by Cate Masters
Iris gave a barely perceptible flinch. “This has nothing to do with Demeter, and you know it.”
“Thank you for reminding me. I must prepare the palace for my wife’s return. Persephone always expects a warm welcome.”
Joss wished she could remember whether Persephone returned to Hades willingly or not. Could they enlist her as an ally? Probably not if Persephone cursed her rivals for his affection, first turning Minthe into a mint plant, and transforming the nymph Leuce into a white poplar tree. Joss knew too well the dangers of jealous rages. No, Persephone wouldn’t be a reliable accomplice.
“I’m sure your welcomes are exceedingly warm.” Iris’s voice sounded like silken ice. “Why pursue such a fruitless venture? You know it leads to disaster.”
“Ah, but whose?” He steepled his long, bony fingers.
When the goddess straightened to her full height, he held up a hand. “If I called my minions home,” he said, “what would I receive in return?”
“Your honor intact.”
“Honor,” he chuffed, whirling to sit on an immense ebony throne. “I wouldn’t know how to behave. Such a grace has no bearing in my dominion.” His gaze crawled over Joss. “Suppose I sweetened the pot?” He snapped his fingers, and a servant appeared holding a tray. Taking a canapé off the platter, he said, “Serve our guests, John.”
Joss froze as she met the gaunt face of her dead husband, John. A strangled cry arose in her throat.
Iris thrust her staff to block Joss from lunging toward him. “Enough games. If you will not grant our request—”
Examining a morsel, he snapped, “Why should I? You know perfectly well the territory was off limits since the Great War.” He waved away John, who pixilated into nothingness.
Despair welled in Joss. Iris glanced back, and something in her face assured her the servant wasn’t her husband, only an illusion.
Shifting uncomfortably, he looked pointedly at Joss. “She invaded neutral ground.”
Invaded? Joss opened her mouth. Gram’s sharp glance silenced her. To speak would be to open up to punishment. Arguing was useless. He appeared pleased the confrontation had begun, and he could pass blame to someone else.
Her tone pleasant, Iris said, “Jocelyn’s only intent is to run her business. Not use the ley lines for her own gain.”
“Oh really? And the lavender is a coincidence, I suppose? Give me a bit more credit, Iris. I have an eyewitness who swears Jocelyn’s used the ley lines for her own benefit. Right, Sheree?”
The waitress shuffled forward as if restrained by chains, though none were visible. Her wide-eyed stare held fear, and her lip trembled. “Yes.”
Plouton waved her away. Shadows engulfed her.
“It’s obvious you’ve been amassing your minions to lure me into battle. Why shouldn’t I oblige you?” He leaned back, tension blazing in his hard gaze, even when his lean muscles displayed only ease.
“We wish no battle. Please reconsider.”
“I am not the one who initiated it. Perhaps you might change your mind if I reminded you what’s at stake. Or should I say, who?” Another snap of his fingers brought a vision of Eric bound in chains, his face a mask of pain.
Joss couldn’t restrain a gasp. Mom, Lydia, and Gram clutched her arms to steady her, but she jerked free. “Let him go.”
“In exchange for what?” He arched a brow. “Yourself, perhaps?”
Gram clamped a hand over Joss’s mouth as Iris stepped in front of her. Joss mumbled against her grandmother’s fingers.
“Silence.” Gram removed her hand, but held up a finger. “Say no more.”
Anger coursed through Joss. Who the hell did this guy think he was, playing with others’ lives?
“Of course not.” Leaning on her staff, Iris laughed. “If you are so weak as to use a pawn, I can only assume your position is worse than I first believed.”
His eyes became gleaming crescents. “We shall see who is weak.”
Iris set her staff at arm’s length. “As you wish.” With a bow, she flew back toward the door. Gram and Lydia tugged Joss along.
“Give my best to the family,” he called, “especially my mother-in-law, Demeter. Tell her we’d love to have her over.” His laughter echoed off the marble floor, mixing with Eric’s moans.
“We have to stop them from torturing Eric,” Joss whispered through clenched teeth.
