by Raye Wagner
The sand was icy cold, and she shivered as the temperature crawled up her lower extremities.
Xan rolled the cuffs of his jeans up past his knees, and again, Hope copied the demigod. Gritting his teeth, he waved her forward. “Let’s get this over with.”
“It doesn’t sound like you believe he’ll help,” Hope said. If he didn’t believe Poseidon would help, why had they even come?
“He probably won’t help you get to Olympus, but he still might help. It’s worth trying.”
She nodded. It was worth trying.
The lapping waves made the cold sand feel warm, and Hope clenched her teeth as she waded in.
Xan pulled his silver blade from its sheath and dragged the knife through the water. “Poseidon!”
The waves continued their relentless lapping at the sand, and Hope stared off at the horizon. What would not worrying about the gods be like? What would coming to the beach for fun be like?
“Poseidon!” Xan yelled again, kicking his foot and splashing water out over the small waves. “Bloody god of the sea, where are you?”
“Xan!” Hope exclaimed as fear shot through her with his cursing.
“It’s bloody freezing, and I’m going to lose a foot if he doesn’t show up soon.”
“Yes, but the Sphinx is right. It does no good to curse the gods.” Poseidon splashed as he came out of the water.
Hope averted her eyes as he advanced. How could he be buck naked in this weather? Did the gods never get cold? She shook her head then gritted her teeth as she forced herself to face him.
“Daughter of Leto, Son of Ares. We meet again.” Poseidon’s dark hair dripped seawater onto his shoulders, running rivulets down his muscular chest.
Hope forced herself to stare at his face as he continued.
“What brings you to my shore? The Mer aren’t causing problems again, are they?” His lips curled into a smirk like he’d told a clever joke.
“No, Lord Poseidon. It’s not the Mer.” Xan glanced at Hope, inclining his head toward the god, nudging her forward.
The god’s smirk spread into a grin, and his gaze raked her from her head to her buried feet and back up again. “You’re here for me, Hope?”
Oh gods, he knew her name.
“I . . .” She chewed on the side of her mouth. Now that she was here, she didn’t know what to say. What should she say? Hope stood tall and looked the god in the eyes. “I want to break the curse. Apollo cursed my grandmother and turned her into the Sphinx. I don’t want to be a monster.”
Poseidon’s features darkened as he studied her, and the water crashed behind him. “You think you’re a monster?”
His question was more than just the words, and she thought about his meaning. What would define a monster to the god of the sea? His Mer would technically be monsters, according to the standard she was applying, and did she really believe that?
“No.” A monster was not a physical state. That wasn’t fair to the vast creations of the world. “Let me rephrase. I don’t want to be controlled by Apollo. I don’t want him to be able to determine my destiny. I’m fine with turning into the Sphinx. But I’m not okay with Apollo’s curse binding me.”
Poseidon laughed, but it was a mirthless sound. “The Olympians will not relinquish their power easily.”
“I don’t care about their power. I want to break the curse.”
The god of the sea shook his head. “What you are proposing is not the breaking of your curse.”
Hope inadvertently glanced down then slammed her eyes shut, blushing madly.
He chuckled, and his amusement at her discomfort made her blush harder.
“Is this better?” Poseidon asked.
Hope risked a peek.
The god of the sea stepped out of the surf, dressed impeccably in a beige linen suit. The cuffs of his pants were dark, saturated with seawater, but Poseidon was otherwise dry.
“Thank you,” Hope said with another round of blushing.
“You’re most welcome.” He pointed down the beach and said, “Let’s go for a walk.”
Hope looked to Xan, and the demigod son of Ares grit his teeth. “No offense meant, Lord Poseidon, but I’ll be coming with you.”
Poseidon raised his eyebrows, and the air sizzled with the god’s power. “Is that so? Did you forget who is deity here? Because I’m one hundred percent positive it isn’t you.”
