“That would be Achilla.”
I follow the direction of her gaze, to a … person standing on the far side of the circle. I can’t say whether it’s a man or a woman because it appears to be half of each. The left side female, the right male.
“I am a machlyes,” it says, dipping its head.
“Whatever you are,” I say, giving Achilla a sincere look, “I am grateful for the help.”
It looks embarrassed by the thanks and takes a step back, out of the light. The light, I notice, that is emanating from the unicorn’s horn. Its bright blue glow beats back the darkness that pervades this place.
None of this makes any sense. I’ve never seen a unicorn before, just as I’ve never seen a golden maiden. Or a machlyes, for that matter. None of them are in the records. How is that possible?
I scan the rest of the circle, the seven or eight creatures gathered, and I don’t recognize one of them.
“What’s the matter?” the unicorn asks. “Never seen a monocerata before?”
“A what?”
The unicorn lowers its head and the light in its horn flashes off and back on. When the light goes out, everything around me plunges into inky dark. I’m not ashamed to admit my relief when the light comes back on.
“Oh, a unicorn,” I say, feeling stupid but relieved. “No. I haven’t.”
The unicorn nickers the way I’ve seen horses do in movies but doesn’t comment further.
“What exactly is going on here?” I ask. “I’ve been hunting for four years, and I’ve never seen any of your kinds before.”
“You see me,” a small voice says. Stepping out from behind the golden maiden, a small monkey—a cercopes—waves at me.
“Sillus?” I ask.
The beastie who was camped out under the Bay Bridge overpass. I feel a surge of awkwardness having to face a creature I sent back to this horrid place. He doesn’t seem angry though.
“It is not surprising that you do not know us,” the golden maiden says. “Our kinds are not usually allowed through the door.”
“What do you mean?”
A roar, the likes of which I’ve never heard, rumbles from somewhere deeper in the cavern. It echoes off the rock surfaces, amplifying until I can literally feel it shaking my bones. Worse than any earthquake I’ve ever experienced.
“Come,” the golden maiden says, stepping toward me and bending down to hand me my forgotten bundle of clothes and boots. “Let us get to a safer place. Then we will answer all your questions.”
I take the bundle and quickly untie it, embarrassed to realize I’ve been sitting here in my underwear the whole time. I yank my pants up to my knees, then bounce to my feet to pull them all the way up. Within seconds I have my tank over my head and my boots on my feet and roughly laced, and am shrugging into my long-sleeved shirt.
“And perhaps,” the golden maiden says before turning and walking away, “you can answer our questions as well.”
I start after her, buttoning my shirt as I go, but the unicorn blocks my path.
“You must be tired after your ordeal,” he says. “You want a ride?”
I study him. This feels like a test, like I’m supposed to prove myself. Only I’m not sure if I’m supposed to refuse and prove my independence, or accept and prove my willingness to trust. Since trust is not exactly my strong suit, I hope it’s the other.
“Thanks,” I say. “But I’ll be fine.”
He nods, not giving away anything by his reaction. I fall into step with him and the others as they make their way toward a tall crack in the rock wall beyond the lake. Sillus walks at my side, his little furry feet moving double-time to keep up. The golden maiden leads the way into the crack, and the others follow. When the unicorn is the only other one left, he nudges me toward the opening.
I face the crack, trying to remind myself that I’m not claustrophobic. Walking into a narrow, uncertain space should not leave me petrified, frozen to the spot.
“Don’t make me use the horn,” the unicorn says.
I twist around to look over my shoulder. Although I can’t tell by looking at his horse’s mouth—there’s no obvious smirk—I think he might be teasing me. With no other real choice to make, I turn and step into the crack. It’s dark inside, darker even than in the cavern of the abyss. But as soon as the unicorn steps in behind me, the entire place glows with a beautiful blue light. I can see now that the crack does not go infinitely up to the top of the cavern. It ends just a few feet above my head—making it a really good thing that I’m not afraid of confined spaces.
“Keep moving, huntress,” the unicorn says.
“Yes, come,” Sillus says. “Move faster.”
As much as I don’t like being told what to do, I’m squished against a narrow opening in a rock, with a unicorn behind me and a cercopes and a bunch of other creatures straight out of mythology in front of me. Arguing doesn’t really seem like the best choice.
Soon the light from the unicorn’s horn isn’t the only thing illuminating the crack. There’s an exit up ahead—thank goodness, because I’m starting to believe I was lying to myself about not being claustrophobic—and it’s glowing with a soft yellow light.
When I step out into the open, I see an oasis from the dark. The yellow light glows from a massive bonfire at the center of the cave, casting a flickering light up onto the ceiling and out across the space. The ground here is softer, squishier. Like sand. There are some sad-looking plants, maybe something related to a cactus or a desert tree. A few makeshift shelters are clustered along the edge, made by leaning pieces of the trees up against a ledge in the rock wall.
There must be hundreds of creatures in this cave.
“What’s this?” a gruff voice asks as I walk out of the crack.
Two sets of hands clamp around my arms as a pair of guards who look like they’re carved from a polished version of the same stone that forms the cave walls hold me in place. Neither creature—obsidian statues come to life—has eyes. But both have long spears and bulging muscles, and if they don’t want to let me go, I won’t be going anywhere.
