by Wagner, Raye
Myrine wasn’t known for keeping house. Or yard. Unless she was getting ready to move. “Let’s hope she’s still here.”
Dahlia skirted around the boys and bounded up the steps. Without waiting for them to join her, she knocked on the door.
The recent rain made the air smell of dirt and pine. Athan stood next to Dahlia, and when he heard something scraping across the floor inside, he pushed her behind him.
“Don’t be a bloody idiot,” Dahlia said as she stepped around him. “I’m a way better fighter than you’ll ever be.” She pulled a silver dagger from its sheath, the fire opal in the hilt looking like the jeweled sea.
The lock clicked, and the door slid open an inch.
“Myrine?” Athan asked, peering into the darkness. His green eyes met her blue ones, and heavy fear settled in his chest.
“You should not be here.” Her gaze went to each one of them on the porch and then came back to Athan. “You . . . You’re still alive, right?”
“Can she see the dead?” Dahlia asked Athan.
Athan pointed at Myrine. “She’s right there. Why don’t you ask her?”
Dahlia narrowed her eyes and then sniffed. “Whatever. We’re here. Ask her where to find Hope so we can get out of here.”
Myrine yanked open the door.
“You should not be in such a hurry, Daughter of Eris. The discord you’ve sown still haunts you, yes?” Her white hair was pulled up into a bun, and gentle wisps framed Myrine’s unlined face. But her blue eyes, normally bright and vibrant, were hooded. Guarded. She leaned against the doorframe.
Dahlia looked like she was ready to throttle the petite oracle.
“Is it time already?” Myrine asked. Stepping out of the doorway, she looked up at the gray skies still heavy with unshed moisture.
Xan shrugged and stepped to the side, out of the path of the oracle, as if she were a leper.
Of course he did. Myrine was acting weird, even for her.
“We want to find Hope,” Athan said, drawing Myrine’s attention away from the sky. “Do you know where she is?”
“Kitty, kitty, kitty, kitty.” She shook her head as if trying to dislodge it from her neck.
Dahlia cleared her throat, and Athan shot her a warning look. They needed Myrine, and whatever she was doing might be part of getting into her spirit of prophecy.
“I’m going to sit in the bloody car,” the daughter of Eris announced, and then she stormed off the porch muttering, “Stupid witch.”
Athan glanced at Xan, who met his gaze with raised eyebrows.
Myrine sat in the rocking chair and started chanting to herself.
Athan strained to hear the words.
“Pussycat, where have you been? I’ve been to London to visit the—”
Xan crossed the porch in two strides and grabbed Myrine’s arm. “Tell me where she is,” he hissed. “Where can I find Hope?”
Her eyes rolled back into her head, and Myrine slumped in the chair, toppling forward.
Xan caught her before she fell to the ground. He scooped her up in his arms and looked at Athan. “Now what?”
Athan gritted his teeth. Xan certainly wasn’t helping get Myrine to talk. “Let’s take her inside.”
Athan opened the bright-blue door and stepped into an immaculate cottage. The dark-stained hardwood floors were covered with braided area rugs, and a quaint table in the entryway held bright-yellow daffodils. He led Xan back into the living space, and Xan laid Myrine down on the plush beige couch.
“What happened to her?” Xan asked, running his hands through his hair. “Why’d she drop like that?”
“I don’t—”
“She is not living,” Myrine rasped as if she’d aged a hundred years. She sat up, her eyes glazed over as she stared at the wall. “Nor is she dead, but she sleeps soundly in a white clad bed. For you to find what your heart most desires will require strength you don’t have, Son of the Liar. And not so fast, Son of Combat. You have no way to get to where she’s at. Take those that are willing, those that will soothe, but remember this: To win you must lose.” She dropped back onto the couch, and her eyes cleared. She met his eyes briefly and then turned away. “I’m so sorry, Athan. So, so sorry.”
Her eyelids drooped, and she whimpered as she curled up in the fetal position. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.”
