by Wagner, Raye
Athan sat on the padded floor in shock. Since he’d woken up, he’d be surprised over and over again by the vitriol against Hope. But his father? This vehemence was so unlike his normally supportive attitude. And surely he understood that Hope’s curse wasn’t her fault. “We’re talking about Hope.”
Athan felt like his world was upside-down. He stared up at the exposed beams, wondering if he was going to wake up in bed in a few hours. No, if he were dreaming, he wouldn’t feel so awful. His father was speaking again, and Athan tuned in hoping there would be a way to reason with him.
“Son, everyone around her dies. She is cursed and spreads that destruction everywhere she goes.” Hermes sucked in a deep breath. “Stay away from her, Athan. Don’t ask me to help you find her. The best I can say is that I hope she stays gone.”
Athan opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Protest after protest ran through his mind. What his father was saying was preposterous. It was insanity. Athan tried to think of a way to tell Hermes what Hope meant. How unfair life had been for her. How much potential she had. How much good.
“One day you’ll see I am right. Let her go. She’s not worth your time.” Hermes sighed. “She’s not worth your life.”
As if Hope would ever ask for any of that.
“I’ve got to go,” Hermes said. “I’ll come see you in a week or so. In which conservatory are you residing?”
“Seattle,” Athan whispered; his world tilted and rolled, totally out of control. His father, his rock, hated Hope.
Athan disconnected the phone and looked around at the gym. He needed to be ready to go when Xan went back out looking for Hope.
Athan spent the next few days rotating his time between the kitchen, his bed, and the treadmill. By the fourth day, he was able to run five miles without stopping, and he could’ve done more. He was finally healing. On the fifth day, he ran twenty miles in under ninety minutes. Not anywhere close to his best time, but he was well enough to be on his way.
Now, if he only knew where he needed to go.
The flat-line signaled the end, confirmed by the sickly smell of death. The wide room held only the one bed, and its occupant was tied down by the wires and tubes that led from his body to the monitors that were now alarming. They were stacked, a conglomerate of four screens to the left of the bed, keeping track of his heart, vital signs, and intravenous fluid pumps.
The hospital was lit in the soft grays of early morning in the Pacific Northwest, and the sterile room smelled of chemical disinfectant and the poorly sponge-bathed body of its incapacitated occupant.
Hope glanced at Priska. In the next few seconds, the nurses would burst in and tell them to leave as they tried to resuscitate him.
The older woman flattened her lips. “He should be here at any time.”
Hope didn’t know who he was. Did Hermes escort all the dead? Or was there another god that did this? Or did they send minions? A lot of people died every minute all around the world, so there couldn’t be just one, right? And whoever it was, at what point after death did he show up?
Hope and Priska had been to several hospitals to visit the dying in hopes of catching one as they crossed over into the Underworld. It was the only plan either could think of, a way to access the portal to the realm of the dead.
The Books of the Fates were bound in the Underworld, as were the gods of that realm. Hope needed to talk to her mom about the curse, and possibly the Moirai. She needed to know why Leto’s story wasn’t written in their Book of the Fates . And she needed to know how to break the curse. The Moirai had helped Phaidra shortly after the curse was placed. Surely Hope could get some answers if she could only get to the Underworld.
But so far, they’d only watched people die.
And it was getting depressing.
The alarm continued, indicating the patient’s lack of heartbeat, and on the other side of the door the sounds of pounding feet and yelling drew closer.
“Mrs. Johnson!” A nurse in blue scrubs bustled in, pushing what Hope now knew was called a crash cart. “I’m so sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you and your daughter to leave. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!”
Two more nurses came in yelling orders and pulling things from the cart.
One leaned over to turn up the oxygen, and someone else said, “I’ll start chest compressions.”
Hope pulled on Priska’s sleeve and whispered, “Let’s go.”
Which was just as well, as the nurses herded them out the door.