Xan shook his head, and grabbing Hope’s arm, he pulled her close. “Don’t do it,” he whispered. “Don’t go with him—”
Hope pushed her fingers to his lips. “We’ve been over this. I know the risks.”
Fear stormed in his icy eyes. “You can’t trust him.”
Poseidon cleared his throat. “Actually, Son of Ares, you can. But you won’t like what you’ll learn.” The god stared at Hope, studying her. “Olympus is corrupt. The power of the gods there is now unchecked, and they have grown arrogant and drunk with their own superiority. The Olympians have slandered me, but it is no matter now.” He waved out over the sea. “My realm, much like my brother’s, is one of order. While you couldn’t offer me anything that would induce me to return to Olympus, also like Hades, I cannot, in fact, return. I am bound to my realm.” He flattened his lips into a straight line. “I’m sorry. I cannot aid you in your journey there.”
Hope’s shoulders slumped with the defeat of yet another dead end. “What about Hephaestus?”
Poseidon shrugged. “He was still there when I left. However, over the past several centuries, word has reached me of some of the lesser Olympians leaving of their own volition. If they are not bound elsewhere, they may still have the power to return. Perhaps you can find one of them to aid you.”
Hope thought of Brand yelling for his father, Boreas, or Caidyn Brown, the son of Hedylogos. Why hadn’t she thought of that? Her heart lifted with the possibilities, and excitement and anticipation flowed through her, making her antsy. There were literally dozens of lesser gods. With Xan’s help, they would find one.
“A warning.” Poseidon touched her nose, drawing her attention back to him. “If you go to Olympus, you must be very, very careful.”
He wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t know, but she appreciated the reminder all the same. “Thank you.”
“Don’t brush this off, my dear. Every single god on Olympus has something to protect. And like Hera, they all take their pride seriously. Watch your words carefully.”
The waves crashed on the sand with the incoming tide, and Hope let the weight of his warning settle between them before she responded. “I understand. Thank you.”
He pursed his lips as though he were deliberating his next words. Amusement sparked across his face, and he quirked a small grin before asking, “Are the rumors true? Did you bargain with Hades?”
A blast of cold air rolled up the beach, and Hope pushed her hands into her coat pockets. Her feet were so cold they ached for the warmth of the car, but something deep within her told her she needed to hear what else Poseidon would say. There was a message in his words, but she couldn’t puzzle it out, so she simply replied, “Yes.”
“And you won? You escaped the binding of the Underworld?”
“Yes.” This time it sounded more like a question. She had won but not because of anything she’d done.
Poseidon shook his head. “Hades must have given you a gift. I hope you appreciate it. You must be very careful with your words. Their meaning . . . Words can be twisted to mean more than one thing, and if you are so foolish as to bargain with other gods, they may not be so kind.”
Another lesson, just a tad too late. Hope debated correcting him. It wasn’t Hades’s kindness, and he certainly hadn’t given her a gift. Atropos had intervened. It was the Fates looking after her. But they were bound in the Underworld, so there would be no aid from them here. “Thank you again, Lord Poseidon.”
“You are still determined to go?”
Hope glanced at Xan, and the look he gave her reminded her that while
he stood beside her, this was her quest for freedom. The decision was wholly hers. “Yes. I’m still going.”
“Then I wish you luck.” The god turned to leave, and his suit dematerialized in front of them as he strode into the water.
Hope turned to Xan with renewed enthusiasm, but before she could say anything, the god of the sea shouted her name.
He stood waist-deep in the gray surf, and his golden skin made the water look dirty. “My nephew Hephaestus has a strong dislike of his mother. Despite what the legends say, he left Olympus on his own, and he still has the power to go back.”
Perfect. She smiled at the god of the sea as he walked into the surf. “Thank you, Lord Poseidon.” When he didn’t turn around, she yelled, “Thank you.”
But the god had disappeared under the surface of the water and into his world.