Her body shivered and then relaxed into unconsciousness.
Athan stood rooted to the floor. His mouth gaped, and the panic that sped through his brain caused the words to crash into an incoherent mess.
“Is she for real?” Xan glared at the oracle and reached out as if to prod her.
“Stop.” Athan choked on the word.
Xan’s hand froze midair.
“She’s for real.” Athan’s stomach clenched. Dread warred with frustration. Not alive, but not dead. There was only one place she could be. “I know where she is.”
“Bloody Hades.” Xan rocked back on his heels as he pointed to Myrine. “If that’s true, then I know where she is, too.”
The silence was interrupted by Myrine’s soft snores. At some point, she’d told Athan that prophesying was exhausting. Something about the spiritual taxing the physical. Athan grabbed a blanket off the back of the couch and spread it over her small frame.
His mind reeled with the information. How could Hope have gotten to the Underworld alive? Only, somehow she wasn’t alive? How could that be? What did it mean?
“Well?” Xan asked as he crossed his arms over his chest. “How are we going to get there? Can you open a portal?”
The stench of earth, blood, and decomposition wasn’t gone, and Hope knew she was still in the Underworld before she opened her eyes. However, the odor was less pungent, competing with the innocuous smells of lemon and rosemary. She was lying on something softer than the rocks at the banks of the river Acheron, and she sat up to see where she was.
Her vision swam and then settled on the god only a few feet away.
“You didn’t have obols for passage?” Thanatos asked as he perched on the foot of the bed. “If you’d said something to me, I could’ve given you some.”
“I didn’t . . .” But she did know. She just hadn’t thought about it. She ran her hand through her hair, and her fingers stuck in her tangled, golden locks. “Where am I?”
Thanatos stood. “My home.”
Hope shuddered and then scooted to the edge. “I think I need to be going.”
She stood. Her vision blurred, and she put her hand out to steady herself. “Please tell me I didn’t drink any of that river.”
Thanatos chuckled. “You did not. Although, I think it ironic that you know not to drink the water but you forgot payment for the ferryman.”
Hope rolled her eyes. “I didn’t think I would need to pay him.”
“Why ever not?” he asked with raised brows.
She opened her mouth but thought better of her sarcastic reply. Instead, she mumbled a lame, “I don’t know.”
“Interesting.” He stood and indicated a side door. “There is a bathroom there you may use. As well as bottled water from the mortal realm. I will have dinner brought up to you, if you’d like.”
She waved him away. “I won’t eat it.”
He nodded. “Of course. Well then, I’ll await you downstairs.”
With that, the god of death left.
He was being awfully nice. But try as she might, she couldn’t figure out why. And it didn’t matter. He’d killed her mother. No matter how nice he was, she hated him.
It was amazing what a shower and clean clothes could do for a person. Hope smoothed the cotton T-shirt over her abdomen. She dumped her dirty clothes in the garbage and left what she hoped was the guest bedroom behind.
Thanatos stood at the bottom of the stairs in a large foyer. The entire house was apparently the same rock as the rest of the Underworld, but the floor had been smoothed and polished until it looked like glass. The walls were marbled with a deep sapphire blue, and the chandel
ier dripped with cut crystals that scattered rainbows across the open space.
He was again dressed in a gray sweater and black jeans. Another figure stood next to him, and the two of them exchanged heated whispers. The god’s dark hair fell over his eye, and he brushed it back in a youthful gesture. Thanatos met her gaze, and he dismissed the other person.
Thanatos smiled and pulled an orange crystal rose from behind his back.
Warning bells pealed in her head. Clasping her hands behind her, Hope warily returned the smile. “I don’t normally accept gifts from the gods . . .” Like never.
He studied her as she descended. “You are angry at me?”
“You killed my mother.” She cleared her throat of the emotion that came with the declaration. Just saying the words tore at her heart.
He pinched his lips and waited until she was at the foot of the stairs before responding. “If I did, I had no choice.” He extended the flower toward her. “If you won’t take a gift, consider it a loan.”
