He screamed in frustration, raising the fiery appendage meant for my father toward me, ready to try to kill me again. I, like my father, remained defiant, holding steadfast. It served only to further infuriate him.
A blinding flash released from the palm of his hand was aimed yet again at my chest. But this time when it struck me, I did not move. It did not burn. It did not hurt.
Instead, a cold calm overcame me. My mind cleared. My gaze sharpened. My glowing appendages rose slowly and aimed themselves at the reanimated god.
To know that one so mighty was about to truly fall seemed unfathomable to him, judging by his countenance. The disbelief in his eyes was all-consuming.
“Khara,” Hades said softly, struggling to come stand beside me. I did not need to turn and face him to know that he was concerned. He had not known me to be capable of wielding lightning. I, too, was ignorant of the ability. My powers were ever evolving.
“Worry not, Father,” I replied, my voice distant and detached. “Your kingdom will soon be restored.” I felt my neck crook to the side while the pressure in my arms started to build. It became warm and uncomfortable, itching to be released. Staving off the desire a little longer, I smiled wickedly at Zeus. “You offered my father the opportunity to say his final words. I will extend no such courtesy to you.”
Obeying the power’s call, I released it as lightning shot forth from my arms, striking Zeus in the chest. It continued to flow from me for longer than it had from him, and his body awkwardly danced in response to the torture. The pain he felt was excruciating indeed, given his shrill cries. I, however, felt nothing at all.
Neither pain nor emotion plagued me.
When the charge had fully emptied from me, I walked over to where Zeus lay, his smoking body motionless. His dull eyes staring up at the sky. At the home he would never see again. His soul was now forever bound to the Underworld, and this time there would be no escaping it.
“Heavy is the crown,” I whispered to his cooling remains. “There is a price to pay for attempting to destroy my family. Rest assured that others will soon learn this truth as well.”
“Khara,” Hades called from behind me. “How? How did you do this?”
“I know not, Father,” I replied, turning to face him.
“I don’t know either, new girl. But you really are a never-ending source of interest to me,” Oz drawled, seemingly materializing out of nowhere. Not far behind him were my brothers. “Nuking Zeus—I did not see that coming.”
“She is a vessel,” Pierson said quietly, approaching with a certain reverence I had not known him capable of. “Don’t you see? It all makes sense now. She harbors the powers of others and then releases them. That is her weapon, though she seems unable to control it entirely.”
“What are you saying?” Hades asked my analytical sibling.
“I am saying that whatever power is used against her she retains as her own until she is able to use it against her attacker. Perhaps against anyone. That is what needs to be ascertained.”
“She used it against Oz, albeit unknowingly, but still,” Kierson said, reminding me again that I was to blame for Oz’s status as a Dark One.
“I do not believe that was entirely the same thing, Kierson. It seems our sister has an arsenal of abilities, not all of which have likely surfaced yet.”
“So what happened to Oz, then?” Kierson asked.
“I think that when it comes to souls, there is a depth to her that I don’t fully understand,” he started, eyeing me tightly. “Her angelic traits complicate things. I think there is a part of her meant to help those burdened with darkness, though that is purely speculation. It is just the sense I get from her.”
“And I thought I was an army,” Casey scoffed, though the remark lacked the heat that his cynicism normally held.
“Fucking with her would appear unwise,” Oz interjected, demanding my attention with his formidable presence. “I’ll have to remember that next time.” His characteristic smirk twisted his expression, reminding me of the Oz I had first encountered. The one I loathed, then learned to appreciate in my own way. In that moment, he was a less complicated being.
Then he unfurled his obsidian wings, and the memory faded.
Shrouding our group in darkness, he stepped toward me, our bodies mere inches apart.
“If you’re done showing us all your tricks for now, it’s time to go.” He took my arm in his hand and closed the distance between us in a second. “See you in hell,” he taunted the others as he pushed off, flying us up into the night sky.
“I can fly on my own.”
“I’m well aware of that,” he replied; yet his hold on my arm was unrelenting.
“Where are you taking me?” I asked. I wanted to struggle against his powerful grip, but my body betrayed me. It was all too happy to be where it was.
“We are going back to the Underworld. Weren’t you listening?”
“To whom?”
“To Zeus.” He replied in a tone that made his answer seem too obvious to have to state. When I said nothing, he leaned his lips against my ear and breathed heavily against it. “He wanted to rule the Underworld. A lofty aspiration for one unable to escape it, don’t you think?”
“He had always reigned on Mount Olympus. Wanting to regain any measure of power is not a surprising revelation about one such as he.”
“No, it isn’t, but it does beg certain questions.”
“Such as?” I asked, trying desperately to focus on the harsh wind assaulting my face rather than the warm being at my back.
“Such as how he escaped in the first place. And why he presumed he would take over in Hades’ stead.”
“But I enabled his escape,” I whispered. My admission was barely a sound.
“Indeed,” he rumbled softly. “But was that your intended outcome?”
“No. I was trying to protect my father.”
“And who was so keen to get you to expel the worst of the Underworld in the name of protecting Hades?”
