It did not feel like home.
Suddenly, the front door opened, pulling me from my dark thoughts. I looked up to see Pierson leaning against the door casing. His normal air of superiority and arrogance had been replaced with one of surprised awe. And I would soon see why.
“Pierson,” I called to him, attempting to break whatever spell he was under.
“How did you do it?” he asked, his voice still distant and detached. “I cannot figure out how you did it.”
Our entourage still stood in the front yard, exchanging curious expressions. There had been no greeting. No chastising remarks regarding my selfish departure to the Underworld. Instead, he stood there, the vacant expression on his face looking foreign and off-putting. His behavior was utterly out of character. What had happened to him during our collective absence? I feared the answer to that question was far more ominous than any of us would have bargained for.
“Do what, brother?” I asked, stepping forward delicately as though any sudden movement would startle him—break him somehow.
My advance garnered his attention; his dilated eyes focused on me in a more lucid manner. The anxiety I had not realized I was experiencing abated slightly when he scrutinized me more acutely. With every step I took toward him, he seemed to come back to himself.
“Come see for yourself,” he said, his voice sharp and familiar.
But I did not need to go far. The subject of his incredulity stepped out onto the front step, unveiling himself to me and the others. It was then that I completely understood what Pierson was so unable to wrap his analytical mind around. Drew shouldn’t have been standing there. He had been lost. Damned.
“Drew,” I whispered, my voice small and meek. His eyes darted from Pierson back to me, utter confusion marring his features. Once again, my brother did not recognize me. “All is well, brother. You are home now.”
“I felt something brush against the wards,” Pierson started, “and I came outside to find him standing in the front yard, just as you stand here now. He did not know me or where he was or why he was here. He just stood there, vacant and lost.”
“He will be all right,” I explained, moving toward them, excitement overtaking me as I did. I could not suppress the growing elation that I felt. He was physically restored—an exact replica of what he had been before his untimely death. I may have let the worst of the damned escape, but, in doing so, I inadvertently accomplished the very thing I had sought to do since I had first realized that Drew had succumbed to some formidable power above. If the release of the damned was the price required to free him, then it was a price worth paying in my eyes. “He suffered the same loss of identity when he arrived in the Underworld. It will wear off gradually. It should only be a short time—maybe hours—before he will start to piece things together.”
Just before I got to the foot of the front steps, Pierson’s hardened and questioning gaze stopped me short. Something was brewing behind those light blue eyes. Pieces of a puzzle were being linked together, and the ultimate picture they created was not a favorable one, judging by his expression.
“What?” I asked bluntly, unable to fathom why Pierson was unexcited by his brother’s return. “What is vexing you?”
“Do you know how Drew has returned here?” he inquired, his tone one of interrogation.
“I released him. I released all who called the Oudeis home.”
“When?” He barked the question like it held answers far beyond my comprehension.
“I cannot be certain—an hour ago. Maybe two. As soon as we realized what I had done, we returned here.”
His expression soured instantly.
“Khara. Drew has been here for no less than a day.”
Time stopped.
The weight of his words and the implications that accompanied them tore through me. I had not been the one to return Drew. Hades had been.
He—his powers—had not failed.
“That cannot be—”
“And yet it is,” Pierson interrupted sharply. “His memory has not improved over that time. He is as he was when I found him. He remembers nothing of his former life. His title. His family. His history. It is all gone.”
My heart sank; the cautionary words of my father ran through my mind. There is always a price to pay with magic. Drew may have indeed been reborn, but reborn to what degree of his former self remained to be seen.
Unable to hide my sorrow at this revelation, I turned wet eyes to the shell of the noble brother I had known. I was met with a look of confused concern.
“I should know you. . . .” The look of concentration on his face only deepened the sadness I felt. It was as if he was willing himself to remember something that was so clearly lost to him—maybe lost forever this time—just to ease my pain.
I felt Kierson and Casey flank me on either side, the three of us looking up to our bygone leader. Whatever crisis we had returned home to address would wait. The crisis standing before us was far more pressing in our collective eyes.
“I’m Kierson,” Kierson offered, extending his hand toward Drew slowly and cautiously. Drew looked at it strangely for a moment before taking it.
“Drew, or so I am told.”
“Khara,” I said, taking Kierson’s lead and reintroducing myself to our reborn brother. “I am your sister. Your only sister.”
When it was Casey’s turn to speak, he did something wildly unexpected. Startling us all, he pulled a blade out from his sheath in a blur of motion and lunged at Drew. Before any of us could intercede, Drew had disarmed him and pinned Casey to the ground, his own blade pressed tightly against Casey’s throat.
“Glad to see you haven’t lost everything,” Casey said awkwardly, doing his best not to disturb the sharp edge digging into his neck. “I’m Casey.”
Drew blinked heavily before pushing away from his near-victim, stepping back while he dropped the weapon to the concrete step.
“How did you—” Drew started before Casey interrupted him.