Two walls of fire whooshed to life on either side, tongues of flame licking at their heels. The marble cracked, and the floor beneath their feet crumbled away as they hurried on.
“Keep moving no matter what,” Iris said.
Sure, easy for her to say. She had wings. Joss grasped hands with Gram and Mom, who held Lydia’s. Ahead, the door shut with a resounding clang. Terror seized Joss.
Iris held out her staff, and a hole in the door dissolved long enough for them to pass through. The three-headed dog snarled, lunging toward them. Iris coolly tossed something at the beast. The center head caught it mid-air and gulped it down. The two jaws on either side snapped for the treat. Within moments, Cerberus slumped to a heap.
“What did you give them?” Joss asked.
“I prepared biscuits in advance. A few teaspoons of honey, a sprinkle of wheat, some strong sedatives…works every time.”
So homemade remedies were another gift from Iris.
The goddess’s golden wings flashed, brightening her colorful robes. “We must act quickly to divert them. Come.”
As if Joss had any thought of staying.
Chapter 21
Sharp screams cut the darkness. Eric wanted to ask who was there. Then again, he didn’t want to find out. The occasional hiss of fire mingled with cries. The scraping of metal against stone accompanied pleadings for mercy, and built to a prolonged crescendo in which he could only imagine the blade finding its mark. Shadowy shapes moved around him, unrecognizable except for their pain. Their tortured moans bespoke punishment for sins of their own doing.
Whatever sin he’d committed, it must have something to do with Joss. Or maybe Sheree? Were those nightmares a premonition?
He’d never complain of his boring life again if he escaped. And he’d do his best to stay the hell out of here.
Through the gray wasteland, a man with a haunted look shuffled past.
“Hey,” Eric called. “Where are we?”
A shriek of laughter came in answer. “If you have to ask, you’re in worse trouble than you thought.”
Obviously. He wouldn’t argue the point. “Tell me the name of this place.” Maybe he could get his bearings then.
“In Tartarus, you fool.”
“Tartarus?” He’d never heard of it. At least the guy didn’t say he was in Hell.
“Aye. The deepest pit in the universe, an abyss as far from the earth as the earth is from Heaven.”
Not what he’d hoped to hear. Still, if he’d found his way inside, there must be a way out. Theoretically. “Where’s the exit?”
Another cackling laugh. “You’re in the realm of Erebus—Total Darkness. There’s no escape. Even if you could escape over the bronze fence, you’d become lost in the triple circle of night that surrounds it.”
There must be some flaw, somewhere. “For the sake of argument, if I happened to get beyond the triple circle, then what?”
“Then you’d drown in Pyriphlegethon,” the man stated matter of factly. “The river of fire and clashing rocks.”
Again, didn’t sound promising. “Isn’t there a way to follow the river out?”
The man’s brow furrowed, and he spoke as if to himself. “All rivers flow into Tartarus and out again.”
“So theoretically, if I followed a river, it would eventually lead home? To earth?”
The man spat a laugh. “Tisiphone might object.”
“Tisiphone?” Eric prompted. Didn’t the guy get it? Eric knew none of these people.
“The Erinye who sits in the iron towe
r guarding the entrance. The entrance,” he added, “so strong even the gods couldn’t break it.”
“Maybe someone could slip past while Tisiphone is sleeping?”
The man leaned close, his harsh whisper hot in Eric’s face. “She doesn’t sleep.” Withdrawing, he stumbled away. “None of us sleep.”
“Great.” Add sleep deprivation to the list of tortures.
All of this was beyond his comprehension. Too bad, he might not have the chance to learn the truth.
* * * *
The return journey took an eternity. Joss knew the night ahead held incredible peril, but the only way to meet a challenge was to face it head on and push through.
Returning to her golden chair, Iris issued a sharp command. “It is decided. We go tonight.”
Creatures of every shape and size surged away on foot or wing, scattering in every direction.
Staff in hand, Iris joined her minions, and more creatures flocked toward them through the skies. “Lead on.”
Joss glanced nervously at her mother and then Gram.
Her grandmother’s outfit now fit perfectly. Cape fluttering as she turned, Gram’s silver hair caught the light. “This way.”
