“Then I shall see you soon, brother. Farewell.”
I slipped my hand from his and turned toward the thin veil that divided Elysian from the labyrinth of corridors that wound their way through the Underworld.
“Do not forget my warning, Khara. Beware of Oz’s lies.”
“I am aware, Drew,” I replied, looking back over my shoulder at him. “Fear not.”
My reply brought a tugging smile to both of our mouths before his figure was swallowed by the crowd of souls that had surrounded us. The very souls I was determined to extricate him from. I needed some measure of reassurance that Hades would not fail in this endeavor—that Drew did indeed have a chance. To do that, I sought the one closest to him. Though of questionable morals, she was reputed to be an expert in dark magic, especially instances when such magic dealt with death—a quality that would make her the perfect ally in this endeavor. With that in mind, it was not long before I found myself standing in front of the fuel for much of the Underworld’s gossip.
Hades’ wife.
13
“So you wish to set him free?” Persephone drawled, looking at me keenly. There was a shimmer in her eyes; the fire that wrapped around the perimeter of the room danced in their darkness. “Just so that I am clear, are you asking me to help in some way regarding your endeavor, or did you come here solely to share your doomed plan with me? Because my help typically comes at a price. . . .”
“I have come because I wish to learn that Hades is indeed capable of succeeding. He believes he is not.”
“And he would be correct,” she replied, snapping her gaze to the door before turning it back to face me. “That bit of information I give freely because we are all family. If you care for this warrior brother of yours, I suggest you leave him where he resides. It is a far more enviable location than the potential alternative.”
“Why are you so certain that Hades will fail?” I pressed. Something about her resignation to that outcome did not sit well with me; a dissonance coursed through me at the thought.
“That,” she said curtly, “is information I am not certain I can yet trust you with, though I am sure that if you know your adoptive father at all, you would see that not all is as it should be.” She sauntered toward me, assessing me as she did. “Family of a sort we may be, Khara, but I do not know you. I only know what Hades has told me over the years. He speaks of you highly, of course, but one cannot be certain until one is able to judge for oneself. Do you not agree?”
“Something is awry with him?” I continued, ignoring her question.
“Persistent, aren’t we?” She let her head loll to the side as she stared; an expression of curiosity intruded upon what otherwise would have been a vacant expression. “You love him, don’t you?”
“Hades?” I clarified. She nodded. “Yes. As much as I could love anyone.”
Her dark eyes narrowed.
“You speak the truth. Good. See that that behavior continues, and we shall find ourselves allies. If not . . .”
“Will you tell me what I wish to know or not?”
“In time,” she purred, a sly smile creeping across her face. “I will in time. For now, however, I suggest you focus on another matter.”
“And that would be?”
“Your Dark One.”
“What is there to focus on? He brought me here. He will return me when I have acquired what I came here for.”
“Is that what you think?” she asked, a mocking lilt in her voice. “How very interesting.” She closed the remaining distance between us slowly and deliberately. “I shall offer yet another bit of information to you because I know it would break Hades’ heart if anything unsavory were to ever happen to you.” Taking my arm, she leaned in close to my ear, her cheek brushing mine. “The Dark help no one—work for no one. Not really. If you think that he has brought you here for your purposes and not his own, you are a fool.” Her lips fell gently on my cheek, kissing it lightly before she pulled away from me, a warm smile on her face. “I will consider your request for information, Khara. But, in the meantime, be careful. You may be familiar with the perils of the Underworld, but those pale in comparison to the wrath of the Dark. Know your enemy, sister. Know him well.”
I watched her elegantly stride out of the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts, my concerns, my frustrations. I had sought her counsel, desirous of answers, but all she left in her wake were more questions and more quandaries than I had been aware of. I was not ignorant of the reality that Oz’s intentions were not entirely noble. Only a fool would have believed otherwise, but her warnings were severe, making me wonder if, once again, I had underestimated both Oz and his motives.
Complicating things further was her confirmation of Hades’ inability to do what I wished of him. And she did so without hesitation. She required no time to consider my question; she instead fired back an answer that she knew to be true: He would fail. But since I did not have her trust, she would not tell me why. I found it inherently ironic that I needed to obtain her trust when I was not convinced that she had mine. The rumors I had long heard proved hard to dismiss.
All I was left with after my encounter with Persephone was a greater sense of uncertainty. I found it unacceptable. Too much hung in the balance for Hades to fail. So, in an effort to learn as much as I could about how exactly one could bring someone back from the dead, I turned to one of my father’s advisors and Persephone’s confidante. She was an expertly skilled necromancer in the world above. If anyone might know how to release Drew, it was she.
I would need to pay Casey’s mother a visit.
14
Hecate preferred to dwell away from the rest of the inhabitants of the Underworld, choosing to reside nearer to the fields of souls. I think she found peace there. The dead brought her a sense of comfort. The only times I saw her were when Hades demanded her presence. Otherwise, she was a veritable ghost.
