by Jamie Wyman
“Stop,” I hissed. “Enough!”
“Stop what? Manners.”
“Stop, please!”
And just like that, whatever string was holding Marius let him go. Once more he spun on that ponderous thread. His wounds seeped, the blood black in the odd light. Wisps of his life trickled into the beam that held him, floating like dye in water. Similarly, Marius’s hair fanned out in lazy waves as the current caught his locks.
“No more outbursts now or I shall become cross,” Hades said.
Keeping hold of my temper was like reining in a comet. I blazed with fury. As Marius came back to himself from whatever torture had been delivered, his features softened. He found my gaze with his and gave the slightest shake of his head.
What would he do if he were in my position? Well, he wouldn’t be in my position because he never would have been dumb enough to care so much about someone as to storm the gates of Hades. Beyond that, though, what would Marius do? He knew all about the kind of propriety the Lord of the Dead wanted of me. The satyr knew all these nuances and tricks. He knew the steps to this dance. Marius would play along until the moment was right. Then he would strike.
I’d never been good at patience or politics. I sucked at minding the rules. Maybe, though, this situation needed a little less of me and a little more Marius.
“Forgive me,” I said, mimicking the tone the satyr reserved for ass-kissing with the gods. “I’m used to being the big fish in a little pond of mortals. I’ve forgotten my place, as you said.”
Hades’s face relaxed. “That’s better.”
“What would the Lord of the Dead wish of me? If it is mine to give, I will honor that bargain.”
“Well,” he said, those slender fingers dancing at his lips, “I must admit that you are an intriguing sort, mage. You’ve yoked yourself with the scum of my pantheon, and that of Asgard, yet you are regarded in high favor by some. To others you are quite the threat. I would know what it is you know.”
Hades took slow, silent steps across the room, keeping his eyes on the marble floor.
“You want information?” I asked, careful not to add, That’s it?
Black eyes flashed to mine for an instant before focusing once more on the floor. “Not quite. Not just.” He gazed at me from beneath his lashes. “And yet exactly that.”
I blinked away confusion. “I don’t understand.”
“I would know why the Fae want you killed. Why a reclusive god long thought dead would reveal himself to you. Shelter you. Guide you.” He stopped, his face a few scant inches from my own. He glared down at me from beneath his hooded eyes. “I would see what is so special about a half-trained mortal mage named Catherine Sharp.”
I blew out a breath. “Dude, if I had a nickel every time I asked myself the same question.”
Ignoring my comment, he regarded me with genuine curiosity. “What is it about you that has held the attention of the most capricious of gods and satyrs?”
As he reached out to me, I repressed the urge to jerk away. His touch was corpse-cold and clammy. His fingertips brushed back my hair and slid along my neck. My heartbeat quickened with fear, and the god closed his eyes.
“That there,” he breathed. “The life in you. The vitality so pure and strong. It races through you like a song.”
He stroked my throat where my pulse jumped beneath flesh, and his eyes rolled back with an obscene joy. Those spindly fingers worked in the air as if they could close around my life and take it away. He probably could, too. All it would take was his will. As his touch glided down over my collar bones, his hand fell away. The sensation of his covetous desire lingered on my skin like a slug’s slime trail.
Hades leaned in, his breath icy on my cheek. Bile rose in the back of my mouth as his dry lips brushed against my ear.
“I would know the song of you,” he whispered. “That is what I want.”
Once more, I felt Marius’s anguish in my bones. I risked a glance at him there in the center of Hades’s chamber. Though his hair still floated with the weak, lazy current, his head thrashed from side to side. His fists pounded at the barrier between us.
“Your consort is jealous, it would seem,” Hades said with relish. “And I’ve not even sampled so little as your lips.”
He inhaled deeply, taking in my scent, my fear.
I repeated my earlier question, this time with a sick, sad understanding of the answer. “What is it that you need me to offer that you can’t just take?”
He tapped his nose. “Clever beauty, you already know.”
