by Raye Wagner
The remnants of sleep fled. Athan pushed back the covers and scooted to the edge of the bed. “Where’s Hope?” He stood and reached for a pair of pants. “Is she okay?”
Stepping into the room, Hermes studied his son, grimacing at Athan’s question. The god scratched his cheek and asked, “Even now, you love her?”
Athan threw his hands up in the air. He’d been saying he loved Hope for months, or was it years? He shook his head. “Do you know what a hypocrite you’re being? You saw Mom on that Ferris wheel, and you stalked her for a week before you got the nerve to meet her at that party. She always said she knew you were the one as soon as she saw you. That wasn’t love.”
Hermes cleared his throat but said nothing.
“And then you basically stole her away from her date—”
Hermes barked, “The guy was a fool—”
“I’m not saying he wasn’t, but you spent less than a week getting to know each other before you told her who you were, and what . . . another week before you proposed?” Turning his back on his father, Athan went to his bed and perched on the edge. He felt like it was the middle of the night; he was tired, emotionally spent, and worried sick.
“It was longer than that,” Hermes said, sitting down by his son.
Athan raised his eyebrows. He’d heard the story from his mother often enough to know it wasn’t.
“My point, Dad . . .” He took a deep breath and let his memories wash over him. “I saw her across the hall in school. She was at her locker, looking over at the crowd I was with. We were laughing, and she was just staring. I remember because when our gazes met, it felt like she was looking right through me.”
“It didn’t hurt that she’s pretty,” Hermes said.
Athan acquiesced with a half smile and then countered, “You and I have seen plenty of pretty.”
Hermes chuckled, and some of the tension evaporated from his shoulders. “True.”
“Hope completely shot me down when I tried to meet her. I dropped flowers by her house, picked up school assignments when she was gone—”
“You like the chase. We all do.”
“Did Mom make you chase her?” Athan asked, shaking his head. They both knew she hadn’t. “It’s not always about the chase, Dad. Hope is strong. She’s loyal. She makes me want to do better, to be better.”
“Maybe it’s all the excitement—”
“Dad!” Athan sliced his hand through the air, cutting off his father’s protestations. “I’ve been telling you how I feel for a long time. I’ve chased her to the Underworld. I gave up my immortality for her. I’ve been attacked by Skia, pushed around by more than one demigod, and if I’d been able, I would’ve gone to Olympus with her. It’s not because I get some thrill out of the circumstances. Please hear me on this. I. Love. Her. Please, stop fighting me.”
Hermes pursed his lips while he studied his son. The god’s shoulders dropped, his posture sagging, as he focused on the gray fur rug covering the dark rock ground.
The silence itched and crawled through the air in a dance of awkwardness. Athan wanted to say something, anything, to dispel it, but he needed his father to see him not as a little boy acting impulsively but as a man, determined and stalwart in his declaration.
Hermes sighed and met Athan’s gaze. “I’ll go get her.”
“She’s here?” Athan asked, jumping up. But before he’d finished the question, Hermes was gone.
Athan’s heart filled with dread, a cold sinking sensation that made his stomach churn and his mind race. If his father was escorting her, it could only mean one thing.
“When you cry, is it because you’ve given up and you are mourning what could’ve been?” The musical lilt of the girl’s voice could only belong to a goddess.
Hope knelt on the uneven obsidian rock of the Underworld, the rough stone digging into her knees. With her face buried in her hands, she wept. After Hermes and Xan had left, she’d collapsed on the ground, sobbed, screamed, beat the stone, and cursed the gods. When the vehemence of her emotion was spent, she’d dropped her head into her hands and let the tears fall with all the despondency in her shattered heart.
The goddess’s interruption was grossly unwelcomed, and Hope kept her head bowed, hoping she would go away. The gods were selfish, uncaring, and manipulative. Everything and everyone Hope had ever cared for had been ripped from her by one of the greedy egocentric gods. Her curse was gone, but it had been revoked at a steep cost that Hope wished she could undo. And now here was another deity wanting attention. Was it really too much to ask for a moment alone to mourn?
