“Is that why you sought me out? To ‘play,’ as you so eloquently put it?”
“I came because your father wanted to speak with you, just as I said before.”
“And precisely when did you start taking orders from my father?”
“I didn’t,” he scoffed, disgust marring his features. “I wouldn’t say he sent me at all. I may have overheard a conversation he had been having with his beloved. I wanted to get to you before he did.”
“So you were spying?”
“Not spying, just listening attentively,” he corrected, tapping the lobe of his ear. “You can’t blame me for having keen senses, can you? It was all very innocent, I assure you. Like I said, I simply overheard their conversation.”
“Innocent?” I replied incredulously. “Just as you innocently happened upon Deimos and me?”
“No.” His tone was suddenly harsh, losing any hint of its earlier, darkly playful nature. “That was most certainly intentional.”
I leaned toward him, my face only inches away from his.
“And now whose voice betrays them? I think it is you who is concerned for my well-being, Oz, not the other way around.”
His jaw flexed tightly, creating harsh angles on his face. Angles I suddenly felt compelled to run my fingers along.
“He cannot have what has already been claimed.”
“He can,” I said flatly, pressing closer to him still. “Because, as he sees it, he laid claim first.”
A darkness shadowed Oz’s face, making him look as though he was born of the purest evil. Uncharacteristically, I flinched.
“We shall see about that, new girl,” he breathed harshly. “We shall see.”
As he seethed with anger, his fiery rage pulsating from within him, I collected myself, recovering from my lapse in control. That pure hatred that he exuded was not for me, nor was it born of our encounter with Deimos. That degree of anger took time to develop, making me question precisely when and where it emanated from.
“Tell me something, Oz,” I said, looking at him intently. “You recklessly bait Deimos—a fool act, indeed. I want to know why.”
“Because I can,” he replied, his lips suddenly closer to mine. The narrow margin between us begged to be closed.
“No,” I argued. “There is something more there. I can see it. For all your projected indifference, it is plain to me that this is personal. What happened between you two on the rooftop that night?”
“Why do you assume something happened at all?” he countered, pushing me away just enough to eye me haughtily.
“I know he was there.”
“Maybe he was. Maybe he wasn’t,” he replied with a Gallic shrug.
I grabbed his arm; my grip was tight, but not threatening. He slowly turned his gaze down to my hand that held him and then lazily returned it to meet my eyes. Though the gesture was casual, his eyes were sharp and cautioning.
“Either you are after something from him or he is after something from you,” I continued, ignoring his silent warning. “I want to know why.”
“That’s none of your concern, new girl.”
“A wise man would be wary when dealing with Deimos.”
He cocked his head condescendingly while he peeled my hand from his forearm with ease.
“And you, of all people, should know that I am anything but wise.”
“I know that you are evasive, argumentative, and arrogant, but I have never known you to be unwise. You are calculating. That takes a measure of intelligence that many lack, but you—you do not. So I will ask you again, what happened on the rooftop the night of the attack?”
“You grow bold after your change,” he purred, assessing me as he had in Detroit on more than one occasion. I had said something worth consideration in his mind. “Perhaps you should heed your own advice, though, and exercise wisdom and caution when dealing with me. Or have you forgotten? I’m under new management now. The rules of old no longer apply.”
“There were no rules where you were concerned,” I reminded him, remembering our time on the eagle-adorned rooftop of the Penobscot Building in Detroit. He had spoken of freedom that night, tempting me with it. Oz had never known rules. Not since he had fallen long ago.
A cocky smile spread wide on his face.
“Fair point, new girl.”
“So you refuse to tell me still?”
His eyes narrowed.
“There is nothing to tell.” He clipped his words through a clenched jaw, clearly irritated by my insistence. “I was overtaken by the Stealers. End of story.”
“Or so you say . . .”
“Would you care to offer your account of what occurred up there, since you seem so convinced it is not as I say it was?”
“I do not know for certain, as I had been shoved rather abruptly from said roof,” I replied curtly before hesitating for a moment. “I just have this feeling. I cannot explain it, but it will not abate. I feel that something else happened up there. Something that you are clearly unwilling to reveal. I find it curious that Deimos did not kill you, which means either he did not perceive you as a threat at the time or it somehow behooved him to let the Stealers overtake you. Either way, I did not see what happened. And yet, somehow, I know there is more to this than you claim. My curiosity persists.”
“Well, you know what they say about curiosity.” For a moment there was a familiar twinkle in his eye—one of mischief—but it faded as quickly as it had come, replaced by a seemingly endless darkness. “I have to say that I find it mildly amusing that you are now so dependent on these feelings of yours. This from the girl who formerly felt nothing? I cannot help but be skeptical of this new dependence,” he said, unable to hide the incredulity from his tone.
“I will not endeavor to explain it to you any further.”
He scoffed, pulling away from me to assess my expression intently.
“Taking a stand . . . how interesting. Fine. I concede. Deimos was there.”