Behind them a nurse yelled orders, and in the hall two more nurses were running to help the newly deceased. Hope backed out of the way, plastering herself to the opposite wall, and the nurses pushed Priska aside as they charged in.
“It didn’t work,” Hope said. What she didn’t say, but really wanted to, was “again.”
Four hospitals. Eleven—no, twelve deaths. And not a single portal to the Underworld.
Priska said nothing as they walked down the hall and through the double doors of the Intensive Care Unit.
Hope pushed the button for the elevator to take them back to the garage. “I think we need to try something different. There has to be a way to get me into the Underworld.”
The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open.
“Let’s go get something to eat,” Priska said. Her voice was as flat as her expression. “Then we can go back to the hotel. I have another idea.”
Hope slammed the bathroom door. The cheap motel’s fan whistled and hummed, but Priska’s voice carried through the thin barrier. They’d arrived back in Seattle earlier that day and checked into a hotel just south of downtown.
“We have talked about this before, Charlie. I’m not willing to not help. Not this time.”
Hope was no longer under the pretense that Mr. Davenport, aka Charlie, was just Priska’s boss. All of the phone calls Hope had been forced to listen to had blown up that little charade. But Priska never brought it up, and so Hope didn’t either.
Love makes people do both selfish and unselfish things. Sometimes at the same time.
The argument continued, and Hope was forced to listen to the one side.
“She almost died.” Priska’s voice broke. “It would’ve been my fault, and I can’t live with that. I won’t live with that. Please don’t make me choose.”
Once Hope knew Priska wasn’t really her aunt, she couldn’t help but question the demigod’s devotion to her family. What had made her so faithful to her grandmother, her mother, and now her? It was clear Priska loved Charlie, so why not be with him?
“We’ll leave tonight. If . . . I love you. No matter what, remember I love you.”
Hope sat on the closed toilet lid, put her head in her hands, and waited. Priska’s tearful goodbye made Hope’s heart ache, and guilt gnawed deep in her soul. No one should have to give up their love. Not for someone else. And definitely not for her.
The conversation stopped, but Priska’s muffled sobs kept Hope trapped in the bathroom, wrestling with her conscience. It wasn’t like it was going to be easier if she waited. In fact, if the plan was to go to the Underworld tonight, there wasn’t really time to wait.
Biting her lip, she squared her shoulders and opened the door.
Priska sat atop the patterned bedspread, a pillow on her crossed legs. Her dark hair was still long and hung halfway down her back in a waterfall of pitch. Her hazel eyes were bright with unshed tears.
“I know.” Hope summed up all her knowledge of Priska and Charlie’s relationship in those two words. Then, just so there was no room for confusion, Hope pointed at the phone sitting on the white pillow in Priska’s lap.
Priska nodded, her gaze fixed in her lap. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying. “I never deliberately hid it from you.” She picked up the phone and flipped it over in her hands. “Your mom knew, too.”
“When did it happen?”
Priska’s hands froze, the jeweled arrow on the back of her phone case glittering in the dimming light.
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Being this close to the airport and downtown buildings filtered the sun’s descent through the sky. Warm, sugary tones glistened through the open curtains, casting a hopeful glow across the two beds.
Priska grimaced. Then her face softened. “It was before you were even a blip on the radar. Charlie helped your grandfather with his estate when your mother was still a child. He was just out of school then.”
My grandfather? “How old is Charlie?”
Priska laughed. “He’s fifty-two. I’ve been working for him for twenty-seven years. On and off depending on your family’s needs.”
Twenty-seven years? “How long have you been together?”
“Almost thirty. He was in law school when I met him.”
Hope felt like the rug had been pulled out from under her. Somehow she’d deluded herself that her aunt’s relationship had just happened at work and was ready to offer a platitude of comfort. This was way beyond that.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Hope liked Charlie, and he could’ve been like an uncle, right?
“The fewer things the gods can hold over you, the better. You would do well to remember that.”
