Calistos: Guardians of Hades Series Book 5

by Heaton, Felicity

  Marinda shook her head and rushed to her room, grabbed her backpack and stuffed some underwear into it, a book to read on the train, and some products from the shared bathroom.

  “I’m going to visit Papa for the weekend.” She checked her bag over as she exited the bathroom and then smiled as she lifted her head. “You be good now.”

  Colette smiled right back at her.

  It was an in-joke between them.

  Colette, like herself, was always good. Study came first. Unlike some of her friends. She was sure that their neighbours, Jacques and Adelaide, were going to fail dramatically if they spent so much time fooling around this year rather than studying. The pair of them couldn’t concentrate in class. And what they did in their apartment made her blush.

  She wished she didn’t have the bedroom that shared a wall with theirs. Sometimes it was hard to look them in the eye the next day.

  In their first year, Jacques had tried to introduce her to Alain, a friend of his. When Marinda had turned him down, Alain had decided that Colette was her lover, something he teased her about to this day. Apparently, women never turned Alain down. Marinda doubted that.

  Jacques had eventually stopped trying to set her up with men. Thankfully.

  Maybe when she had completed her education and found a steady orchestra, she could worry about finding someone to fall in love with. Right now though, there was nothing more important to her than her studies.

  Or at least, her studies and her father.

  Family came first too.

  She checked her phone. “If I hurry, I can make the next train.”

  She tugged the zipper on her backpack closed, gave Colette a brief hug on the way past, and was out of the door before her friend could say goodbye. Luck was with her when she reached the street, a taxi rolling down the road in time for her to hail it and jump in the back.

  The trip to the station took longer than she would have liked, leaving her little time to pay the driver, leap from the cab and run for the ticket machines. Adrenaline spiked as she fumbled with the machine, came close to cursing it, and almost celebrated when the damn thing coughed up her ticket. She grabbed it and sprinted for the platform, reaching it just as they announced the train was close to departing. She hopped on at the first door and worked her way through the carriage, slumped into her seat with her bag on her lap and breathed a sigh of relief as the doors closed and the train pulled away.

  Paris swept by in a blur, and then familiar countryside. She smiled as she thought about her father. He was going to be surprised to see her. When she had been little, she had always tried to surprise him, jumping out at him to give him a scare. He had always known she was there, but he had feigned shock, clutching his chest and staggering backwards.

  She might not have had a mother, but she had the best father.

  He worked so hard to pay for her education, so she could have her dream. She wasn’t sure she would ever stop thanking him for it, or for the beautiful cello he had bought her years ago, when she had grown serious about the instrument.

  It must have cost him a fortune, and he must have been saving for it, scraping together every spare bit of money he had from his chocolate shop to be able to afford it.

  When he had given it to her, she had realised just how deeply he loved her—deeply enough to make up for only having him.

  She disembarked the train at Montbard and grabbed the first available taxi, excitement growing inside her as it whisked her south towards her small town. That anticipation grew as the stone buildings came into view and they followed the road that snaked into the heart of the town. Blue sky kissed the trees and the old buildings, and the narrow streets were busy with tourists and locals.

  Would her father still be working at the shop? He often kept it open late when the tourist season was in full swing.

  She checked her phone again. It was gone seven, later than she had expected.

  The taxi pulled down a narrow lane bordered by a stream on her left and cottages on her right.

  “Here’s fine.” She shuffled forwards, pulled some money from her purse and offered it to the driver as he stopped the car. He took it and she smiled. “Thanks.”

  She slipped from the cab and waited for him to pull away before continuing down the lane.

  The larger cottages gave way to a cluster of smaller white ones that were joined together by more than just their walls. Greenery cascaded over the doors and under the windows, draped down the walls to add colour and life that she had always liked.

  Her smile widened as the roses that filled the front garden of her home came into view, the blooms still full of colour despite the fact summer was turning to autumn. She quickened her pace, a bounce in her step as she played out in her mind how surprised her papa was going to be when she knocked on the door.

  Her steps slowed as she looked at that door.

  It was ajar.

  The evening was warm, but it wasn’t like her father to leave the door open. Maybe he had been working in the garden and just stepped back inside for something.

  She eased the door open further, set her bag down in the entrance hall and crept forwards, ready to holler ‘surprise’ when she came across her father. He was going to get the shock of his life.

  Marinda stepped into the small kitchen.

  And got the shock of hers.

  Numbness swept through her, her ears rang and a chill skated down her spine and her arms as she stood on the threshold of the room.

  Staring at her father where he lay on the dark tiles.

  With blood covering his chest.

  Chapter 4

  “No! No… no.” Marinda rushed into the small kitchen and sank to her knees beside her father, her entire body trembling as her strength rushed from her and tears burned her eyes. Her throat closed up and she leaned over him and fluttered her shaking fingers over his neck, seeking a pulse, fearing she wouldn’t find one.

  His eyelids twitched, a sign of life that didn’t give her hope as she found his pulse. It was weak. Slow.