“I had a hunch,” he replied as he slowly stood up. The act of doing so highlighted the fact that he was still not fully healed from our attack at the Acheron. Still, his weakness clearly did nothing to stave off the usual aggressive tactics he employed to make a point. “What would be the sense in returning a worthy warrior to the world above if he didn’t retain any of his former self?” His argument was hard to find fault in. “Drew may not know who the fuck we are or who he was, but he sure as hell knows how to fight. Whatever DNA for ass-kicking he had is still intact.” Casey turned his maniacal smile to our disoriented brother. “Maybe he’ll be even better now that his good-little-soldier tendencies have been erased.”
“Not all,” I said, the words escaping me softly. I could not shake the sense of familiarity I perceived in Drew when he tried to remember me. It was as if my sadness pained him more than it had me and he would have done anything within his power to abate it. That was the Drew I knew. The Drew he had proven to be time after time. Perhaps that part of him was somehow ingrained enough to have endured his rebirth; the thought brought a smile to my lips.
Then it quickly fell.
I looked over my shoulder to see my father walk up to the yard before he stopped beside Oz. Both stared up at the entrance to the Victorian. Hades looked shocked. Oz looked amused.
“I cannot believe it,” Father said under his breath.
“Oh, you’d better believe it, Soul Keeper. Shit has just gotten really, really real.” Hades turned to assess Oz’s profile. “Nice of you to finally show up, by the way. I was wondering when that was going to happen.”
“Because releasing the contents of the Oudeis was not real enough for you, Dark One?” Oz shrugged Gallicly, dismissing Hades’ question. “As for my whereabouts, I had things to handle before I left the Underworld, not that it is of concern to you.”
I watched the two of them silently, looking on from the shelter of the Victorian. The circumstances under which I had left the Underworld made Hades
’ arrival uncomfortable for me. It also brought something to light that I previously would not have believed. He had come above with such ease that I could not fathom why he had not come looking for me when I had been abducted—unless I was not a high enough priority to warrant it. The way he cast me out was so unexpected and harsh that it made me further question if his previous pretense of love had been nothing more than a ruse. My chest tightened so violently at the thought that I grabbed it, pushing down on it forcefully and drawing attention to myself when I did. Attention I had wanted to avoid.
“Khara,” Kierson said softly, putting his arm around my shoulder. “What’s going on?”
“I had a pain—it is nothing,” I explained, removing my hand from where it had rested over my heart. Then my eyes betrayed me, glancing over to Hades, who remained at Oz’s side. Catching my eye, Hades frowned.
“Hades,” I said, acknowledging him coolly.
“Khara.” The chill in his tone was unmistakable.
“Perhaps we should take this inside,” Pierson prompted, glancing at Hades before looking down the street through the run-down and abandoned neighborhood. He led the way with Drew falling in line behind him. The rest of us followed into the foyer and directly through to the living room. Being there evoked a sense of nostalgia in me.
Hades, however, seemed to lag behind, taking in the humble yet once-stately dwelling.
“This is where you stayed in your absence?” he asked incredulously.
“Yes. My room is in the basement.”
“The basement?”
“Total downgrade from the Underworld, I’m sure,” Oz sneered, taking his rightful perch on the staircase, just as he always had. Seeing him there was so familiar and yet also not, given the changes he had undergone.
Hades did not reply to Oz’s retort, finally entering the room, though his distaste for his surroundings and my winged companion was quite plain on his face.
Ignoring the devolution of the situation, Pierson continued with the business at hand—just as Drew would have done, had he been his former self.
“You spoke of the Oudeis, Khara . . . that you freed those it had contained and that this was why you have returned so abruptly. I know not of this. What are the ramifications of this act?”
While we all settled into various spots around the room, I attempted to explain.
“There are various realms of the Underworld,” I started, shooting a wary glance in Hades’ direction. “In short, I released the souls that were relegated to the most isolated of these realms into the world above. The worst that the Underworld has to boast.”
Pierson’s eyes widened before narrowing astutely.
“And now it is our job to round them up and return them.” His words were not a question.
“Precisely,” Hades concurred on my behalf.
“And you are the great ruler of the Underworld,” Pierson stated, turning his attention to Hades, who stood behind the sofa, his back to the foyer and also to the staircase where Oz sat.
“I am.”
“I’ve studied much about you over the centuries.”
“Have you?” Father replied, his tone curious but cautioning.
“Khara has said that you do not come above often . . . at least not in her time with you.”
“True enough.”
“But from what I know of you, you used to return with great regularity. You did so under a veil of magic that offered invisibility.” Hades was silent. “But if you truly are the King of the Dead, then you should not be visible to me. This poses a conundrum. Either you are not who you say you are, or your powers above are virtually nonexistent.” There was no threat in Pierson’s tone. No accusation in his words. As was so typical of him, he had simply made an observation based on the facts as he knew them. And he knew many.
A deafening silence hovered over us until Pierson saw fit to continue.