Pixies, crones, gnomes, and brownies mingled with Bean-Tighe, Korreds and Twlwwyth Tegs in a massive army led by Gram and Iris. Winds swirled around them, and above them a heavy gust carried a gorgeous man with the face of an angel and a body rivaled only by Michelangelo’s sculptures. He swooped down, enveloped Iris in a cloud, and then titters echoed from inside it.
“Not now,” Iris said, and the cloud dissipated.
“Zephyrus,” Lydia murmured in Joss’s ear. “God of the West Wind. Her mate.”
“Thanks for the heads up,” Joss whispered. “I still have so much to learn.”
“Later, dear,” Gram said. “After the war.”
Her mother nodded.
Strong gusts converged overhead, and three more gorgeous winged men hovered above.
Gram brightened. “Oh good. His brothers are here too.”
“His brothers?” Of course. The four winds.
“The North Wind, Boreas, is the most fierce,” Mom added. “Quite chilling.”
“And quite the temper to match,” Gram said. “Notos, the South Wind, can stir up terrible summer storms. Zephyrus and Favonius are known for gentler winds, still useful in battle.”
Flying close, Iris looked amazing, her multicolored robes hugging her classic curves, gold wings flashing in the sky. “My father, the Titan Thaumas, will petition his mother, Gaia.”
“Mother Earth?” Joss wondered what possible connection Gaia had to the ley line, and what control. “What for?”
“To join in our fight,” Iris said.
“Oh. Any other family expected?” Joss meant it as a joke.
“My sisters, The Harpies, owe me their lives. My mother Electra will do what she can, but…” Iris shrugged. “Cloud nymphs can only do so much.”
“Of course.” More than Joss would be able to do, she feared. And this was her fault.
Summoning the force of her will, she vowed to defend the innocents upon whose heads she brought this mess.
* * * *
Boiling Springs sat in darkness, sporadically lit by the occasional street light, a porch lamp left on here and there, a few electric candles in windows. Its townspeople slept in blissful ignorance of the armies converging upon it. Forces of darkness and light, either vowed to save them from a horrible fate, or to wreak it upon them.
If Joss didn’t know better, the opposing faction mixed up their dates. The empty streets echoed with tranquil silence. “Everything’s quiet. Maybe they changed their minds.”
“Unlikely.” Pensive, her mother scanned the shadows. “Better to face them now. We’re ready.”
Iris’s watchful gaze narrowed. “Oh, they are here. Make no mistake.” Glancing to either side, she motioned for the troops to fan out.
Dark figures, ranging from tiny to immense, surged right and left. The night teemed with creatures. If the goddess proved right, they’d soon meet with the enemy.
“How do we keep people safe indoors?” Joss couldn’t bear to think of anyone stumbling outside into the middle of such a war.
“The blameless won’t hear a thing,” Mom said. “They’ll sleep through it.”
“Or think it a bad dream,” Iris added.
Joss could relate. Definitely a nightmare to her. “Wait, what do you mean the blameless?” Aside from Sheree and Tom, could others turn against them?
Iris set her amber gaze on Joss. “Those from The Underworld penetrated long ago, and may have touched more lives than we know. Be watchful. Beyond our circle, no one is familiar tonight.”
People had been acting strange lately. “And what about the not so innocent?”
Gram’s face filled with sadness. “Any person who appears on the street was called to fight against us.”
Gram squeezed Joss’s wrist and drew out a sword.
Her family never ceased to amaze her. No way would she stand idly by and watch them fight. “Where’s mine?”
“Right here.” From the folds of her skirt, Mom drew a long blade. Its edge gleamed with a spark of light.
Joss examined its intricate design. “It’s magnificent.”
“The elven-crafted swords always are.” Mom handed it to her.
Joss gripped the handle to acquaint herself with the heft of the weapon. Lightweight, but its razor-like sharpness would ensure quick death. Despite wanting to protect those she loved, Joss hoped she wouldn’t have to find out. She inserted it into the sheath hanging from her belt.