When I reached her room, at the far end of the tunnel that led to the wall of veils, I questioned the prudence of my course of action. Coming to her meant exposing Hades’ weakness. Though Hecate was a loyal servant of both his and Persephone’s, I knew I could never be too safe with whom I shared information in the Underworld—no one could be. I was not certain I could trust her, but I was certain that Drew could not remain in the Elysian Fields. Confiding in Hecate was a calculated risk on my part. One that I was willing to take. Whether that was for Drew’s well-being or my own sanity, I could not say for sure.
Either way, I would do it.
Just as I reached up to knock on her door, it opened. Hecate stepped out; an amused look lit up her face as she stood before me.
“I knew you were here,” she offered in explanation. “There is something very different about you now.” She cocked her head as she looked me over, her dull gray eyes analyzing me. I was a puzzle she wished to solve. “I could never feel your presence before . . .”
“I have come to ask you something.”
“Of course you have,” she said, sweeping her arm toward her room to invite me in. “Nobody but Persephone or Hades ever comes to me without a reason.”
I accepted her unspoken offer and stepped into her tiny room. It was an oppressive space, the ceiling far too low to be comfortable. I could barely stand upright. A dying fire faintly lit the room, showing only a bed in the corner and a wall of books on the opposite wall with an adjacent shelf full of glass bottles. Some contained liquids of various shades—most of them blood red. Other shelves contained what appeared to be desiccated body parts.
“So,” she started, demanding my attention. I pulled my thoughts away from the vials to focus on her. Her long gray-white hair hung straight down her back like a cape, wrapping around her willowy frame. “How can I be of assistance to the daughter of the Underworld?” There was something about the way she called me by my title. A barely perceptible prickling sensation traveled over my body when she addressed me that way.
“I have been to Persephone regarding this
matter. She is convinced that what I wish to do cannot be done. You, however, are the necromancer, not her. I need your opinion.”
“On what matter precisely do you wish to consult me?”
“I would like to deliver my brother from the Elysian Fields. My father possesses the ability to do this, though he has never done so. Both he and Persephone have reservations about how successful his endeavor to do so would be. I want to know what you think, Mistress of the Dead.”
“In order to offer my opinion on his ability to do so effectively, I would need to know more about the magic necessary to do this,” she said thoughtfully. “That is presupposing that Hades can indeed send someone back, as he says—rebirth a soul.”
“You question the veracity of his claim?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at her intently. My body coiled in response to her words, my muscles tightening in preparation of a fight. It was an instinctive reaction. Hecate was flirting heavily with insubordination, something my father, should he hear of it, would not tolerate. In light of the odd occurrences that had transpired since my arrival, maintaining authority was even more paramount than ever.
“Of course not,” she replied hastily, what little color her pale face possessed disappearing in an instant. “I only suggested as such in the unlikely event that he had been misled about his ability. The gods were never above such trickery. If he has not done it before, then there is no way for him to be certain he can perform such an act, not beyond a shadow of doubt.”
“Which is why I am here. I need to know if he would be more successful in releasing Drew if he were to have the most powerful necromancer in history at his side. Surely your magic combined with his would be enough.”
Her brow furrowed while she contemplated my words; then her eyes darted to her wall of supplies, and she walked hurriedly toward it.
“I would need time to make preparations and talk to your father.”
“No,” I said tersely. “I will speak to Hades about your involvement. It will be received far better from me than you. I will send word once I have discussed the matter with him.”
“Fine. In the meantime, I will gather all that I could possibly need.” She looked over her shoulder at me, her face harsh, her expression cruel. “If it can be done, it will be so. If not, your father has been misled, and there will be consequences for that. You know all magic has a price, Khara. And that of death magic is infinitely greater.”
“I am aware of the risks, as is Drew.”
“Good,” she replied, her features drawing tighter. “Now, go see your father.”
Turning back to her shelf of gore, she dismissed me. As I took my leave, something occurred to me that warranted mentioning.
“You do know that your son has returned to the Underworld, do you not?” I asked, my mind wandering back to the night Casey and I interrogated the gargoyles in Detroit. Our discussion that had followed regarding the Underworld and, ultimately, his mother left me wondering. The raw anger and resentment he felt toward her was still fresh in my mind.
“I do.”
Silence.
“Will you see him?”
She paused in mid-motion as she reached to return a book to its position on the shelf.
“Whatever for?”
“Because he is your son,” I replied plainly, as though that were reason enough.
She cackled in response.
“He is a product of my body and nothing more.” The callous nature of her words made sense of so much and validated Casey’s assessment of her. She was not worthy of meeting her son. My cheeks burned with a sudden rage that I fought ardently to control.
“He came to my aid when I required it while above. He is a great warrior and a prized member of the Petronus Ceteri.” My threatening tone commanded her attention, forcing her to turn and face me. And he is also my brother, I thought to myself, having retained just enough composure not to share that information with her. “As far as I am concerned, he is my family. You may not value that which is yours, but I do. You would be wise to remember that, and wiser still to never disparage him again in my presence. Have I made myself clear?”
“Yes,” she uttered with disdain.