His question needed no answer. I then clearly understood what he was not so clearly saying. Persephone had been the one to come to me, appealing to the love I had for Hades. Persephone had been the one to misinform me about the gods. She had used me. She had endangered those I held dearest.
She would pay for her affront.
She would pay dearly indeed.
33
We were intercepted on the far bank of the Acheron by a very distressed nymph, who before that moment had remained unaccounted for. Given her disheveled nature—white-blonde hair blown ragged and clothing in tatters—it seemed apparent that her return to the world above had been hampered by someone or something. Perhaps plural of both.
“Khara!” she shouted from the far side of the river, though her erratic breathing made it hard for her to do so. She was cut and bleeding, quite badly in some areas, and she collapsed forward, her hands holding her knees tightly to keep herself standing.
“What’s going on?” Oz rumbled, stalking to the water’s edge. He scooped me up and brought me across, putting me down quickly to assess the wounded sprite.
“Khara,” she repeated between gasps for breath. “I tried . . . I tried to come back, but—”
“Rest for a moment,” I ordered, cutting her off. I needed her explanation to be concise and accurate. In her state, neither of those qualities was guaranteed. “Catch your breath, then tell us what is going on.”
“I don’t like this,” Oz said, tensing by my side. His eyes scanned the wide-open area acutely, searching for an enemy I could neither see nor feel. “Where is Persephone?” When Aery did not answer him immediately, he grabbed her face, forcing it to turn upward to meet his gaze. “If I find out that you had anything to do with this, it will mean your end, little one.”
“She isn’t here,” Aery replied coolly. Much to her credit and the strength I had known her to possess, she showed no fear in the face of Oz’s wrath.
“Where. Is. She?”
“Impossible,” Oz spat, tightening his grip on the nymph while he yanked her to her feet, still cupping her chin harshly in his hand. “She must be here, which means you are trying to help her.”
“Oz!” I snapped, grabbing his forearm. He did not budge under my grasp. “Release her, now. Let her at least offer her side of the story before you crush her. We will learn nothing if you cannot keep your aggression at bay.”
His head swiveled toward me slowly. Nothing else moved. When his eyes met mine, they were glowing brightly, and in them I knew there was little of the Oz I had once known. The darkness was taking over.
We spent a moment in silence, staring at one another. As with Deimos, I could not wither away from his growing hostility. His need to inflict pain. All I could do was remain defiant without further angering him, for Aery’s sake as well as my own.
“I don’t understand how she managed to leave here,” Aery began, interrupting my nonverbal war with the Dark One. “But she did. She shouldn’t be able to. . . . I get that. But when everything went crazy, and all the veils fell, I looked everywhere for her—to make sure she was okay. I found nothing. No sign of her. No trace.”
All the veils . . .
“But she is bound to the Underworld,” Oz corrected, feigning patience when it was clear that he had none left. “And because of that binding, she cannot leave.”
“I know. When Khara left, it was as though things were back to how they’d been in the past, when Persephone was unable to go, but . . . then she did.”
“Perhaps someone helped her,” I offered. “Where is Father’s army?”
“Slain.”
Her reply gave me pause.
“All of them?”
“All that I saw when I escaped the Great Hall.”
“My brothers,” I asked urgently. “What of them? Those in the Elysian Fields?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered, her eyes full of unspoken apology.
“Where is Deimos?” Oz asked, directing her attention back to him, his grip on her face lessening slightly. Just enough for her features to twist in confusion at his question.
“He is above. With Hades. He accompanied him when he left.”
“He was above,” Oz corrected. “But he dematerialized when he was struck directly by Zeus’ lightning. And you and I both know where he goes when magic overcomes his earthly form, don’t we, Aery?”
She paled.
“He comes here,” she whispered. Her expression turned to a mixture of disbelief and understanding. My own mirrored hers until my mind caught up to Oz’s accusation.
“You think he aided her somehow?” I asked, my tone laced with incredulity. “But if that were possible, why would she have not done so long ago? Why now? What has changed?”
“That, new girl,” Oz muttered under his breath, “is what we’re going to find out.” He turned his once-again dark eyes to Aery, releasing her fully to stand before him. “You are going to pull yourself together and fly to Detroit immediately. You will track down the brothers there, and if they have left, you will not return until you have found either them or Hades. Am I clear?” She nodded her head. “Tell them what is happening here, but do not tell them that Persephone is missing. Leave that detail out. For now.”
“Why?” she asked, rubbing her chin lightly with the back of her hand.
“Because we do not know who we can trust. The fewer players involved in this, the better,” he said, narrowing his eyes at her. “And if something that has been said here in confidence amongst us is somehow leaked . . .”
“Then I am dead,” she said matter-of-factly.
He nodded, his wicked smile stretched widely across his face.
“Others must surely know she is gone,” I argued, knowing that her absence amid the chaos could not have gone unseen by all.
“True. But can any of those beings leave the Underworld of their own accord?” No. They could not. My silence served as my reply. “So you see, the matter will be contained for now.”
“Are you suggesting we leave here with the Underworld in total upheaval?”
“Yes. That is precisely what I am suggesting.”