“What did he say?”
“Maybe you should ask him that.”
“I am asking you.”
“You know I won’t tell you.”
“Yes.”
His brow furrowed.
“You’re asking me knowing that I won’t tell you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted you to prove me wrong.”
“Ah, yes. The eternal flaw of women, both human and not: hope.” He once again leaned toward me, his eyes blazing with rage. “That emotion is lost on me, new girl. How unfortunate that you seem so full of all these new feelings now but lack the discernment to know how and where to apply them,” he cautioned, his voice low and gravelly. “I am all you think I am and worse. Every assumption you’ve ever had about me is right. If you’re searching for even an ounce of redemption in me, your effort is in vain. There is nothing left to save, new girl.” He took my chin in his hand, his lips hovering just above mine, whispering his warning. “There never was.”
I steeled myself against his words.
“So you say.”
His expression darkened.
“So I know.”
With that, he turned abruptly, releasing my face only after squeezing it to punctuate his remark. He wanted to cement that fact into my consciousness—drill it into my mind. I could not help but wonder why. His insistence on highlighting his irredeemable qualities only piqued my interest. It all seemed contrived—an attempt to derail me. What puzzled me still was why.
Perhaps I just wanted to see his response as an act. An affectation. In reality, however, it remained very possible that his words were indeed true, that his soul was lost to the darkness. That it had finally found its rightful home.
The home I had single-handedly relegated it to. While I stood still, frozen by my thoughts, he pushed past me, continuing in the direction of the Great Hall. He left a trail of fury in his wake. His abrupt departure left me alone and slightly addled. His inexplicable near-obsession with me a
fter turning Dark had, at first, seemed explicitly sexual in nature. I could not deny that my body craved him, too. But what I had previously been so adept at denying was the possibility that his interest in me was anything but physical. Watching the change in him when we discussed Deimos, though, made me question that assumption, and it contradicted his claim that there was no longer anything of worth left in him—that there never had been. There was indeed something under that arrogant façade of his, something ignited by the presence of Deimos and the threat that he posed to me. Whatever changed in Oz when he had first donned his new wings may have still remained a mystery, but it would not remain so forever.
It was a mystery I swore I would solve.
7
While I stood there, lost in thought, Hades approached, calling my name as though surprised to find me loitering in the hall.
“I was coming to look for you,” he explained as he approached. “I have something I wish to discuss with you. Alone.”
“We are alone now,” I noted as I looked around at the empty corridor.
His expression was dubious.
“No, we aren’t, but we will be momentarily,” he replied, gently taking my arm to usher me into the nearest room. Throwing the door open carelessly, he revealed the private chamber of one of his servants, who happened to be sexually involved at the time.
“Out!” Hades barked, and the three participants scrambled from the bed, grabbing what clothing they could as they scampered out of the room.
Hades slammed the door behind them, turning a conspiratorial smile my way.
“I don’t think they were expecting any further visitors.” I nodded in reply. “Khara,” my father started, his voice suddenly laden with a heaviness that was uncharacteristic, “I have learned something recently. Something I do not want to share with you because I fear it will only fuel your desire to find answers to things you should not, but I know you. You are smart and strong and will not abandon this quest you have decided upon embarking on. So, with that in mind, I will tell you what I have just learned, though it is against my better judgment.”
“What is it?” I asked, the question escaping me a little too eagerly. The fact that it did served only to give Hades further pause; he frowned slightly before continuing.
“It’s about your mother. Celia.”
“Tell me. Please.”
“She is not dead.”
His words slammed against me, halting my breath for a moment.
“You are certain of this how?” I asked, wondering how he had come to learn this when only hours earlier he had attested to all the reasons he thought her to be deceased.
“I asked Persephone. She knows things that very few others do. After you and I spoke, I went to her and asked if she knew where your mother was—if she was alive. She looked at me strangely and then said that Celia was indeed alive. She replied in such a casual tone, as though it was common knowledge and she was surprised that I knew nothing of it.”
“Why would you not have found out more about my mother before now? All this time . . . I could have known so much more about her.”
“No,” he corrected tersely, “you could not have, because what I knew I could not share with you. And what Persephone knew, she was unable to share with me.”
I was taken aback by his reply, but, in truth, I had always known that my father was bound by the covenant he entered with Demeter. Even if he had known everything there was to know about Celia, he could not have told me. But why Persephone could not have shared what she knew with him made little sense, unless . . .
“The agreement prevented those bound by it from discussing anything related to it—anyone related to it—with anyone else.” My words were not a question, rather a realization.
“Precisely.”
“Does she know anything else? Anything that could be of use to me?” I asked hurriedly.
“I do not know, my princess. As soon as I found out Celia was indeed still alive, I came to find you.”
“I must go to her now,” I said, turning to leave. Hades caught my arm before I could take a step.
“Khara. Please. I would be remiss if I did not reiterate my concerns about your learning more about your mother. I fear you will only incur disappointment and pain as a result.”