“Are you still crying? Does that mean you’re quitting?”
Anger lit a fire deep in Hope’s belly. She wasn’t quitting. She just needed a minute.
“Pardon?” A warm hand settled on Hope’s shoulder. “Are you all right?”
While Hope’s instinct was to throw the hand off, she knew her hurt had nothing to do with this deity. And the collective wisdom of all her interactions with the gods told her she needed to be careful. Always careful.
Hope wiped her tears and lifted her head, only to gaze into wide eyes the color of English lavender. If this young woman was a goddess, Hope had no idea which one. She appeared to be the same age as Hope, and with pale skin, a waif-like stature, and wild hair the same shade as her eyes, she looked nothing like the other Olympians. But Hope also knew better than to trust her vision, as the gods were notorious for changing their appearances. Even so, this young woman had to have been bound in the Underworld because her pale skin hadn’t seen the sun in millennia.
“Hello, my name is Vrady,” the girl said, extending her hand.
Hope took the young woman’s hand to shake it, and as soon as their skin touched, cold shivers crawled up Hope’s arm. “I’m Hope.”
The slender girl tilted her head while she studied Hope. “Why were you crying?”
Hope bit her tongue to prevent the instinctive snap. The question was rude, and the pain was too raw to share. If she tried to talk about Xan, she would be a blubbering mess all over again. And the girl didn’t really care. She didn’t even know Hope. So why should Hope bare her soul?
Hope had built a wall around her heart after her mother had died. Every interaction with others was deliberately distant. She’d been all about pushing people away. At the time, she thought it was necessary for her safety. But more than that, she’d been awkward and rude because she’d known no other way to prevent the pain of losing someone. Now, she knew the joy of friendship and the warmth of love. Experience had taught her enough wisdom that she wouldn’t trade her memories of Athan or Xan or even Dahlia to get rid of the pain of their losses.
“I lost my friend,” Hope said, rushing to get the words out before emotion washed back over her. If that happened, Hope wouldn’t even be able to speak.
With wide eyes, the young goddess asked, “Can he be found?”
The literal interpretation was just ridiculous enough that Hope smiled while tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. The girl’s, or goddess’s, naivety was oddly endearing, and the earlier irritation evaporated. “No,” Hope said with a shake of her head. “He died.”
“Oh.” Vrady sat down on the pitch-black rock that seemed to smooth under her touch. “I’m sorry.” She patted the space next to her and said, “Sit down.”
There was nothing else Hope could do, so she sat. The dark rock smoothed out, and while it wasn’t comfortable, it no longer jabbed at her. She took a deep breath and then let it out slowly.
Vrady watched her, eyes alight with curiosity. “Did you love him?”
“Very much,” Hope said, her chest tightening with emotion. She wiped a stray tear that had escaped and thought she’d better clarify. “Not like I wanted to marry him. But . . .” She choked on the words and had to stop. Being married to Xan wouldn’t have been bad, far from it. But she wasn’t attracted to him the same way she was with Athan. Not that it mattered now. She cleared her throat. “Xan was my friend. Pro
bably my best friend.”
The goddess nodded. “What happened?”
Memories flooded Hope, and her anger flared with Ares and Hera’s betrayal. Through clenched teeth, Hope said, “The Olympians killed him.”
Vrady looped a curl around her finger and twisted it, but the gleam in her eyes betrayed her interest. “What are you going to do about it?”
Hope thought about the question. What could she do about it? She was just one girl. Not even the Sphinx anymore. But Xan didn’t believe that, and deep down, under the hurt and grief, Hope didn’t believe that either. She took a deep breath and put her hands to her hips, her fingertips brushing the scissors Xan had given her.
“I need to find the Fates, or someone who can tell me how to use these scissors.” She was in the Underworld, so it wouldn’t be impossible to do that. And Athan . . . He had her Book of the Fates, which meant . . . “If I can get back to Olympus, I can unbind the Underworld.”