The advice was painfully pertinent. “Is that why you kept it a secret?”
Priska offered a wan smile. “It was never a secret for us. We just didn’t let our relationship dictate everything we did.”
The statement was a slap upside the head, and Hope’s initial reaction was to defend herself. This quest was not about being with Athan. It was about being free to choose whom she wanted to be with. “You don’t understand.”
Priska let out a slow, deep breath. “Then enlighten me.”
“If Athan didn’t even exist, I would still want to do this. I’m not so naïve as to believe he is the one.”
Priska nodded. “Good.”
Hope hurried to finish so there would be no misunderstanding. “But he could be.” She held her hand out to stop whatever protest was forming. “Not that he’s the one , but I just don’t want to have to worry about a god killing whomever I’m with because of some misplaced belief that I’m destined to be with him.”
She wanted Priska to understand. This wasn’t about Athan. It was about possibility, and the freedom to choose. “What if you wanted to marry Charlie, but if you did, one of you would die?”
“One of us could die at any time, Hope.”
“Yes. But that’s not a guarantee. If I get married and have a baby, I will die. Guaranteed.”
Priska rubbed the remaining tears from her eyes. “Then don’t get married. Don’t have kids. There are plenty of relationships that work without those conventions.”
Was she talking about her and Charlie? “It isn’t about the wedding, or even if I have kids. It’s about being able to choose. For myself.”
Priska nodded. “Then why exactly do you need to go to the Underworld?”
Hope had debated the options endlessly. None of the Books of the Fates she’d read had given any indication of a way to break a curse, only that they could be fulfilled. She’d also learned that the dead could not lie. For some reason, her mother’s story wasn’t recorded in their book. It was why Hope didn’t know Apollo had Leto killed until Athan told her, and Priska confirmed it after being kidnapped by the god’s sons. Even after that, Leto’s story remained incomplete, and Hope knew she would need to talk to her mother to get the information. Because before she could do whatever came next, she needed more information.
The crease between Priska’s eyes deepened as Hope explained why she needed to talk to her mom, and when she was finished, Priska shook her head. “Gods, those are some incredible risks for maybe.”
Hope opened her mouth to defend herself, but Priska held up her hand. “I get it. I do.”
“If I stay, there is only certainty.”
The waning crescent hung in the night sky, the skirting clouds making the shadows wax and wane in their inky darkness. The cobblestone street was empty of patrons, and the market sat eerily quiet.
“You’re sure this will work?” Hope asked, staring into the dark stalls. Memories flashed through her mind: Priska running to save Hope and her mom from Skia, fighting to save Obelia, and more recently with Athan.
Priska drew herself up to her full height. “It will work. When Hermes comes, tell him he must take you to your mother.”
Something was off with how Priska was talking, and a nagging discomfort settled in the pit of Hope’s stomach. “Or you could tell him.”
“Or I can tell him,” Priska conceded with a laugh. She pulled her long hair back and adjusted her fitted blouse.
“How are you going to call him?” Hope had never heard of a demigod being able to summon any other god besides their parent. Maybe Artemis had a thing for Hermes . . . or the other way around.
Hope stared into the night sky, dreaming of flying. The wind kissed her skin with its cold caress. Gods, she hoped this worked. She sent the silent plea up into the darkness above and closed her eyes. With a deep breath, she declared her intentions to any deity that might be listening.
Her thoughts swirled with doubts; her plan was reckless, foolish, and risky at best. She could die, or worse, get stuck in the Underworld forever. She might never find her mom. Might never see Athan. Or Xan. Or Dahlia. And for what?
Peace descended with the misty drizzle from above. Hope’s worries washed away. If she died, it would be because she failed. Not because she didn’t try.
And freedom was worth it, wasn’t it? The question was entirely rhetorical because she already knew the answer. Determination and resolve pulsed through her. She could do this. She would do this.
The smell of garbage wafted from an empty dumpster nearby.