Xan pulled Hope close, wrapping her in a tight hug. “Bloody hell. I really don’t like that arrogant arse. He gives me the creepers, right? Especially the way he looks at you. Didn’t you read none about him at the conservatory? He’s not good to fairer sex.” He squeezed her again before letting go. “I hope we don’t have to cross with him again.”
Hope didn’t want to discuss the veracity of the histories at the conservatory right now, so she pulled away and tugged Xan toward the car. “It’s freezing. Let’s go.”
He didn’t protest and grabbed her hand, then they raced to the parking lot in their bare feet.
With the heat cranked and blasting warmth, Xan sighed and collapsed into his seat. “Hephaestus all along, huh? Gods, his son left the conservatory decades ago.”
Hope wanted to laugh with triumph, and her glee spread over her face in a bright smile. “Peter Stanley.”
“How do you know him?” Xan ran his fingers through his hair. “Do I even want to know?”
Her laughter filled the car. The tightness in her chest and the certainty of her failure disappeared. “His daughter, Haley, was my best friend in Goldendale.”
“Of course she was.” With a shake of his head, he put the car in reverse and pulled out of the abandoned parking lot. “The Fates must love you.”
She’d never even thought of it that way. But perhaps Xan was right. Perhaps they were pulling strings to help her.
He reached into the glovebox and pulled something out. “What are you waiting for?” he asked, dropping her old cell phone in her lap. “It’s still early. Go ahead and call your friend.”
“Where did you get this?”
“I always had it, luv. You left it at the conservatory when you took off. I’ve kept it, just in case. Lucky for you it was in me car.” He huffed loudly. “And, by the way, I’m your mate, er, your best friend, right?”
Snickering to herself, she pushed the button on the side of the phone and watched as the screen lit up. “Don’t be like that. You know you’re my bestie. I haven’t even spoken with Haley . . . for years.” Hope couldn’t even think of how many years it would be. “She might not even remember me, or she may have switched numbers.”
She tapped on contacts and stared at the three names, her heart aching a little for the simplicity of the past. Hope looked up at Xan, and her certainty returned.
Xan said nothing as he pulled back onto the highway and headed north, but his grin spoke volumes.
Hope looked back at the phone screen, and her finger hovered over the image of her friend. She stared at the ten digits, feeling like everything was riding on whether Haley was on the other end of those numbers.
“Come on, bestie-pal.” Xan nudged Hope’s thigh. “Give her a call. If it’s wrong, we’ll sort it out. You’ve got to start somewhere.”
She touched her finger to the screen and held her breath. The phone rang, and Hope wanted to cry when she heard her friend answer.
Athan had no idea where he was in the vast Underworld. Without his demigod powers, he had no pull or intuition to navigate the realm, and it wasn’t like the dark rock and gray mists varied enough to give him any indication. The stench of overripe decay was less profound, but Athan knew that meant he was growing accustomed to it, not that the smell was actually going away. He closed his eyes and strained to hear the river Acheron, but the heavy silence remained. There weren’t even the typical shrieks from Tartarus. But he didn’t put much stock in his mortal abilities.
As time passed, and the complete absence of activity in the area remained consistent, Athan concluded he was in the very outskirts of the Underworld. Possibly the in-between, right inside the portals. And because he was mortal, he wouldn’t even be able to see the dead as they passed through on their way to the Acheron.
He thought of the guy from the hospital, the one who was so evil he’d wanted to jump into the river. Athan shuddered with the memory, grateful he couldn’t see the deceased. But as seconds ticked into minutes, and minutes into hours, Athan became convinced he was going to lose his mind.
He turned and noticed the large packs still sitting on the ground. His father must have done something to them because they didn’t disappear. Like Dahlia’s last time. Athan took his shirt off and let it fall to the ground, but it didn’t disappear either. Maybe he wasn’t in the in-between.
Athan walked in one direction, counting his steps, determined to keep going until he found something. Anything. He’d counted to thirty-six thousand, eight hundred and forty-six when he saw something on the horizon. A dark lump rising from the mist. He picked up his pace, ignoring the thirst plaguing him and the knowledge that he had several hours to get back to the water.