And I did. What couldn’t a man of manners such as his just take? Consent to use my body as he wanted.
“Ew,” I said. Hey, it was either that or give in to the urge to dry heave.
“No,” he called loudly.
Before he could admonish me again for my horrible manners, I lashed out with the bracelet. As it had in my hotel room, the metal elongated into a whip. Hades rocked back, and I spun beneath the spidery grasp of his hands. With another flick of the whip, I circled the god’s throat. Pooling all my power into the effort, I yanked. He crashed down to the floor with enough force to crack the marble, and green light shot up from the tiny fissures. With some of my newfound superspeed, I knotted the cuff around Hades’s wrists.
Squatting over him—one foot grinding into his forearms—I took his throat into one hand and squeezed the desiccated flesh. More angry than repulsed, I got my face right into his and spat, “You still want to know my song? Do you?”
He laughed. Sweet fucking gods, I hate being laughed at. I dug in my heels and squeezed harder. His giggles died beneath my fingers. With a flop of his hands, he signaled for me to stop.
I loosened my hold on his neck.
“Oh my.” He gasped. “You live up to your legend. And so hotheaded. It’s no wonder you’ve accrued so many enemies in this short little life of yours.”
“So let’s make a deal.”
“What do you want, precious mortal? The satyr? Really?”
“Really,” I confirmed. “Marius and I walk out of here, back to the land of the living, and you don’t do a damn thing about it.”
“I can’t let that happen.”
Hades sputtered as I choked him again. “Are you sure?”
He nodded. His hands flapped beneath my foot, this time pointing to the edge of the circle that formed his chamber. For the first time, I noticed others standing there. A small man stroked a hellhound between the ears. There were others, too, that only revealed themselves as pairs of golden eyes behind a veil of shadow.
“What do they want?” I asked.
“The same as you, mage. They’ve all come for the satyr. And they aren’t the only ones. It would seem, my dear, that your consort—like you—is quite popular.”
I took in the stares boring into me. What was I going to do? Kill Hades—if that was even possible—then bully my way past these people? Fight off a hellhound? Marius had been taken down twice by such a beast, and he had centuries of experience on me. “Be clever,” Hades urged. “Think this through.”
And what of those that I couldn’t see? What if someone like Belial waited there in the murk?
“Do you really think you can cheat death again, Catherine?”
Chapter Thirty-One
“You Turn the Screws”
Golden eyes narrowed at me from the edges of the chamber. The hellhound bared its teeth, panting out a cloud of that sickly yellow venom. Suspended in the beam of green light, Marius begged me to stop with a horrified expression.
Frustrated, I let out a growl and stomped myself upright, releasing Hades in the process. The eyes retreated back into the gloaming. Sinuously, slowly as smoke, the god rose to his feet and offered me his still-bound hands. I yanked the cuff away and slid it onto my own wrist where it remained simply a bit of jewelry.
Hades brushed his robes free of dust, glaring at me the whole time. “Do not think for one moment, Miss Sharp, that I will forget this outburst.”
He turned away, cold and indifferent. As he massaged his wrists, he paced back to his throne. “It would seem,” he said to the room, “that I have many courting my favor. But who shall I choose? How will I be fair?”
“You want me to sweeten the pot?” I asked ruefully.
With a flourish of his robes, he whirled to face me. “You accept my terms, then? Yourself for the satyr?”
How far was I willing to go for Marius? Stay and offer myself to Hades? That sacrifice was loaded with disgusting promise, a loss of dignity worse than any I’d suffered before. Or leave the Underworld empty-handed, knowing that there was a way I could’ve saved Marius?
I looked at him through that viscous green fog and tried to find an easy answer, but none existed. My satyr shook his head again, pleading with me. Not for me, he’d said. My throat tightened around any response I might have made to the Lord of the Dead.
“I will not be ignored, Hades,” came a thunderous voice from the shadows. “I offer more than this piteous mortal could ever muster.”