It was such a ridiculous thing to say; she couldn’t help the small smile that teased her lips. Even so, she refused to trust him. “I’m being rude, but I don’t want to owe you anything.”
“Yes. That’s understandable. Your history with the gods, and what little you know of me, has been . . . unpleasant.”
That was an understatement.
A tall figure rounded the corner, and Hope gasped. She dropped back into her standard defensive stance, wishing she had her knives. “Why are there Skia here?”
Thanatos straightened and waved the creature away. “You do realize you’re in the Underworld?”
She watched the monster turn the corner and disappear the way he’d come. She took a deep breath of the stale air and grimaced. “But they’re in your home. I thought they were minions of Hades.”
“Ah. No. We each have our own, actually.” He cleared his throat. “But you are my guest. No Skia will harm you here in my home. They all answer to me.”
She contemplated her options for a moment. Leave or stay? Was he a liar or telling the truth? At this point she needed time to rest and regroup, and this might be her best option. Hope straightened. “All right then.”
“Will you tell me your name?” Thanatos asked as he extended the flower to her; when she didn’t take it, he shook it once. “A gift means that you won’t owe me anything. I’m only trying to be a gracious host.”
If he’d wanted her dead, he could’ve killed her already. Or had his Skia do it while she slept. As it was, he’d been only nice, and she didn’t need to piss him off. She accepted the flower. “Hope. My name is Hope.”
“A beautiful meaning, young lady. Shall we go into the library to talk?” He couldn’t have chosen a more enticing invitation.
“Yes, but . . .” She didn’t know how to set boundaries without being rude, but she didn’t want him to get the wrong impression.
“You are my guest. That is all. No strings attached. You may leave when you want.”
She wrinkled her brow in confusion. The gods were not this gracious.
“You are the first living . . . being to treat me as if . . . as if I were a person too. It is . . .” He pursed his lips as if weighing his words. “It is quite a pleasant change for me, my dear.”
And he was the first god to make no demands, suggestions, or try to manipulate her in any fashion. At least not yet. She might pull this off after all. “I completely understand.”
He extended his arm, an invitation for her to lead. “The study is the second door on the right. Are you sure I can’t get you anything to eat?”
She shook her head. It didn’t matter how nice he was. She would not eat or drink here. Even in the bathroom, she’d spit the water out when she brushed her teeth. “Thank you, though.”
She opened the door, and her jaw dropped. The room was almost as tall as the Olympian library and possibly as deep. The shelves were cut from the same stone as everything in the Underworld, but again, it had been polished smooth. The books were shelved by color, ranging from deep red to vibrant purple. Two Skia were visible shelving several of the heavy tomes.
Hope forgot all about her host as she stepped into the room. A welling of emotion bubbled from her chest to her throat, and she reverently stroked the spines on the shelf. “They are the Books of the Fates ?”
Thanatos came to her side. He pulled the nearest one from the shelf and opened the bright-orange tome. The parchment was so thin it was almost transparent, and Hope recognized the spindly scrawl. “This one always writes in a crisp and succinct manner. She doesn’t use adjectives or adverbs. Sometimes she . . .”
The god of death was staring at her, his pitch-black eyes wide with wonder. “You’ve read the Books of the Fates ?”
She may have revealed too much. “Our history.”
He pulled several other books down, and while she was tempted to read them, sorely tempted, she refused to even glance at the three distinct scripts.
“Well, since I can’t tempt you with The Books , why don’t we sit down and you can tell me why you’re here?” He shelved the green volume in his hand and indicated they return to the front of the room.
Thanatos pointed to two cigar chairs angled toward one another and waited for Hope to sit before taking the other.
“What brings you to the Underworld?” He reached over to the end table between them and proceeded to cut a cigar.
The last time hadn’t gone so well. Hope bit the side of her mouth as she watched him and contemplated what to say.
“Do you mind if I smoke?” he asked.
She shook her head. It was his house. Who was she to protest?