Thankfully, the golden maiden intervenes. “She is under our protection. She is a huntress.”
They immediately release me.
“Come,” the golden maiden says, “let us go to the fire and talk.”
I follow her across the sandy floor. As we get closer, I notice two unusual things about this fire. First, there is no smoke gathering below the ceiling above—there is no smoke, period. Second, even when I stand just a few feet from the licking flames, there is no heat.
“It is powered by magic,” she explains to me as she takes a seat on a stone bench before the fire. “To shine light against the dark.”
I sit, and Sillus sits next to me.
I stare into the dancing flames, marveling at the play of colors, at the swirling blues and greens and oranges and every color in the rainbow. It’s like someone took sunlight, broke it up into its rainbow parts, and then contained it all in this fire.
It’s beautiful. Far too beautiful to be part of the monster abyss.
“You have questions,” she says. “I will try to answer them. But first, can you tell me how you came to be in Abyssos?”
Drawing my attention away from the beautiful fire, I look at her. I have to figure out how to word this properly. I don’t want to put Nick in any added danger. If anyone thought I cared about him more than I do, he could be at even greater risk.
“A friend of mine, he was taken. A monster stepped into my world and dragged him back into yours.” I suppress a shudder at the memory of seeing Nick grabbed. “I followed after him.”
“To rescue him?”
“Yes.” I nod. “And for other reasons too.”
She doesn’t prod me for answers, waiting for me to continue.
“My mentor, Ur—” I begin, then correct myself. “The Gorgon Euryale, she was taken as well.”
“Yes,” the golden maiden says, “along with her sister, Sthe
nno.”
“You know this?” Hope rises in my chest. “Then you know where they are? Where I can find them?”
“I know where the Gorgons are,” she replies. “But you cannot find them. They have been taken to Olympus. To the dungeon of the gods.”
She practically spits the last word. I get the feeling she is none too fond of the gods.
“You have a problem with Olympus?” I ask.
“I have no love for the gods, no,” she says. “When they sealed the great door, after the guardian Medusa was slain, they had to decide who would be contained within Abyssos and who would be free to roam Olympus and Panogia, the human realm.”
Until recently, I would have thought this was an easy answer. Monsters in the abyss, everyone else not. But after meeting Sillus, a harmless cercopes monkey, hearing about the friendly janitor spider at Greer’s school, and now seeing these creatures here … Well, I’m starting to think the dividing line isn’t as well defined as I used to believe.
“They decided that any creature not of wholly human appearance or godly descent would be condemned to this life.” She sweeps her hand wide, shaking her head. “Even those of us with good hearts and kind intentions. Who wish only to coexist with humans and gods alike.”
“You could earn your freedom,” I say, testing the true goodness of her heart. “By turning me in, collecting the bounty. You could be out of here tomorrow.”
“That is not true freedom.” Her golden face falls. “Not when my brothers and sisters remain imprisoned.”
“Can’t you get out?” I ask. “Like the other creatures, can’t you come through the portal?”
“There is a hierarchy here, and those with the greatest strength and darkest power are in control. We are lucky to find enough food and water to live. We could never win favor enough to be granted a release.”
“Only sneaky one,” Sillus says, sounding proud of himself. “Sillus get through.”
We sit in silence for a minute. I can’t believe it, but I actually feel sorry for these creatures. I wish I could help them.
“We have heard,” the golden maiden says, “that the Key Generation has been born. That those in power on both sides are preparing for a war over the gate.” When I don’t respond right away, she asks, “Is this true? Have you two identical sisters?”
I hesitate only a moment before answering. My every instinct tells me these creatures are trustworthy, and I have to trust my instincts. They’re all I have in here. “Yes.”
“Then you—” She turns and looks me in the eyes, her shiny gold orbs focused on me. “You are our only hope. For you and your sisters to break the seal, to resume the guardianship that is the destiny of your line. That is the only way for us and our kind to be free.”
I can’t really process all of this right now. The idea that so many are counting on our success—not just the ignorant humans who know nothing of the monsters that threaten their safety every day, not just my sisters and their families and our ancestral aunts, but countless creatures in here who only want a chance at a life in the light. It’s a little overwhelming.
In the end, the best I can say is “I know.”
She smiles, and I get the feeling she knows exactly what I’m thinking. As she pats me on the knee, her metal hand strangely cold, she says, “But you wish to know about your friend, no?”
“Yes.” I nod, trying to bring my focus back to the task at hand. “He was brought in maybe a couple of days ago, I’m not really sure, since there’s no sun in here.”
“Time does not pass the same in this realm anyway,” she replies with a smile. “I did hear tale of a Panogian boy brought into our world. He would have been taken to the Den. I cannot promise that he is still—”
“How do I get there?” I ask, pushing to my feet. I’ve delayed too long already.
“You cannot go alone,” she says. “It is too dangerous. Even for one with your … weapons.”
“Weapons?” I echo. “I don’t have anything special. Just a pair of daggers.”
“Those are not the weapons of which I speak.” She taps a finger against her mouth, metal clinking on metal.