Vrady pointed at the scissors. “Those are the Olympian shears?”
Hope looked at them. The opaque handles, marbled white and gray and threaded with silver, were exactly like the stone of Olympus. Olympian shears. Of course they were.
The power of purpose infused Hope, flooding her with strength she thought she’d lost. She could do this. She would do this. And if she could get the Fates out of the Underworld, surely they would make the Olympians pay. It would be justice served.
She rose from the ground, feeling much like a phoenix. With her singed clothes, she might even resemble one. The thought made her smile. “They are. Do you know where I can find the Fates?”
Vrady stood, her smile matching Hope’s. “You have a plan,” the goddess said, rubbing her hands together. The tickle of a breeze floated past, and the young ethereal deity leaned forward and whispered, “I’ll see you soon.”
And then she disappeared.
What the Kraken? Confusion swirled in Hope’s mind, but before she could even process what had happened, Hermes appeared.
His hazel eyes were wide, and something in his air mirrored her own anxiety. When he saw her, his shoulders relaxed. “All I wanted was to keep him safe,” he said with a frown. “He is all I have left of my Kate. Not that I would expect you to understand.”
She wasn’t angry with the god of travelers anymore. Even though he’d been cruel, she could understand how fear had the potential to twist one’s actions.
Hermes crossed the barren rock until he stood before Hope. “And I’d still like to see him unbound, but I know it is not your fault.”
She understood, and she forgave him. She had no idea how to unbind Athan, either, but she wanted it for him, too. “I want the same.”
He stared at her, his expression slack.
She had no idea what he was looking for or waiting for, and emotionally exhausted, she had to resist the urge to push him.
“Do you have a plan?” he asked.
It wasn’t much of a plan, not really. “I have an idea,” she countered. “But I need to find the Fates. And if they say it will work, I’m going to need my Book of the Fates from Athan.”
Hermes nodded, but she didn’t know if it was in acknowledgement or agreement.
“Do you love him?” he asked.
Her heartrate doubled and then tripled. Embarrassment heated her face, and she nodded. Was it supposed to be this awkward? She didn’t want to discuss how she felt about Athan with his dad. But no sooner had the thought passed through her mind, she shook her head. It was ridiculous. At this point, why shouldn’t he know? “If I tell you yes, are you going to kill me or drop me in the middle of nowhere?”
Hermes gave her a half smile and snorted. “Do you even know where you are now?”
She suppressed the laugh bubbling up in her chest. “Touché.”
“Even if I could harm you, I’m pretty sure he would never forgive me if I did.”
The thought of Athan’s love made her chest swell. “Yes, I love him,” she said. “Very much.”
Dragging his hand down his face, he made a choking sound. He wiped his cheeks and cleared his throat. “Will you still try to free him?”
“Of course.” She probably wanted it at least as much as Hermes did. “Maybe the Fates will be willing to help with that, too.” After all, they were the ones who had bound them together.
Hermes nodded but made no further move toward her. He continued to stand, leaning forward then back, his indecision manifested by his very movement.
“If I help you, there will be no going back.” His shoulders sagged with the weight of his words. “They will never forgive me.”
Hope had no sympathy for the other Olympians. They were all selfish, and she despised them. Xan had been right, and to do anything, she would need to go back, which meant she would need Hermes. “If you do nothing, will you ever forgive yourself?”
Hermes blanched at her words. “You are quite perceptive for one so young.”
She thought of Xan, Priska, Athan, Dahlia, and her mother. “I’ve had some very wise mentors in my life.”
“So it would seem.” He squared his shoulders. “I may have been hasty in my previous assessment, Hope.” The words tripped over one another, like the verbal path was wholly unfamiliar to him. “I’m sorry.”
She wondered if he’d ever said those words before, and then she felt a pang of shame at her own harsh judgment. “Thank you.”
He waved away her gratitude, but his eyes remained haunted. “Are you ready to go?”