Clanging of metal echoed in the night. Iris cried, “It’s begun!” Joss’s stomach lurched. Though Joss gripped her sword tighter, she wasn’t sure she could raise a weapon against one of the townspeople, no matter what. Once they won—if they won—surely those people could revert to their old selves? Reclaim their old lives?
Explosions of light through the streets and in the air revealed the clash of their warriors against The Underworld intruders.
“Claim victory, ladies.” Blade extended, Iris slipped from their midst.
Mom touched Joss’s shoulder. “Stay close.” On silent footsteps, she followed the goddess.
“Yes,” Gram said. “Our power’s greater together.”
Lydia’s squared shoulders gave her a no-nonsense appearance. “We’re with you, kid.” She drew a dagger from a leg strap, and pressed several sharp, cold metal objects into Joss’s palm. “These might come in handy.”
“Ninja stars?” When did her fortune-telling aunt become a fierce warrior? Joss stowed them in her back pocket. She feared her nerves would loosen her grasp on the sword’s hilt, so kept both hands on it and crept behind her relatives. Never again would she criticize them. Family get-togethers would take on a whole new dimension too.
Joss stayed near Lydia and Gram, each clutching lavender, lips moving in a silent prayer or chant. Joss couldn’t tell. She’d never learned the old ways. Now, she regretted it.
Scuffles and a deep growl from a dark alley put her on edge. A brilliant glow briefly illuminated a fae fighting a wolf-like animal on its hind legs, its razorlike claws clashing against the fae’s sword. Another burst of light revealed a group of pixies flitting around a monstrous creature. No sooner had it gone dark when another soundless explosion emanated from a pixie writhing on the ground.
Joss gasped. Not explosions at all. The bursts of light meant one of their army had been injured.
Desperate to do something besides watch, Joss asked, “How can we help?”
Iris’s wings unfurled, the glint of their golden feathers cutting through the black midnight. As she glided upward, the power of their movement blew back Joss’s hair. Glancing down, Iris said, “Fill whatever void you can.” She hovered a moment, then flew away.
Hopefully, the goddess didn’t include graves in the “void” category
. A band of creatures drew closer, their grisly features twisted into masks of rage and depravation, claws and blades slashing. Swamp Thing with an attitude.
“What if they attack us?” she asked in a whisper.
“They won’t hurt you,” Mom murmured.
“Why not me?”
“They’ll want you to barter with,” Gram said, “if things don’t go well.”
“What about you?” No way could she let her family sacrifice themselves.
Gram shot a grim glance at Mom and Lydia. “We’ll fight, if we must.”
This was madness. She had to stop it. “I should surrender.” At Gram’s glare, she added, “I’ll move away from Boiling Springs, if they’ll agree to leave us alone.”
Mom stepped between them. “You must never surrender.”
“It’s too late now. Look.” Gram pointed.
A crack of lightning revealed a new swarm of minions approaching. Scaled and winged, slithering and flying, hissing and croaking.
A shadow separated from a nearby wall and rushed toward them.
“Gram!” Joss yanked her grandmother behind her and plunged the sword ahead.
* * * *
Erebus. The realm of total darkness. The description couldn’t have fit better. Eric couldn’t see much of anything in the inky night. The metal shackles weighed heavily on his ankles and wrists, and any movement caused them to dig into his skin. Something cold and slimy slithered across his foot. He jerked back. Sharp pain sliced through him and he cried out, his groans mixing with the unending background noise.
Tartarus? Must be another word for Hell.
If his gut hadn’t told him Joss was in danger, worsening every second, he might have been able to stand it.
Escape was his only choice. Maybe he could find a chink in the metal, a lock to pick. Anything to give him leverage. He’d once read of a man breaking his thumbs to free himself from handcuffs. These shackles would call for a bigger sacrifice than thumbs. His fingers worked along the metal edges. No break, no weak point. He pulled against the connecting chain. It jerked to a stop and seemed to pull back.
Hmm, not quite as solid. He traced the chain away from him to its anchor. Odd. Smooth and leathery to the touch. Not warm, yet not cold either. His fingers found a rounded edge where the surface narrowed, like the hind quarters of an animal.