges, and reds. The smell of char filled the air, causing her to cough a few times.

  “Not the best place for breathing,” she corrected. She unzipped her purple sweatshirt and draped it over her right arm, the heat becoming too much.

  He moved in the armor like it was a second skin. He hardly seemed to notice he was weighted down by metal as he took a right turn, leading them down a rocky incline. The trail led to a stone slab that crossed the river acting as a bridge of sorts. He stepped onto it without a single hesitation.

  In the distance a mountain stretched endlessly above them and at either side, a massive circular archway carved into the center. There was no door and it was pitch black within. The whole mountain itself appeared like a wall acting as a divider of sorts. To the left something white protruded from within the blood red sand that covered the ground.

  “What is that?” she asked, stepping onto the bridge carefully. It was only about four feet wide and on either side, the lava river flowed. She didn’t exactly have the best of luck with bridges. It was sturdy beneath her feet, completely solid, and she made it to the other side without any problems.

  “It’s a house,” he told her. He hadn’t bothered to stop and wait for her, already a good twenty feet across the sandy expanse that stretched to the mountain and the entrance there.

  “For what?” She made a face. Her guess would be giants. What else would need such a large doorway?

  “Here’s the thing, Spence,” something in his tone made her pause, and he finally stilled at her side. “Don’t freak out.”