Unseen

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by Amber Lynn Natusch


  21

  Though Deimos had informed me that Hades was not the one in charge of sending him after me in the world above, I still wished to confront my father about it. Deimos seemed to have his secrets. Perhaps my father did as well. With that in mind, I set off to find him. It seemed as though all I had done upon my return was storm through the maze of halls in the Underworld in search of others. Others with answers that I lacked. The monotony of it was beginning to gnaw at my resolve.

  I was only yards away from Hades’ office door when several of Father’s warriors stepped out of the room, closed the door behind them, and headed in the opposite direction. The sight confirmed that my father was there.

  I stepped up to the door and paused for a moment, not wanting to interrupt him if others were still present. Leaning my ear against the aged wood, I listened for voices. And voices I found.

  “We need to proceed with caution,” a male said, his words muffled by the thickness of the door. The shiver his altered voice sent down my spine told me who he was. “This matter should not be taken lightly, Hades.”

  “Do you think I am—that I have not been proceeding with caution this whole time?” my father countered, his volume rising with every syllable. “He cannot have her. That is final.”

  “Agreed.”

  “We need to be prepared for his arrival.”

  “The others have their orders. They are assembling now.”

  “He could ruin things for us. You realize that, don’t you?”

  “Of course,” Deimos bit out. “But how do you intend to stop him?”

  Even through the thickness of the door I could hear Hades exhale, frustration overtaking him. Ruin things for us . . . My mind turned the phrase over and over again until Hades’ next question stopped my train of thought short.

  “Can he be stopped? Truly stopped?”

  “The Dark Ones can be put down, but it is no easy task.”

  I gasped. Never before in my life had the words of another shot through me to cause such a response. It was apparent that they were speaking of Oz. My father had already employed several tactics to attempt to dispatch him; all had proved unsuccessful. And now, just after Oz’s most recent departure from the Underworld, it seemed as though they were conspiring to be rid of him. For good. The finality of that potential future had adrenaline coursing wildly throughout my body, and not in a pleasant way.

  “But you can do it? You are certain?” my father asked, seeking confirmation from his second in command.

  “He can be eradicated.”

  “That is all I need to know.”

  I felt panic rise within me when I heard Hades’ unmistakable footfalls approach the door. Not knowing what else to do, I turned and fled with lightning speed, rounding a corner just in time to hear the echo of my father’s door slamming behind him. Pressed flat against the wall behind me, I tried to control my racing breath. My control over my countenance was lost in that moment, but something else was gained in its stead: clarity. However much of a nuisance Oz may prove to be—however cryptic and brutal and smug—losing him was not an option. My body rejected that possibility, fighting it with every wild beat of my pounding heart. He would not fall because of me.

  He already had once.

  “Khara?” a high-pitched voice startled me when it called from beside me. I remembered that my outward demeanor needed to be reined in, and quickly.

  “Aery. You surprised me.”

  “You are unwell,” she said, her tone somewhere between a question and a statement.

  “I was running. I am winded now.” When I managed to compose myself enough to focus my gaze upon her, I found her to be as she had been when she came to me before. Agitated. Fidgety. Afraid. “What is it, Aery? Have you remembered something else?” She shook her head in negation. “Then what is it?”

  She bit her lip between her teeth, tugging at it until it started to bleed.

  “I just . . . I just felt like I needed to find you. Like I felt before.”

  “Are my brothers safe?” I asked, panic rising in me again.

  “They’re fine. The girls took them to get something to eat. They were in the Elysian Fields for a seeming eternity. They didn’t want to leave, but Kierson’s hunger eventually won out.”

  “It always does,” I muttered to myself.

  “They have asked about you. Several times. I cannot keep them away much longer,” she admitted grimly.

  “Perhaps you will not have to,” I countered, thinking that her increasing unease with whatever evil was coming for me had nearly hit a fever pitch. I doubted I had much time left.

  “Khara,” she said beseechingly. “Can you go somewhere? Hide somewhere?”

  “No.”

  “Then let me take you back to Detroit. I’ll come back for the boys right after I drop you off there. I’ll be as fast as can be. I promise.”

  “No. I will stay.”

  “Dammit, Khara—”

  “Do as you promised, Aery. Keep Kierson and Casey far from whatever might hunt me.” She stared at me while indignation marred her expression. “Besides this one request, I have never asked anything of you before. Will you do it or not?”

  With lips pressed into a thin line, she nodded, though her frustration with my unwillingness to leave was plain.

  “I’ll go get them now.”

  “Excellent.”

  “And if they demand to see you? What then?”

  I looked at her, quirking my brow mischievously.

  “Do what it is you nymphs are notorious for. Twist the truth. Tell them I am to meet them wherever it is you take them. Tell them whatever they need to hear to concede. Surely you of all people can accomplish that.”

  Her anger gave way to an impish grin.

  “Of course I can.”

  “Then do it now, while there is still time.”

  “Okay, but, Khara? Be careful. Please.”

  I returned her smile.

  “Always.”