  She shook her head, sending tears tumbling down her cheeks. They dropped and splashed on his right hand where it covered his left pectoral over his pale cotton shirt. Blood pumped from between his fingers, sickening her, stealing every last shred of hope from her.

  “No.” She sagged over him and held him, afraid of hurting him but unable to stop herself as her entire world felt as if it was falling apart around her.

  “Mari?” he murmured, voice weak and thready, a bare whisper in her ear. “You… can’t… be here.”

  She shook her head again. She wasn’t going anywhere.

  “You… must… leave.” He tried to shift beneath her, lifting his hand from his chest, and cried out in pain before slumping back against the tiles and fighting for breath.

  “Don’t move.” She eased up and held his shoulders down. Her brow furrowed as she saw the wound on his chest, a deep hole that looked black as blood welled in it. Her stomach rebelled and she swallowed, trying to keep the bile down as the numbness receded enough that she could think.

  But her thoughts hit her at a rapid pace, colliding and churning, sending her in too many directions as she knelt beside him, feeling useless. Pressure. She had to apply pressure. No, she needed to call an ambulance. She needed to get help.

  She grabbed a tea towel from the handle of the drawer near the sink behind her, balled it up and pressed it to the wound with one hand as she fumbled in her jeans pocket for her phone with the other. Her father grimaced as she applied pressure and she wanted to apologise and ease off a little, but she couldn’t. She had to stem the bleeding.

  “Damn,” she bit out when she saw the signal on her phone. No bars. She grabbed her dad’s hand and pressed it to the towel, making him hold it. “Keep pressure on it, Papa.”

  Her heart thundered as she cast her gaze around the room, looking for his phone. For some damned reason, he had ditched having a landline three years ago. When she couldn’t spot his phone an
ywhere, she searched his black slacks. It wasn’t there either.

  She stilled when he grabbed her hand.

  “Mari… go… leave.”

  “No,” she barked, regretting it when his eyes opened. More tears came when she saw how dull they were, their warm brown lacking the spark of life they usually held. “I’ll get help. Just keep pressure on it, Papa.”

  She shoved to her feet and ran from the house, leaped the small stone wall between their cottage and the next one, and slammed into the green wooden door. She banged her fists against it.

  “Monsieur Berger!” She kept banging, her heart keeping pace with the beat of her fists.

  The door cracked open and she breathed hard.

  “Marinda? What is wrong?” The portly old man looked her over and when he reached her hands, his grey eyes widened. “What happened?”

  “Papa…” It was all she needed to say.

  He reached for the phone on the side table and relief swept through her as he rattled off her address, asking for an ambulance to be sent there.

  She ran back into her cottage and to the kitchen, fearing she would find her father gone. He was paler now, but still breathing. She sank back to her knees on the blood-soaked tiles and brushed her fingers across his. His hand fell from his chest and she placed hers over the cloth and held it down.

  “Hold on, Papa,” she murmured, focusing on him to keep the chilling numbness at bay. He needed her to be strong. He needed her to be here with him, for him, not let her fears and pain swallow her.

  “Mari,” he husked and swallowed, grimacing as he tilted his head back. “Must tell you… things.”

  “No. You have to rest. The ambulance will be here soon.”

  He shook his head, his dull brown eyes finding hers. “Not… soon… enough. Must tell you.”

  She wanted to rail at him for being so defeatist, for believing he was going to die, but more tears came instead, choking her. She fought them back. He didn’t need her breaking down. He might not believe he was getting through this, but she had to. She couldn’t lose him.

  “Mari…”

  She leaned towards him, not wanting him to strain himself by trying to speak louder.

  “Fairy tales…”

  She nodded. “I remember them. I remember all of them.”

  “They… real.” He swallowed again and her heart broke as she realised he had to be close to the end now, delirious if he thought that the things he had told her about gods were real. His brown eyes held hers, the conviction and belief in them surprising her. “I can see… future… but the power… inside you… is far… greater. Must be more… careful… than ever. They… will… come… for… you.”

  “Come for me? Who will come for me?” Her eyes widened and she looked down at his chest as a chill rushed over her, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “The people who did this?”

  Fear cranked up another notch inside her, her heart drumming faster as she stared in disbelief at his chest.

  No. It wasn’t possible he was talking about the people who had done this to him coming for her next.

  He nodded, a slight dip of his chin that sent her into a tailspin. She wanted to deny it, but as she looked at the blood covering his chest, listened to his rattling breaths, that denial wouldn’t come.

  All that hit her was a sense that she was in danger.

  Rapidly followed by something that had her eyes going even wider.

  “You always told me I felt different because I didn’t have a mother.” Another chill swept over her as she considered there might have been another reason, one that made sense as she remembered all the times she had felt as if her father had been saying that to hide something from her. “Am I like you? Does this power you say is inside me come from you?”

  He gave a slight shake of his head, and sorrow flooded his dark eyes. He struggled to lift his left hand, his jaw flexing as he inched it upwards, and the coolness of it as it covered hers had tears spilling down her cheeks.

  She was losing him.