“I’m guessing you’re not trying to free your lover.” He raised his brows.
She shook her head.
“And I doubt you’re here on a dare, right?”
She couldn’t help the forced exhale of incredulity. “People do that?”
He smirked. “Not so much anymore, but eons ago it wasn’t so uncommon.”
“That’s insane,” she said with a shake of her head.
He puffed on the cigar.
And she realized her own hypocrisy. “Right. I . . . I wanted to talk to my mom.”
He exhaled, watching as the smoke floated into the vastness above them.
“I heard you can’t lie in the Underworld. And that . . . well, truth will set you free. I want to know how to break the curse. Is it true? That you can’t lie here?”
Thanatos sat up. With a flick of his wrist, a crystal ashtray appeared on the table, and he set the cigar down.
“The dead cannot lie; there is no reason for them to.” He rested his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. “You are tired of being a pawn, yes?”
She nodded and whispered, “Yes.”
“I am the agent of death, Hope. But I do not choose who will die. I’m sorry about your mother. But . . . I am a pawn, too.” He stretched his legs out and leaned back in the chair. “Let’s make sure it stops.” He blew out a slow breath. “You are lucky I found you and not Hades. He’s been trying to get you here to the Underworld for years.”
“Why?”
Thanatos raised his eyebrows. “To be a pawn.”
“Not by myself.” He could contact his father. Hermes would be able to get them into the Underworld, but Athan just as quickly dismissed the idea. As much as he trusted his father, Hermes had made his feelings about Hope perfectly clear. And there was the risk that if Athan contacted him further, the other Olympians might find out. He definitely didn’t trust the rest of the pantheon. “We’ll need help getting through a portal, but once we’re in we should be good.”
At least he’d been in the Underworld enough to know his way around. Not that it would be easy. There were several areas they’d have to be especially careful of.
Xan scratched his chin and then grimaced. “Is that what she meant? One of us will have to die to get there? Is that how we’re going to lose?”
Of course. That would be At
han’s luck. But he pushed away the pessimistic musings. Myrine wouldn’t send him to the Underworld only to be killed. But Xan had hit on something. “I doubt it. But that’s a great idea.”
“I’m not volunteering, just so you know.”
Athan chuckled. The idea was solid. Death would lead them through a portal. “Let’s go.”
He pulled out his cell phone as they crossed the small house and let themselves out. Athan punched in one word and waited until several listings came up. “SOMC is only a few miles away.”
Xan climbed into the driver seat, and Athan circled around to climb in the back.
“What happened with the witch?” Dahlia asked once the doors were closed.
Xan started the car and pulled out onto the quiet neighborhood street. “Which way are we going?”
Athan handed Xan his phone, and the app chirped directions at them.
“Where are we going?” When Xan didn’t immediately respond, Dahlia poked his shoulder with a manicured fingernail. “Stop ignoring me.”
Xan shot her a pointed look. “Hope’s in the Underworld. We need to go watch someone die, so we can sneak in after them.”
“Holy Mother Gaia!” Dahlia breathed. Her eyes dilated, and she shifted in her seat. “You’re joking.”
Xan shook his head.
Dahlia twisted around and faced Athan. “That’s crazy. We’re not going to try to sneak into the Underworld, are we?”
Hearing the words out loud did sound crazy. His thoughts went to Myrine’s prophecy, and the slim likelihood of them all making it back alive. Even so, leaving Hope in the Underworld wasn’t an option he could live with. “You don’t have to come.”
Xan snorted.
Dahlia’s eyes hardened, and she pinched her lips together. “Are you saying I’m scared?”
If looks could kill, Athan would have a gaping hole in his chest while he bled out. It was quite possibly the worst thing he could’ve said to her.
“Nooo.” He drew the word out for several seconds.
“Someone’s going to die. Athan doesn’t want to feel guilty.” Xan met Athan’s eyes in the rearview mirror.
“That’s not . . .” Actually, that was exactly it. “It’s just I know Hope doesn’t mean as much to you—”