  Aery and I had not long parted when I heard chaos erupting from the Great Hall. The cries of those in it carried through the corridors toward me, bringing with them a sense of urgency that made my skin prickle and itch. Something was wrong—far more wrong than when I had arrived home. There was a sinister nature to the sounds that bombarded me while I stared down the hall. It reminded me of the attack on the Victorian.

  Something had invaded the Underworld.

  Though my mind wanted to discount that theory, my body did not give it the chance to. I charged down the hallway toward the ominous noises. Whatever the conversation I had overheard between Deimos and my father would lead to, it was no longer the most pressing crisis I faced.

  When I neared the Great Hall, I was met with a wall of escapees crowding the narrow corridor. Whatever had come scared even those that dwelled amongst the damned. A foreboding sign indeed.

  My body careened into the wave of bodies that were running for safety. I fought for every step, moving against the current of fear that hemmed me in. Once I was finally free, I sprinted the final yards toward the entranceway. The opening to havoc.

  What I saw there was most unexpected.

  From around the final corner, I peeked into the Great Hall to see a veritable army of Dark Ones, their black wings spanning the entire room. In all my time in the Underworld, I had never seen such a sight. In front of the mob stood two figures: my father and Deimos. Father’s soldiers were nowhere to be seen.

  Suddenly, the piercing cacophony that had erupted earlier stopped. A single dark angel stepped forward from his brethren, advancing slowly toward my father. And he was most familiar to me.

  He was the one who had left me in Detroit to die.

  “We are here for what is ours,” he said, his voice a deep bass that nearly shook the rocky walls of the Great Hall. “We want the anomaly.”

  “Then you want a war,” Hades replied, “for you cannot have her.” It was then that Father’s soldiers emerged from the various corridors that con
nected to the Great Hall, weapons drawn.

  “You forget yourself, Soul Keeper,” the Dark One sneered. “My asking is little more than a gesture of courtesy. We know what she can do and will take her by force if we must.” His eyes then fell on Deimos, a curious look marring the familiar angel’s expression. “And you and I are long overdue to have a chat.”

  Pressing as far forward against the wall as I dared, I strained to get closer to the entranceway—to get a clearer sense of what was happening. It was me they were discussing, of that I was certain. What I could not gather was why they had come for me at all.

  “We have nothing to discuss, Kaine,” Deimos replied, his tone a simple warning.

  “So be it,” the Dark One intoned, raising his arm as if to signal a charge.

  And that was precisely what his signal triggered.

  The wall of black wings advanced in an instant toward the various corridors with little to no regard for either Deimos or my father. They were merely obstacles in their way. One thing was plain: If caught, I would once again be abducted by the mysterious Dark One. It was a most displeasing fate.

  Knowing they had not yet discovered me, I thought about running, but I steadied myself. They wanted me, nothing else. Surrendering myself would save my father from harm, if only temporarily. But no sooner than I had made that decision, a strong arm snaked around my waist from behind, pulling me away from the Great Hall. Oz dragged me down the tunnel toward my room.

  “No fucking self-preservation whatsoever, new girl,” Oz snarled while he ran, holding me captive in his grip as he stole me away from the approaching doom. “We don’t have much time.”

  As we wound through the tunnels of the Underworld in an effort to evade the Dark Ones, I could hear the cries of my father. They sounded the same as the day I was ripped from his hold and taken to Detroit. I could also feel the terror inspired by Deimos’ presence. He, too, was close behind me, though to protect me or help them, I did not know for sure.

  “Hades cannot defeat them,” I said as quietly as I could to still be heard by Oz while he ran with me, tucked under his arm. “We need to go back.”

  “They aren’t going to go after him—not if he doesn’t force them to.”

  “You cannot know that for sure.”

  “Yes,” he bit out. “I can. They didn’t come here to start a war.”

  “They came for me,” I said plainly.

  “Yes. But I have a plan.”

  Making a sharp right turn into an unfamiliar bedroom, he slammed the door, locking it behind him. He paused for a brief moment, raking his hand through his hair roughly before he lunged at me.

  “Will you trust me?” he asked, holding my shoulder tightly in his hand. His fierce gaze zeroed in on me, demanding my attention.

  “Tell me—”

  “There’s no time, Khara,” he snapped, shaking me roughly. “Will you trust me?” he repeated. His eyes still bored through mine, as if to read my mind rather than await my response. I did not give him one. The dubious nature of my expression was answer enough. “Fine,” he sighed with a shrug, drawing his arm back quickly. “The hard way it is.”

  I narrowly caught a glimpse of his fist as it sped toward me, cracking hard against my left temple.

  Immediately, the world went blurry, then dark.

  I dreamt of the fall.

  I felt my body plummeting toward the Earth as though I was reliving the night my wings emerged, not just remembering it. This time, however, it was in slow motion. I was keenly aware of everything happening around me. I was especially aware of Oz looking down at me as I fell to what could have so easily been my death. Surely he had known that I would survive the fall when he pushed me over.

  My memory of that night, once replayed in my mind, afforded me access to all that I had not noticed when I was actually careening toward the ground. I clearly saw the faces of those that surrounded him while he gave them his back, ignoring them entirely. Watching what happened to me proved more important to him.

  I could not help but wonder why.