“What did you say?” I asked, taking a step toward her. When I did, that strange prickling sensation—that feeling of power—ran over my skin tenfold.
“Yes, princess,” she spat, her eyes a mix of surprise and rage.
“Good.”
I stared at her for a moment longer, then removed myself from her presence. Once I did, my body started to calm and settle into its normal state. While I made my way back to the populated section of the Underworld, I could not help but wonder what had come over me. I had never been prone to intimidation or violence, though surrounded by it for an eternity. But hearing Hecate renounce Casey sparked a fire inside me that burned fiercely. He was not something to be discarded and forgotten. I would beat that point into her if need be.
Right after she helped me free Drew.
15
I strode through the cavernous Underworld, trying to quiet my mind. I needed rest if I was going to be of any use to Drew. Facing my father, demanding that he do as I have asked, would likely be a battle. It would demand the best of my negotiation tactics. Diplomacy was always key when dealing with such sensitive subject matter, but with Hades it would prove especially essential. Telling him that I had acquired outside help in the event that he was unable to do as requested on his own was going to prove challenging to spin.
The passage of time is an odd thing below. Without the cardinal rhythms one experiences above—no cues of sun or moon—sleep comes when exhaustion prompts it. And that was precisely the point at which I found myself. Mentally and physically fatigued, I reached my room, wanting nothing more than to lie down and recharge. But as fate would have it, another hurdle was set before me in the form of a lithe nymph hovering by my door, worrying the ends of her long, platinum blonde hair between her fingertips.
“Khara!” she called out in a hushed voice.
“What is it, Aery?” I asked, unable to conceal my frustration with her presence.
She gestured to my room with her head, eyes darting around the hallway. She was nervous. Aery was never nervous.
With a nod, I opened the door and entered; the sprite followed me closely.
“Something happened, Khara,” she started, biting her lip while she hesitated to continue.
“To my brothers?” I asked, stepping closer to her.
“No. They’re fine. I left them in the Elysian Fields with the fallen PC. They’ll be good there for a while.”
“Then what is so important that you feel the need to skulk outside my room and speak with me privately?”
“I heard something . . .”
A quirk of my brow willed her to continue. Immediately. Instead, she began rotating her upper body left and right, increasing the frequency of the movement while her silence dragged on. It was then that I realized: It was not nervousness that afflicted her. She was afraid. Afraid of something that she was about to inform me of. In the century or more that I had known her, I had never seen her fearful.
“What did you hear?” I asked, my words crisp and clear.
“That’s the problem,” she explained, desperation in her voice. “I don’t remember. You know how feeble my mind can be sometimes. I remember hiding . . . voices . . . shadows. The rest is just gone. I’m sorry, Khara.”
“Why have you bothered to come to me with this? It serves no purpose.”
“That’s the thing I can’t escape,” she explained, shaking her hands before her as if she hoped the answers would come flying out of her fingertips. Her agitation was plain, and it was also infectious, fueling my own. “It’s this feeling, you know? Like I needed to come here. I needed to tell you.”
“And bring me what? Mystery? Conjecture? Lately I have enough of those things infesting my days, thank you. I am in no need of more.”
Suddenly her hands quieted, slowly dropping to her si
des. Her expression went slack. Dull, vacant eyes turned to me. Aery was there physically, but not mentally; her mind had gone adrift in the special place that it sometimes went when her memories grew dark. Too dark.
“Evil . . .” she said numbly. “It comes.”
“For whom?” I asked carefully, not wanting to dislodge her mind from its train of thought. “For whom does it come?”
The empty expression fell from her face, one of worry overtaking it.
“You,” she whispered. “It must be you.”
“Are you certain?”
She looked thoughtful for a moment.
“It has to be. Why else would I be here?”
“Did you remember anything else just now? Anything else of importance?”
“No. I’m sorry, Khara.”
“Very well,” I exhaled, my exhaustion deepening. “Go back to Kierson and Casey. Keep them entertained however you need to.”
“What about you?” I saw true concern in the set of her features.
“What about me?” I countered. “If evil comes for me, then it comes. Just be sure that you keep my brothers far from it. I know not what they can do here in the Underworld—how effective their traits will be. If something wicked comes for me, then best it find me alone. Without them. I will not jeopardize another of my brothers; is that understood?” She nodded frantically. “Go now, and say nothing of this to anyone. Not a word. Not even to my father.”
Her eyes narrowed tightly. The fierceness within them was surprising.
“I’ll keep them busy.”
“Good. And not a word.”
Without anything more, she turned to leave, giving me only the slightest glance over her shoulder when she pulled the door closed behind her. I immediately made my way to my bed, collapsing upon it in a heap. Though my mind was plagued by various unsettling matters, I could not stay awake long; the pleasant tug of slumber pulled at my consciousness. One by one, the crises that ran through my brain were plucked and thrown aside for a later time. As a fog of nothingness settled inside my head and lulled me to sleep, one last vision shot through my mind. It flashed like lightning through a black and stormy sky.
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