Hope opened her eyes and froze.
Three Skia surrounded Priska, their blades of pitch and death drawn and pointed at the demigod.
“No!” Hope yelled and reached for her immortal blades. Blades she no longer owned. Her hands trembled as they came up empty. Anger fueled the fire of her fear. The blades were not her only weapon.
She advanced on the demons of Hades. She knew how to fight, and while the odds weren’t in her favor, with Priska’s help, they could do this.
“You will not touch her!” Hope spit the words out as she clenched her fists.
But Priska stood there, not moving. Not fighting. Just giving in. Her eyes widened, even as she gave Hope a sad smile. “I love you, sweet girl. This was the only thing I could think of—”
Hope screamed as the black blade sunk deep into Priska’s chest. Priska’s petite body flinched. Another monster drove his blade into her side, and Priska fell to the ground.
Hope startled from her shock, and her resolve hardened. “No!” she yelled as she advanced on the Skia. They would not kill Priska. Hope would not let them, but the three stood to the side, even as Hope approached, and then held up their hands.
What?
Hope ignored the creatures from the Underworld and rushed to Priska. Tears clouded Hope’s vision, and she knelt at her aunt’s side.
“What are you thinking? You can’t do this!” Hope looked at the blades still protruding from her aunt. Was there a way to help? Gods, oh gods. Priska had meant to do this.
Tears dripped from Hope’s face onto Priska’s, and Priska raised her hand to brush the tears away. “Don’t . . . cry. He’ll . . . come and . . . take . . . you.”
Hope fumbled with Priska’s body, her hands fluttering over her face and chest. She didn’t want to hurt her, but she didn’t know how to help. “Should I pull it out?”
Priska’s panic-filled eyes widened. Her breath was heavy and wet and rattled in her chest. She grasped the hilt of the blade in her side and pulled futilely.
“Do you want me to pull it?” Hope asked between sobs.
Priska’s eyes closed and then opened slowly. Her lips moved, but the only sound was her rattling breath.
Hope grabbed the hilt and pulled. The weapon slid out so easily Hope fell to her but
t. She righted herself and pulled the other blade from Priska’s chest. Priska seized, her body shaking and thrashing.
Helpless, Hope sobbed while she watched her aunt die. When Priska’s shaking subsided to tremors, Hope pulled her aunt’s head and shoulders into her lap. Wiping the tears and snot from her face with her sleeve, Hope gulped for air through the drowning waves of emotions.
Blackness seeped from the wound, spreading over Priska’s chest like oozing honey. Her breaths came further and further apart, the wet wheezing making Hope cry harder. “Please, don’t leave,” she whispered, choking on the words. “Please don’t die.”
But the silence told her it was already too late.
A power pulsed beside her, and Hope’s mouth went dry.
Athan heard the staccato beat of gloves against a heavy bag and followed the sound to the gym. He should’ve come here first. Of course, Xan was training. He was always training. That aspect of the son of Ares hadn’t changed. But when Athan pulled open the door to the gym, he froze. Xan wasn’t in the gym.
Dahlia’s dark hair was pulled up into a high ponytail, and her warm russet skin glistened with sweat. She delivered a flurry of kicks and punches that were only a blur of activity, and the bag swung far away from the demigod’s force. She paused a beat, and then spun and delivered a round kick that split the seam of the black bag. Dahlia wiped her brow with her hand and flung the moisture to the mats. She glanced up and frowned when she spotted Athan.
“You’re up.” She grabbed a towel off the bench and dried her face, neck, and chest then pulled a shirt over her black sports bra. “Are you well enough to come?”
“We’re leaving tomorrow?” He did the math in his head. “Don’t we have another day?”
Dahlia quirked a brow at him. “Where have you been? Didn’t you hear Obelia at dinner tonight? Thenia’s coming tomorrow.” She flipped the top on her water bottle and started drinking.
And Athena, her mother, would be with her.