She didn’t think he would understand if she said no, but in truth, she wasn’t ready. And, she didn’t think there was a way to ever be ready for what she was hoping to do. “Yes.”
His warm fingers wrapped around her wrist. She felt the world lurch, and her vision went black.
Seconds later, the darkness faded.
She was inside a small living room, but the black stone floor, walls, and ceiling told her she was still in the Underworld. An overstuffed white leather couch sat atop a brightly woven rug in reds, blues, and greens. The room was otherwise bare, and after having pictures of her loved ones in her last few places of residence, the space here seemed almost sterile.
“Would you like a drink?” Hermes asked.
With the question, Hope ran her dry tongue over the roof of her mouth. It felt like cotton and sandpaper, but . . . “Will it bind me here? Because with everything else—”
Hermes shook his head. “I know the rules. Probably better than anyone.” He walked down the hall and opened the last door, closing it behind him.
She could hear muffled voices, and she wondered if the resident of this house would mind her intrusion. Hope eyed the couch then looked down at her chiton. The hem was singed, and her feet looked like they had sunburn all the way up to where her dress landed. She lifted her skirt to see if the burn extended further up.
Her skin . . . The golden hue that had always made her look as though she’d spent a fair amount of time in the sun was gone. No, not gone, diminished. Not that she was pale like Vrady.
The discussion in the other room continued, and Hope stepped down the hall in search of the restroom. Seeing an open doorway with the light off, she guessed this was her best chance and scurried toward it. There was a sink and a toilet, so she flipped on the light and closed the door behind her. She turned to face the mirror and froze.
Her golden hair . . . She reached up and ran her hands through wavy strawberry-blond hair. As she tilted her head, she appreciated the depth of color. No longer a monochromatic gold, there were touches of honey ginger and sun-kissed wheat. Her skin was more cream, and were those freckles on her nose? The most startling difference though was her eyes. This was like looking at a different person, and she had to touch her face to make sure . . .
Gods.
Her eyes were not like Apollo’s sky blue, but they were bluish, a muted watered down version with a decidedly gray tone. She leaned forward and stared at her own reflection. Around the pupil and flecking throughout t
he iris were specks of green, much like Hera’s. Hope’s genetics, not the curse, were evident in her eyes.
She touched her fingers to her lips, pushing back the sob of the girl reflected in the mirror as she thought of Xan’s words. He liked her better like this.
A knock on the door made her jump, and she let out a startled cry.
“Hope?” Athan called to her from the other side.
Tears welled, and she flung open the door.
He looked the same. Exactly the same as the day she’d left to go to the temple of Ares. He was dressed in jeans and a mossy-green T-shirt. His bronze hair, normally impeccably styled, was wavy and longer than she’d ever seen it. She looked him over, avoiding his gaze, until she couldn’t take it anymore. His eyes were wide, pupils dilated, and she knew he didn’t recognize her.
She brushed the never-ceasing tears from her cheeks and sniffed back her emotion. She couldn’t think of a single thing to say.
Athan leaned toward her, bringing his hand up, and his fingers hovered over her face, first her cheeks, then her nose, her lips, and finally her chin. Without ever touching her, he let his hand drop to his side, and he straightened. His shoulders were tight, his neck bunched with tension.
Why had Hermes brought her here? Why do this to her? She’d asked to see the Fates, and he’d known how different she looked. He’d said he was sorry.
“Does it really matter?” Hope asked. Her heart ached to think Athan only liked her for her looks, and that weight was so, so heavy. She thought of Xan’s ghostly kiss goodbye. He’d never hesitated. If it were possible to miss him any more than she did . . .
Athan sighed, the tension leaving, and he pulled her to him. “Oh gods,” he whispered as he buried his face in her hair.
The heaviness in her chest dissipated with the pressure of his lips on her head. Her tears were back, and she wondered if she would ever stop crying, even as she sank into him.
“Gods, Hope. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t sure . . . I didn’t recognize you for a second. I’m so sorry.” After wiping her tears away, he kissed the salty streaks on her cheeks and her lips.