I trace my tongue over my teeth. My fangs—which are suddenly a deadly weapon—are safely retracted at the moment. Guilt over what those fangs are capable of, over what they have done, washes over me.
“I had no idea,” I insist. I still can’t believe I actually murdered a monster. “I never meant to kill—”
“Tsk, tsk. It is as it is meant to be.”
“Is it?”
I know what she is saying. If my venom weren’t meant to kill monsters here in the abyss, it wouldn’t. That doesn’t make the realization any easier to accept.
She stands, the glow of the fire shining off her side in rainbow streaks. “We shall escort you as close as the line. From there, your fate will be in your own hands.”
She leaves me alone with my thoughts.
As she walks away toward a group of curious creatures—both curious looking and looking curiously at me—I ball my hands into fists in preparation for whatever I have to do. My fate—and Nick’s—in my hands. Just how I like it.
CHAPTER 21
GREER
The solution comes to me in Contemporary Civilization. My final class of the week and we’re talking about Boccaccio’s Decameron—not exactly the most thrilling book ever written, but I usually enjoy a lively discussion about what makes a perfect form of government.
Today, however, I’m distracted. I’m doodling—something I never do—and the pattern of hypnotic swirls that appears on my sheet of notebook paper kind of draws me in. Calls to me. As I stare, the rest of the room gradually fades away, and the swirls start spinning. Around and around, until I think I might get nauseous from the motion.
Then, suddenly, the swirling stops. My vision blurs for a moment and, in a flash of light, an image appears. Crystal clear, like the object is right here in front of me where, moments ago, there were only doodles on paper.
The pendant.
Hanging before my eyes, turning gently in a counterclockwise direction, is the oracle’s pendant. The pendant of Apollo.
The one Nick said I shouldn’t touch.
But everything about this image in front of me begs me to touch the pendant. It’s like a craving. I need to touch the pendant more than I need chocolate, deep tissue massage, and another pair of Louboutins. That’s need.
Maybe Nick was wrong. Maybe I’m supposed to touch it. Or, even if I’m not, maybe it’s the clue the oracle left. The note is a false clue, or a clue to something else.
The pendant is the key.
When I reach for it, the image dissolves like fog in the afternoon sun.
My teacher is standing over me, concern creasing his brow.
“Miss Morgenthal,” he says, “are you unwell?”
“What?” I feel a little disoriented, like an alien ship has dropped me off in the classroom. Then I remember where I am, where I’m supposed to be. “Oh, sorry.” But right now I need to be somewhere else. I press a hand to my head. “I think I have a migraine coming on.”
He nods—he’s always been very caring and understanding (or maybe respectful of the family name)—and says, “Why don’t you go ahead and go? We’re only five minutes from the bell. You can beat the rush.”
I nod gratefully.
I quickly gather up my things and try to maintain a pained look as I rush out of the classroom. As soon as I hit the hallway, I break into a run. I know my heels echo down the long corridor, but I don’t care. I need to get to Grace immediately.
She has the pendant. She has the key to getting Gretchen back. She’s had it all along—we just didn’t know it yet. Now that we do, I feel a sense of urgency. We need to get Gretchen now. Today. Before something awful happens to her.
“Miss Greer?”
I’m almost out the front door when I hear my name being called. I turn and see Harold—the spider-monster custodian—walking toward me. I take a de
ep breath, focusing my vision on the wall behind him so I don’t have to watch his eight legs tap-tap-tap across the floor.
“Yes, Harold?” I say with a cheery smile.
He shakes his furry head.
I force myself to stand still until he’s inches away. He leans in as close as his wide stance will let him and says, “It’s okay, Miss Greer. I know you can see me. I know who you are.”
This is ridiculous. “I don’t know what you’re—”
“Others say you work to help us,” he says. “You and your sisters will break the seal. Guard the door.”
I imagine a loud snap as mythology meets real life.
“Harold, I—” Oh, really. What’s the point? “Yes,” I reluctantly admit. “We are.”
His smile—at least I think it’s a smile—is … joyous.
For a moment I think he wants to hug me, but either he realizes he’s got spider legs or he notices how I stiffen and lean away, because he pulls back.
“Dangers are rising,” he says. “The armies are building, training. You must take care.”
This is perhaps the most surreal conversation I’ve ever had. “Um, thank you.” I think.
“If you need help”—he leans close again, his voice urgent—“ever, anytime, you tell me. I will get word out and help will come.”
I can’t believe I’m about to say this to a giant spider talking and mopping, but I find myself replying, “I appreciate that, Harold.”
Then, as if this isn’t odd enough, I lift one hand and pat him on his furry black body.
As I’m climbing into my car a few minutes later, I’m still shaking my head. Clearly, the two halves of my life are colliding. And I’m not sure how to stop the inevitable.
CHAPTER 22
GRACE
The apartment is way too empty when I get home. Dad is at work, as usual lately. Mom has left a note saying she’s going to the home improvement store and will be home around dinnertime. Thane is still gone.
I miss Gretchen. She is such a presence, being around her is like being in a full house.
I head to my room and plop into my desk chair.
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