More voices, each just as angry and boastful as the last.
Poised on his throne, Hades clearly pondered the situation, fingers fiddling at his lips. An insect with far too many legs danced about at the hem of his sleeve.
“There’s only one solution to this problem. Only one way I win, you see. And that is this…” Hades cleared his throat, and when he spoke again, his fragile voice rang out with all the booming authority of thunder. I imagined that all those in this realm, the Otherworld, and my home could hear him when he said, “There will be an auction for the life of the satyr.”
“An auction?” I asked. “What are you going to do, list him on eBay?”
With a pointed glance in my direction Hades continued, “Marius, son of Llyr, son of Pan. In one hour, I will entertain all offers. Those who wish to acquire his life must bring their bid with them.”
“But where?” a gruff voice barked. “The place. It must be neutral.”
“No,” protested another. “We take him to sacred ground. It is the only way my benefactor will be satisfied.”
The bearer of the golden eyes stepped forward. He was a satyr but unlike any I’d seen. His head was a goat’s, but the hands sticking out of his robes were that of a human. His horns caught the emerald light. “The scion must return to his rightful place.”
He must be one of the Sileni, I realized.
On and on the arguments waged. I glanced up at Marius. Once more, our eyes met. What was he thinking? What would he say to me if he could?
“I’ll win,” I swore under my breath.
Marius shook his head lightly and passed me a sad smile.
“It is done!” Hades called, the echo of his voice rattling my teeth. “An hour hence, all those with an interest in the satyr’s future will meet, offerings in hand. He—or she,” he added for my benefit, “with the most handsome bid will take home one satyr, slightly used.”
“Where?” I demanded.
Hades’s smile was full of malice. “The tomb of a dead god. What say you, Marius? Shall we visit the family mausoleum?”
My satyr pressed his eyes shut. Jaw quivering, he hung his head and went slack. Listless and grief-stricken, Marius bobbed in the green glow.
“The Temple of Pan,” Hades said sharply, calling my attention back to him. The Lord of the Dead stood and reached out a pale hand. The green flames burst back to life, and Marius disappeared into their twisting dance.
I chewed on my lip, scared. All right, I was terrified. I didn’t dare show it in this company. My heart pounded in my chest, and it took all my focus to keep my breathing steady. Across the room, the hellhound gave a doggy smile, its black tongue falling out of its mouth.
Hades folded his arms within his robes. “One hour. Bring your best, mage, if you wish to have your precious satyr again. And a word of advice, though: you will need more than a shiny trinket to compete with the other bids.”
I stiffened, fists tight at my sides.
“Now,” Hades rumbled. “Be gone from my sight.”
Before I could so much as flinch, a cyclone of icy fire swept me up. The sudden cold stole my breath. Struggling to find up or down, to breathe, to scream, I flailed and tumbled at the whim of the tempest. Soon, my head throbbed and ached from the lack of air. My chest felt as if it would collapse on itself. I heard nothing but the roar of the wind. Saw nothing but green flames. With a jerk, I shot upright and spun in tight, ever-faster circles. Just when I thought I might black out, my feet touched solid earth.
The wind dispersed and the flames flickered out, kicking up a gray cloud of dust that lingered in the wavering air. I fell to my knees, coughing, gasping for breath.
“Cat! Cat!” Mal called to me.
One hand on my back, one under my arm, he kept me from falling face-first into the carpet of my bungalow in Santorini.
Wait…what?
“Where is he? Where’s Marius?”
Still unable to talk, I shook my head and went back to retching. Mal’s fingers slackened with disappointment.
“He’s…he’s really gone, then?” The pain in the satyr’s voice was heartbreaking. “But…he can’t be. I feel him. He’s alive.”
“Not dead,” I confirmed between gasps.
Another hand pressed on my back, this one heavy and cool. I looked to see Hephaestus kneeling beside me, those silver eyes fixed on me with worry. “You saw him?”