At first he thought the misshapen lump was someone curled up on the ground, but as he drew closer, he could tell it was only another pack. But no matter, he would wait for this person to come back to their pack, and then they could keep each other—
He stood over the large black canvas duffle. Right next to it was one that looked almost the same, but its handle was frayed. Just like his. Athan refused to believe what his vision was telling him. It was impossible. But he pulled the zipper open, and there were the water bottles and the packaged food his father had packed for him.
Athan sat on the other duffle, the one with his clothes in it, and accepted the impossible was now his reality. He should be used to it by now. He reached over and grabbed a bottle of water.
“Are you bored?”
The high-pitched voice startled him, and Athan swore. Scrambling to his feet, his gaze settled on a young girl with curly hair the color of lilacs and skin so pale it was almost translucent. Her irises were the same color as her hair, and he thought of the sky during the few seconds between day and night.
“No.” As soon as he said it, he shook his head in disgust at his own lie. “I mean yes.”
Athan offered his hand in greeting.
The young girl looked at it then tilted her head up to him and asked, “What does that mean?”
Athan tried to mask his surprise. She must not have spent much time in the mortal realm to be so wholly unfamiliar with shaking hands. “It’s a form of courtesy when you introduce yourself.”
The girl frowned. “You didn’t introduce yourself.”
Athan chuckled and sat down on the softer duffle. “You’re right. It’s just . . .” There was no good reason to blame the girl. “I’m sorry.” He extended his hand again. “Hello there. I’m Athan Michael.”
The girl reached her hand in front of her, letting it hang in the air between them. “My name is Vrady.”
The Greek word for night. Interesting.
She curled the fingers of her proffered hand and pointed at his outstretched arm. “Why are you still doing that?”
She couldn’t be more than eight or nine and spoke with a lisp, her s sounding like th. Athan was so relieved to have someone to talk to that he wanted to hug the girl, but doing so would probably scare her away. And he very much wanted her to stay. He explained the process of shaking hands.
“Hmph.” Vrady scrunched up her nose like the idea of a handshake smelled bad then pointed at the d
uffle bag. “May I sit next to you?”
Athan scooted to the edge, making sure she had plenty of room to sit. He nearly slid off the edge when she sat right next to him.
With wide eyes, she stared up at him and asked, “Why did you move so far?”
“I . . . I assumed you wouldn’t want to be close to me.”
She made the scrunchy face again. “You shouldn’t assume.” She scooted over and patted the empty space next to her. “You can scoot back over now.”
He did, and she closed the rest of the gap between them.
“How did you get to be here?” She focused her eerie gaze on him, kicking the side of the duffle with the heels of her feet. “Are you hiding from someone?”
Athan considered his answer. His father said Athan would be safe here, and he believed his dad, so by deductive reasoning, whoever this girl—or goddess—was, she was considered safe. “My dad brought me here. I think he’s trying to hide me from his brothers and sisters.”
The pale wisp of a girl frowned. “Your aunts and uncles would hurt you?”
He’d never considered the other gods to be his family, but technically . . . “Most of them are not very nice, and yes, some of them would hurt me.”
She frowned and then pointed at the empty water bottle on the ground. “May I have a drink?”
Athan felt like a heel. “Oh, gods. I’m so sorry. Yes. Would you like something to eat, too?”
The girl wiggled back and forth with a toothy grin. “You have mortal food?” She scooted to the edge of the duffle and hopped off. “Do you have anything sweet? I once had chocolate . . .” She closed her eyes as a slow smile spread across her young features. “Do you have chocolate?”
Athan opened the duffle and pulled the water bottles out, one at a time, lining them up behind the canvas bag, saving one for the girl. He then waved the girl over to peruse the rest of the contents.
She dropped the bottle of water and grabbed several foil-wrapped packages. Tearing the first one open, she tasted the crunchy granola bar and smiled. It must have met her standards because she crunched through one right after another.