“I find it unlikely that you are not who you claim to be, so the only conclusion I can draw is that you are, for whatever reason, without the Unseen ability that you used to possess, which leaves me to question why it is that you have come here at all. If you no longer can wield magic above, what assistance can you offer in the capture of the souls that have been released?”
“Your brothers seem to all be afflicted with the same boldness,” Hades said, his deep voice booming above me while I remained seated on the couch before him with my back facing him.
“Pierson lacks the tact necessary to survive in the Underworld, but it is not a show of disrespect,” I said to Hades. “This world, as he sees it, is ruled by the binary of truth and untruth. He feels no need to paint it as anything else. Do not be offended by his approach.”
“All I am trying to ascertain is what good you will be to us when we endeavor to round up those that have been let loose,” Pierson volunteered.
“My power that you question is not a concern in this matter. I come to you visibly because I no longer require the magic I once did for survival. Going Unseen was a precautionary measure against the gods. They are no longer a threat to my safety, so I choose to forgo the once-necessary precaution,” Hades answered in a rare moment of disclosure. “As for how I can assist in rounding up those that are loose, I know virtually everything about those that resided in the Oudeis. If you wish to catch them, you will need me to brief you first.” Hades came around from behind the couch to stand before Pierson, who stood stoically before the wall of windows that lined the far side of the room.
“Know thy opponent,” I said plainly, drawing Hades’ attention.
“Yes,” he agreed tightly.
“Then you and I shall go to the library upstairs where we can sit and draft a plan of attack based on the knowledge you have regarding those that have returned to Earth,” Pierson suggested, making his way past Hades. He looked back to my father, then gestured to the stairs that Oz occupied. “If you would follow me.”
Hades was not accustomed to receiving directives, but he reluctantly fell in step behind my brother, moving around Oz’s ominous form without acknowledging him as he climbed the steps past him. As I watched them go upstairs, my eyes drifted back to Oz, who sat staring intently at me. He did not look away when I caught him doing so.
“The rest of you need to get ready,” Pierson added before he disappeared to the second floor. “We will have a war on our hands; that is for certain. The task of collecting those that have been reintroduced to the world will not likely be an easy one.”
“How are we supposed to find something we can only sort of see?” Kierson asked. It was a valid question and not one that had yet crossed my mind. Thoughts of Drew and his new, reborn state still plagued me, cluttering my consciousness with matters that could wait until the dead were dealt with.
Kierson’s question was met with silence from the floor above. Then Drew’s voice managed to break that silence, our collective attention snapping to where my reborn brother stood.
“Surely if you let them out, Khara, there is a way to return them through you,” he said. There was a hint of frustration in his voice, though his expression showed his continued confusion regarding the matter at hand.
“I’m sure there is,” Kierson replied in earnest. “But that requires us figuring out how, and fast. I’m not so sure that’s going to happen.”
“Your pessimism certainly isn’t going to help,” Drew retorted. That brought about a strong sense of déjà vu, which I welcomed. It reaffirmed my suspicion that he still possessed inherent traits that he would never be rid of. “Khara, do you remember anything about how you collected the souls of the Oudeis in the first place? What happened? How you felt?”
“For the greater part, yes. I do.”
“Do you think it’s possible that if we recreated that same situation, you could do it again?”
“Perhaps, but removing them from the Oudeis required necromancy, a skill that none of us here possess, and it was by Persephone’s hand that they were directed into me. There is no way for her t
o join us and aid in this endeavor. She is bound to the Underworld eternally now.”
“So you’re saying you can’t just do whatever it is you did before and hold them inside yourself until Aery can get you back into the Underworld?”
“It seems unlikely, Kierson,” I said with a furrowed brow. His mention of Aery brought my attention to her absence for the first time since our arrival. “Especially given that she is gone. That would make the latter part of your plan somewhat challenging.”
“She said she had to return below. That there was something she needed to check on, but she’s coming back,” he responded rather adamantly. “She wants to help.”
“I got Khara to the Underworld the first time,” Oz rumbled from the stairs. “I’ll get her there again. Don’t worry about shit that is already handled. Worry about the shit you have no clue how to deal with for now, like finding the souls on the lam.”
“Isn’t that where you come in?” Casey sneered from where he lounged on the couch. “Didn’t you argue not so long ago that you were the expert tracker of the dead, not me? That their souls screamed to you? Oh, wait. Maybe that was before you sold your traitorous soul for a pair of shiny new black wings.” Pushing himself off the couch, Casey meandered his way over to Oz, taunting him by flapping his hands mockingly along the way. “Shit, who knows. Maybe you still can track them. Depravity does tend to attract depravity, does it not? And you’re about as depraved as one can be, so I imagine that you could find these escapees without so much as breaking a sweat if that is indeed the case.”
“You say depraved. I say upgraded,” Oz rebutted, a look of dismissal on his face. “But if you’re hoping that I am somehow your ticket to finding these souls, try again. I can’t track them.”
“Can’t or won’t?” Kierson boldly asked, his tone accusatory.
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