“Khara,” Aery implored. “Everyone here—those that served your father for centuries—they’ll all be killed eventually. The swarm of souls is strengthening. I’ve never seen anything like it. They move as one unit, seeking and destroying. Those that cannot escape are bound to die an excruciating death.”
“Then that is their fate,” Oz said dismissively, turning on his heel to leave.
But her words tugged fiercely at something in my mind. Something I remembered from just before I passed out in front of the opened veil of the Oudeis. The souls then had appeared sentient, working together to enter me. But they had not seemed that way on the shore of the Acheron when I accidentally released them. There, they had been a swirling, chaotic mass. It was an observation that I could not shake.
It seemed an unlikely coincidence.
“Where is Hecate?” I asked, barely recognizing the menace in my tone.
“I . . . I don’t know,” Aery replied. “I haven’t seen her. It’s been a melee down here. It hasn’t been conducive to seeking people out.”
Oz, having heard my question while he retreated, stopped short. The wheels in his mind turned rapidly. I could see it in his expression.
“Perhaps we will find her not far from Persephone. Those two are thick as thieves.”
Before I could respond, a shrill echo grew in the distance. The dead were approaching.
“Time to go, new girl,” Oz called, storming toward me. He snatched me up in his grasp just as I saw the wall of ghostly souls approaching in the distance.
“I can stop them,” I whispered aloud, mesmerized by their swirling mass.
“Next time,” Oz bit out, pulling me against him tightly while he took to the sky to cross the Acheron. The wails of the dead crescendoed the second we reached the other side. Their bodies crashed upon the opposite shoreline only to hit an invisible barrier, bouncing like flies off a window. They could not leave. Comforting though it was, I could not help but feel as though I was abandoning my father’s post. The Underworld needed a leader—someone to uphold the order and maintain the magic it required. That void needed to be filled.
I am the princess of the damned, I thought. I can rule in Hades’ stead. Dark, unfamiliar thoughts ran rampant through my mind while Oz pulled me away from the cries of the condemned. They were calling to me—calling to the darkness within me—wordlessly begging me to return.
And return I would, once I found the one responsible for all this chaos.
The one responsible for my father’s near-death.
Persephone could run, but she could not hide.
EPILOGUE
My quest to find Persephone proved more challenging than I could ever have imagined. In my frustration, I returned to the Victorian, under Oz’s supervision, of course, to rendezvous with my father. He and the brothers had been hunting the escaped souls with moderate success. The weapons Deimos had provided were indeed working in their hands, but the brothers were greatly outnumbered. Undoing the deed I had been manipulated into doing would prove no easy task.
Once in Detroit, I found myself drawn to the rooftop where Oz had called forth my wings. The rooftop he had promptly thrown me off. The apology I remembered from my dream rang through my mind when I looked over the ledge. I’m sorry . . . Sorry for what, I was still unsure.
My father came to find me up there, staring off into the distant sunset. He said nothing, just stood beside me, watching the orange-red glow as it nestled down deeper behind the horizon. It looked like the Underworld.
His former kingdom.
After Oz and I had told him that his home had been overrun by those condemned to it, Hades had not returned. Instead, he remained behind to help slay those that terrorized the world above. There was a distinct sadness in his eyes
when they reflected the dying sunlight in the distance. His decision to abandon his home did not sit well with him.
Nor did it sit well with me.
Something was not right about his decision. The boys, though outnumbered, were more than capable of eradicating those that remained above. They had proven as much. They did not require Hades’ assistance in the matter. And yet he stayed, though it was so clear that he was needed below. The question of why he did so nagged at me until I could no longer suppress it, the word flying out of my mouth into the darkness that settled around us on the rooftop. “Why?” That one word, so small—so innocuous—managed to tear through layers of mystery and deceit and betrayal in a single utterance.
Hades looked down at me with a sorrowful expression. He maintained his silence. But there was an apology in it, much like the one Oz had offered when he watched me fall to my would-be death. There was a story there to be told. Seeing his reluctance to tell it written on his countenance, I ran through all the conceivable reasons that seemed probable, reasons that could satisfy that one tiny inquiry.
After some time, I settled on only one.
Staring at him, disbelief emanating from me, I disclosed my conclusion. His expression fell further. He did not reply, but his emotional devolution proved answer enough. I was right. And the truth was impossible to believe.
Hades, King of the Dead, Keeper of Souls, could not return to the Underworld.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’m going to keep these short and sweet as always. I have an amazing group of people that I have amassed over time—my team, if you will—and they do everything they can to aid me in my literary journey. My beta readers, Kristy, Virginia, and Cristina, are incredibly helpful (and painfully honest). They make sure that the story is buttoned up tightly. My editor, Jennifer Ryan, makes sure that my ideas flow seamlessly and follow some semblance of proper grammar. My husband, Bryan, juggles all he can to make sure I have some time to write these crazy stories in my head, of which there are many. And last but not least, my alpha reader/amazing friend/voice of reason, Shannon, who helps keep me on track, sorts out the ideas in my head, and reads the jumbled nonsense I email her to help me develop my stories to some level of perfection. I literally could not do this without all of you. Thanks.
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