  Lines of distress etched into his brow, and his mouth moved when he called down to me. Just as I had that fateful night, I struggled to hear his words.

  Lost in the place the mind wanders to when the subconscious reigns, I asked my questions over and over again, my fall seemingly infinite as I sought an answer.

  “What are you saying?” I called up to him. “What are you trying to tell me?”

  Just as my wings tore through my flesh, erupting in a downy-gray flash around me, everything stopped. The wind no longer rushed around me. The sounds of the world disappeared. I hung motionless in the air, suspended just above the ground, looking up at Oz. He was the only thing moving.

  I watched while he leaned over the roof’s edge; the shadowy stillness that surrounded him swallowed him whole. The scene foreshadowed much, to be sure.

  In a moment of clarity, I strained to hear the words that had eluded me the night of the attack—the night that everything changed. “I’m sorry” carried down to me unobstructed, falling upon my ears like a whisper, though the phrase screamed through my mind.

  It meant both everything and nothing.

  Another mystery for me to solve.

  I awoke on my back, shrouded in darkness and stifled by heat. It was not unpleasant, but it was disorienting. Once I could think past the ringing in my head, I remembered the scene I had escaped. The Dark Ones were coming for me.

  Rolling onto my side, I attempted to free myself from the oppressive covering that weighed me down; a slight but growing sense of panic rose within me as I did. Black and soft and heavy, its silky texture glided through my hands temptingly as I slid them down to find the edge of the fabric. Eventually, I was able to burrow my way out from underneath it to find myself in a bedroom that was not my own; only a torch on the far wall lit the space.

  When I moved to push the last of the unfamiliar bedding off me, I sliced the palm of my hand on something impossibly sharp. It passed through my skin so cleanly that I never felt any pain. Only when I saw the blood running down my arm did I know I was wounded. As soon as my eyes acclimated to the scant light of the room, I realized what had caused the gash.

  I had not been covered in bedding at all.

  Instead, a broad, obsidian wing had been draped across me, the owner of which still lay beside me silently looking on while I further inspected his ethereal appendage. Whereas the underside was the softest down one could ever have imagined possible—seamlessly silken in the most unexpected way—the top side proved even more surprising, comprised of layers of petal-like glass blades that only appeared to be feathers. They looked exactly like the soft plumage underneath, but were anything but. They were a cleverly designed weapon.

  Not unlike their owner.

  I ran my fingertip delicately along the edge of one; its shiny, oil-like reflectivity mesmerized me when I did. Just as I reached the tip of it, Oz stirred slightly, causing me to prick my finger. I watched the dark red liquid well up to the point of almost dripping. Before it could spill over, Oz took my finger in his mouth and sucked it away, his eyes penetrating mine as he did.

  When he released my hand, he settled back into the bed, a look of satisfaction on his face.

  “I think I might have hit you harder than necessary,” he said with a smug smile. “I must have had some pent-up frustration to let out.”

  “Might you explain why you felt the need to punch me in the first place? If it was your attempt to get me to trust you in the future, your judgment may have been in error.”

  “Had you trusted me in the first place, we might not have had to travel down the path of most resistance, new girl. A fact that might serve you well to remember next time.”

  I eyed him tightly while a memory flashed through my mind: I’m sorry, he had shouted after me as I fell. I had trusted Oz then. Whether that had been to my betterment or detriment, I could not yet be sure. His apology only further confused the matter.

&nb
sp; “I can assure you, there will not be a next time,” I countered.

  His smile widened.

  “With you and me, there will always be a next time.” Heat flared in my cheeks, reminding me of the pain that remained where Oz had hit me. Whether it was a flush of anger or something else, I could not be certain.

  It was then that I became all too aware that I was naked. Oz, seeing me observe my state of undress, only smiled further.

  “It was part of the plan, new girl,” he explained, without a hint of contrition in his voice. “Like I said, you should have trusted me.”

  “Would you be so kind as to enlighten me about this plan you seem so utterly proud of?” I asked, gingerly sliding my legs out from under his razor-sharp wing. I saw no reason to hide my nudity from him, given that he had been the one to disrobe me in the first place. “I fail to see how striking me and stripping me naked spared me from abduction.”

  “Well, there was hardly time to explain, but I had a hunch,” he said, sitting up to look at me more closely. I did not falter under his heavy gaze. “And since your father wasn’t going to be able to stop them, I did what I had to do.”

  “Other than your own perverse obsession, why did you not want them to take me?”

  “Reasons.”

  “How did you know they were here?”

  “I can sense my own kind. They are why I did not yet leave.”

  “Then I am not Dark, because I sensed nothing until the pandemonium in the Great Hall broke out.”

  He looked at me strangely.

  “Was there ever any suspicion that you were?”

  His question was confirmation enough.

  “Are they gone?”

  “For now.”

  “So, since I was inconveniently unconscious during the raid, would you care to tell me what happened, or shall I go and find my father? Perhaps ask him?”

  “I would get dressed first if you’re going to go looking for Hades. I don’t think he would approve of your state of undress,” he drawled, his eyes drifting lower and lower. “Especially not when he finds out that you were with me.”

 

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