The coughing subsided, and I was able to breathe, even and clear. The air tasted sweet. As I calmed down, I nodded again. When I spoke, it was in quiet, laconic bursts. “Yes. Hades’s chamber.”
Loki appeared with a glass of water. “What did Hades have to say on the subject?”
“Doesn’t like you.” I took a drink and waved away the guys. While I appreciated the chivalry, I had to stand up on my own. And I did. Then I shuffled myself right over to the couch and fell in a heap. Drawing a deep breath, I finally felt like I could talk. I told them the quick and dirty version of my trip through the Underworld.
“We’ve only got an hour,” I said. “Then Hades is holding an auction. Marius goes to the highest bidder.”
“Where?” Loki asked.
“The Temple of Pan.”
Loki hissed a curse under his breath. “What an asshole.”
I toasted him with my glass of water. “Preach.”
“Heph,” Loki barked, “got any money on you?”
Hephaestus folded his arms. “You know I cannot bid against another Olympian.”
“Not what I asked you.”
“He may be the original plutocrat, Loki, but my cousin will not settle for something as worthless as money.”
“Then what will he accept?”
My eyes widened. In a flash, I was on my feet and standing at Loki’s side. “Wait, you’ll bid on him?”
Loki shook his head. “You already know I have to stay out of it.”
I sagged. “Then…”
“You,” he cut me off. “You want him so bad, you will have to go in there and win him yourself. But nothing says I can’t loan you the capital to do so.”
Hephaestus shook his head. “I have already given her the best I can offer.”
I shook the cuff bracelet on my wrist. “Hades wasn’t too thrilled with jewelry, either.”
“Of course he wouldn’t be, the slimy shit,” Loki growled. He took me by the shoulders. “Look, I’m going to go pull a string or two, see what shakes out. You two—”
“Three!” Malcolm interrupted.
Loki rolled his eyes. “You three come up with something and get to the Temple.”
Heph raised a hand, begging for a pause. He closed his eyes, and his attention seemed to fall inward. When he opened his eyes again, his shoulders drooped and his brow furrowed. “I cannot go with you. Not as an ally.”
Loki responded with a raised, dubious eyebrow. “You just get word from on high?”
Hephaestus’s head bobbed ponderously. “Zeus a
sks for all the lords to attend.”
“Wait? Zeus?” I asked.
Heph confirmed this. “Solidarity or some other such bullshit.” To Loki, he said, “I will be there, and I will look after her from my place with the others. That is all I can promise.”
Loki nodded in disgruntled assent. “Safe travels.”
With a fist to his chest, Hephaestus offered the Asgardian a salute. Then he did his disappearing act, leaving little more than the scent of burning metal in his wake.
“Okay, so—” Loki stopped speaking. His face went blank, and his ears twitched. He was hearing something I could not, but my brand throbbed with cold. I waved a hand in front of the god’s face.
Nothing.
“Hello?”
A moment later, he blinked back to reality. “Shit. That was Odin.”
My eyes widened. The King of Aesir. The Allfather. Quite possibly the only hand that could ever hold Loki’s leash. “You guys have each other on telepathic speed dial?”
Loki grinned. “Something like that. Hades put out the invitation to the heads of other pantheons. Odin just informed me that I, too, must be present. I’m going to go talk to him. See what I can conjure up on that end.
“If I don’t get to talk to you before the auction,” he added, “here’s a tip: don’t bid early. It’s far too easy to be outspent. Wait until late in the game, when people are bidding desperately.”
“But I am desperate,” I whispered.
Loki’s hand was warm on my cheek, his eyes cool. “Pretend you’re not.”
“If this works, will he be safe? Or will they just keep coming?”
Loki chewed on my question. Before answering, he drew in a long breath and let it out slowly. “That depends.”
“On what?”
“On who wins. And how.”
Then Loki knocked me off-balance—figuratively speaking. He kissed me on the forehead. A very paternal gesture that carried with it loads of sentiment that I didn’t have the time to decipher.