  “Mari… I’m not your… biological father.” Those words hit her hard, each one knocking her back an inch, sending her reeling. His dark eyebrows furrowed. She opened her mouth to issue a denial, to say it was blood loss talking and that he was confused. He shook his head again, silencing her. “Listen now… please? I don’t have… much time. Things… you need to know. Your mother…”

  Marinda placed her other hand over his and clutched it. He rarely spoke of her mother, had always kept things light when he did, talking about how she would have loved her. How she had loved her, and how happy she had been when she had been pregnant with her.

  “What about her?” Marinda leaned closer still, desperate to know more about her, bone-deep aware on some level that whatever he was about to say, it would change everything.

  “She came to me… from the… Underworld. On the run. I found her. She… asked for sanctuary. I agreed… to hide her… and I…” Warmth glittered in his eyes. “I fell for her.”

  He moved his hand from beneath hers and tried to lift it. Marinda took hold of it and brought it to her face, pressed her cheek to it and nestled against his palm as she held him, as she silently begged him to hold on for her.

  “When you were… born. It was like seeing… my own child being… born. I already… loved you.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut, clutched his hand and held on to him. “I love you too. I can’t lose you, Papa.”

  Her heart broke. Not because he wasn’t her father. She didn’t care about that. He was her father. He had raised her, had taken care of her and provided for her. He had been—was—her entire world.

  What broke her heart was that she was going to lose him.

  No.

  Not lose.

  Someone had taken him from her.

  The hollow in her heart filled with acid, with fire that blazed so fiercely she couldn’t breathe. It ran like molten lava in her veins, burning away the cold chill, and all her fear. It took all her pain and condensed it into one dark, powerful need.

  To make that someone pay.

  “I’ve seen… that look.” Her father weakly brushed his thumb across her cheek, bringing her focus back to him. “Leave… Stories I told you… not stories. Go to London… before your birthday. Have faith… when times… are tough and… be strong. You can trust him.”

  Trust who?

  “Call Cass. Cass will take care… of you.”

  She didn’t need a guardian now, and she knew that was what Cassandra was in case of his death.

  Ambulance sirens cut through the tense silence and hope finally kindled in her heart.

  “Hold on, Papa.” She squeezed his hand.

  His eyes grew dull. “I loved your mother… so much. I’m glad… I’ll get to see… her again. But I need to know… you’ll be… all right. Swore to keep… you safe. Hidden too. London… Cass.”

  He grabbed her nape and pulled her towards him, pain written in every line of his face.

  She nodded, desperate to calm him down so he would save his strength.

  His eyes held hers. The look in them broke her heart all over again and shook her world to the ground.

  “I love you, Mari. Remember that.” He sagged against the tiles, his hand loosening against her neck.

  “I love you too, Papa. Just hold on… just a little longer.” She cupped his cheek. Patted it. “Papa?”

  The fire that blazed inside her gave way to cold, to a numbing chill that invaded every inch of her, freezing right down to her soul and her shattered heart as she stared at him.

  “Papa?” she whispered, tears a torrent down her cheeks as her ears rang, as she struggled to comprehend what had just happened.

  People rushed in around her. Someone took hold of her arm and she fought them as they tried to move her, screamed as they lifted her and pulled her backwards and she lost sight of him. Her lungs burned, her screaming giving way to great heaving sobs that wracked her so hard she couldn’t breathe. Evening
light bathed her and she sank to the grass, the scent of the roses bringing only pain now.

  She was vaguely aware of Madame Berger holding her as she watched the paramedics wheeling her father out of the cottage on a gurney.

  With the sheet drawn up over his head.

  A man in uniform came to her, and she answered his questions, leaving out the things her father had told her. Things that sounded crazy to her even as they made sense.

  And everything continued to crumble around her.

  The doors of the ambulance slammed and she flinched, closed her eyes and shut the world out.

  She had just lost everything.

  And she had the feeling her life would never be the same again.

  She didn’t resist as the police officers guided her to their car, didn’t notice the drive to the nearest station, or her surroundings as she repeated her answers, telling a new set of people what had happened. The numbness swallowing her refused to abate, kept a firm hold on her as she tried to process everything.

  Tried to believe what had just happened.

  It felt too real, but not real at the same time.

  Someone placed a drink down in front of her. She stared at it. Watched steam curl from the black liquid. Fatigue bore down on her as she shed the last of her tears and no more would come.

  As the frigid cold began to give way again to fire that roared into an inferno in her veins.

  It blazed through her, scouring her heart, filling it with rage.

  She needed to find whoever had taken her father from her. They needed to pay. She looked around the interview room, growing aware of it at last, and the cold tried to return. Did the police believe she had been the one to murder her father?

  She dropped her gaze to her hands where they rested in her lap. No cuffs. She looked at the door. It was ajar. Her heart beat a little steadier. If they didn’t believe she had done it, perhaps they could help her find his killer.

  She needed to find them.

  They needed to pay.

  A middle-aged greying man in a pale blue shirt and black trousers walked into the room, offering a kind smile. “The coffee is crap, but you looked as if you needed it.”