“Why are you convinced of this outcome, Father?”
“Because she abandoned you as an infant, Khara. Abandoned both you and your twin to very different but somewhat cruel fates,” he explained, his expression softening. His dark eyes warmed as he reached out to cup my cheek affectionately in his hand. “Anyone who could not see your value, even as an infant, cannot be of sound mind, my princess. Coming face to face with the one who discarded you will only bring you heartache, and that is something I cannot bear to witness.”
“I seek answers from her, Father. Not her love.”
“I wish I believed that was true,” he said sadly, speaking as though he saw something hidden in my words and actions that I was blind to.
“She cannot hurt me,” I argued softly.
“She already has, my princess. She already has.”
His words lingered, hanging heavily between the two of us. From him, they evoked further sorrow. From me, they elicited more questions.
“She is a Dark One, is she not?” I asked bluntly.
He was silent.
“You are not telling me something, Father. Withholding the truth from me is pointless. If Persephone has told you something else, I suggest you tell me yourself, for I will get her to tell me eventually. And when I do, there will be no undoing this moment between you and me. I will not forget it.”
Instead of incurring his wrath with my blatant challenge and disrespect, I received his embrace. Resting his chin atop my head, he held me tightly, as though the truth he affirmed would tear me apart. As though he saw me as uncharacteristically fragile when it came to this particular subject.
“To my knowledge, yes. She is,” he started, loosening his grip on me slightly. “But she was not always. Your shady companion would be the one to ask about that. He, more than anyone, will be able to tell you about her. More than Persephone or I ever could.”
“Unfortunately for me, he is not that forthcoming in all matters, especially those where my mother is concerned.”
“Indeed,” he drawled; his tone lacked any hint of surprise. He pulled away from me, releasing me from his hold to address me more directly. “Tell me something, my princess. I know you said that Oz lived at your brothers’ house in Detroit, but how, precisely, did that come to pass? They seem an unlikely troupe.”
“I do not know the particulars. All I know is that they seemed to have a long-standing but precarious arrangement. Over time, he seemed to have become an unavoidable fixture in their lives. While I was there, he became one in mine as well.”
“How convenient for him,” Hades mumbled as his expression fell sour.
“And inconvenient for me. Oz has an undeniable knack for complicating matters.”
“Of that I am certain,” he replied, his eyes narrowing. “I’m curious about something else, Khara. Your wings—you have not told me much about how they came to be. I would be lying if I said I was not surprised to see them when you returned home.”
“My mother was an angel. Why should it be so unfathomable that I, too, would be one?”
“This is true,” he replied, hedging slightly.
“Then explain your surprise, Father, for I do not understand why you should possess it.”
He sighed heavily.
“Because I knew that Aniketos—or Sean, as he is now known—was not,” he admitted, his tone and shoulders sagging under the weight of his words. “I had assumed that you and he would have the same traits.”
“So you had assumed that I would be like my twin? Invincible and ruthless?”
“I did not know what to think, but I had no way of knowing for sure.”
“But my markings? Did they not give you pause?”
“Kh
ara,” he replied with irritation in his tone. “I hardly ran around staring at you while you disrobed. And those that cared for you in that way made no mention of your markings. They likely would have taken them to be scars. And you never said a word about them. Would you hold me accountable for something I could not have known?”
“No. I would not.”
“Surely you knew that you had them. What did you think them to be?”
To be honest, I had never thought much about them at all. I assumed they were scars. Demeter, early on in my time with her, was not opposed to taking out her anger on me. The first day that Persephone was taken to the Underworld, Demeter beat me so severely that I could not move for an entire day. She brutally whipped me with a thin branch that eventually shredded the robe I had been wearing. I was only a child then. It was after that time that I remembered seeing the markings. I never told Hades of either their emergence or the beating that I had believed led to them. There was no point. It was in the past and would do nothing to change the future.
Or so I had thought.
I looked at my father; his beseeching expression caused a tightening in my chest. I did not wish to tell him the answer to his question. It would only cause him pain. But he was shrewd and intelligent. He would see through my lie, if I were to respond with one.
“Scars,” I said curtly, hoping the concision of my response would forestall further questions into the matter.
“Did the Dark One find these scars?” he asked, a suppressed rage lingering just below the surface of his question. A question I would need to answer carefully so as not to unleash his fury.
“They were exposed to him and my brothers. Oz recognized them immediately. He then said that I was an impossibility—that an adult Unborn could not exist.”
“Did he help you reveal your wings?”
“In a fashion.”
“The evasive nature of your response does not inspire my confidence.”
“It is a rather long and convoluted story.”
“I will accept the abridged version, providing you do not omit anything pertinent in the name of brevity.”
“The short of it is that Oz was backed into a corner, so to speak, when he realized that there were Soul Stealers after me. We had no other options to ensure my purity, so, after they attacked us at my brothers’ home, Oz pulled me to relative safety and birthed my wings.”
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