After a minute went by with no sign of life from The Book of Shadows, Prue sighed and dropped her hands.
“It’s no good,” she complained. “Is it possible that there’s nothing in here about Hades? I thought The Book of Shadows was infallible.”
“Well, it was created by all the witches in our family-line,” Piper noted, pointing to one of the handwritten pages. “Maybe nobody’s had to deal with the underworld yet.”
“We’re the first,” Prue said grimly. “Forgive me if I don’t have that pioneering spirit.”
“I hear you,” Piper said. “I hate feeling so helpless. What are we going to do?”
A few hours after Phoebe and her sisters had happened upon Nikos, Phoebe found herself locked in a dank, stone-walled room. She was gazing in a mirror—gaping in the mirror, actually. She couldn’t quite believe what had just happened to her.
As soon as Nikos had banished her sisters from his lair, he’d dragged her, kicking and screaming, to another chamber of his dank, horrible cave. He’d tossed her into a room filled with dark, opulent furnishings—a four-poster bed draped with a black velvet spread, satin-covered chaises and chairs, an onyx wardrobe, a rug woven from gray, filmy stuff that resembled cobwebs, and a full-length wall mirror framed by gargoyles.
And she wasn’t the only one in the room. There were four young women lounging around the room, clearly waiting for her. Each wore a skin-tight silver bodysuit and had long black curls dangling to her waist. Their skin was milky pale, and their eyes were smudged with smoky kohl. Their feet were bare.
“What, is it Goth Night at the disco, or am I in Hades?” Phoebe snapped at Nikos. “Really, Nikos, I thought you had more taste than this. So cliché!”
“Shut up!” Nikos roared. “What? You think gods and goddesses don’t move with the times? I picked up this look in the Middle Ages, and I think it’s marvelous. I trust you’ll learn to like it, too. You’ll have to.”
Then he snapped his fingers at the young women. “Put her together. She’s a mess!”
With that, Nikos had stomped out of the chamber. A heavy boulder magically rolled over the doorway, sealing the room shut. Phoebe stumbled to her feet and screamed with rage. She threw herself against the boulder, beating at it until her palms were throbbing with pain.
The door was completely lodged—impossible to move. Phoebe considered giving it a kung fu kick, but decided against it. The last thing she needed on top of everything else was a broken foot. She slumped back to the floor and put her chin on her hands.
“Oooh!” Phoebe sputtered. “I don’t know how I ever thought that guy was cute!”
She was glowering at the door when suddenly she remembered she wasn’t alone in the room.
She turned around slowly, eyeing the totally creepy maidens. They were still sprawled on the furniture, eyeing her with bored, blank expressions. Their eyes were black and lifeless.
“Uh, hi there . . .” Phoebe said nervously.
The maidens didn’t speak. Instead they slid off their perches and began to move toward her. They walked slowly, their hips undulating back and forth. Actually, Phoebe noticed, their feet barely touched the stone floor. In fact, they appeared to be slithering through the air.
Phoebe suppressed a scream and turned instinctively to the door, only to be confronted once more by the boulder sealing her in. She whirled around and scanned the walls—not a window in sight. She was stuck. Her only choice was to try to make nice.
“Um, okay, we haven’t been introduced,” Phoebe said nervously. “I’m . . . Phoebe.”
The maidens formed a circle around her, inspecting her with their dark, reptilian eyes.
“So, um, how do you do?” Phoebe said, offering her hand. One of the maidens ducked her head to peer at Phoebe’s hand.
“Okay, clearly etiquette is not your bag,” Phoebe said. “That’s fine with me.”
The maiden sniffed at her knuckle. Then her tongue flicked out of her mouth and grazed Phoebe’s hand. Her forked tongue.
“AAAAAAAHHHHH!” Phoebe screamed. She broke through the circle of snaky maidens and dashed across the room.
“Hissssssssss.”
They were undulating toward her. Phoebe had nowhere to run! With another shriek, she felt their icy hands grip her body, ripping away her filthy white Grecian gown and tearing at her hair.
“Get off me!” Phoebe screamed. “Stay away!”
But she was no match for them.
An hour later Phoebe found herself in front of the mirror. The maidens had finished their work and slithered out of the room when an attendant moved the boulder for them.
Phoebe stared at her reflection.
“I’ve been through the makeover from hell,” she said dryly. “I’m trapped in a Cher video.”
Instead of hurting her or possessing her or anything as mundane as that, the maidens had done exactly what Nikos ordered. They’d replaced her ripped dress with a long, slim, wine-colored velvet gown, cut low in the front and the back, with long, bell-shaped sleeves, and a gold cord hanging from her waist.
Her eyes had been smudged with black shadow, and her lips masked with pale makeup. And her hair had somehow been dyed from blond to black and curled into rigid, glossy ringlets, much like Nikos’s own. In fact, all the snaky maidens had had the same inky curls, too.
“Egomaniac,” Phoebe spat, yanking at her new hair and cursing Nikos. “Uch!”
She was just about to flop onto the bed when she heard the boulder at the door scrape to the side. Phoebe dropped into fighting stance.
This time a man entered, but he had the same blank, black eyes and flicking forked tongue as the maidens. Nikos must have a whole crew of snaky servants, Phoebe thought. She curled her lip at the grotesque creature. He seemed to stare right through her as he beckoned to her with a slithery hand to come with him.
“No way,” Phoebe said, planting her feet on the floor.
The servant’s tongue flicked, and he slithered quickly across the floor to grab Phoebe beneath the arms.
“Whoa!” Phoebe yelped as he lifted her off her feet with as little effort as it would have taken her to scoop a puppy into her arms. The servant skimmed out of the room, taking her with him.
“Put me down,” Phoebe yelled, kicking at his cold, undulating legs. But she knew it was no use— this dude was going to take her wherever he wanted to. Phoebe felt panic rising in her throat. Of all the places to be without the Power of Three! How was she going to get out of this fix? Whatever fix it was, anyway. She still had no idea why Nikos was so intent on keeping her here. Was it just an evil whim? A power play? Father issues? What?
The servant carried her through a series of damp rock-lined hallways. Occasionally, they whizzed by chambers containing sumptuous furniture in which Phoebe spotted more languid maidens lounging around. They also passed an enormous dining room, with a table that could probably seat forty.
For all the luxury of this underground palace, there wasn’t an ounce of warmth here. The walls were damp and dark and imposing. The floors— cold, hard stone. There was little light and even less heat. Phoebe’s teeth were chattering by the time the servant finally turned into one of the chambers and deposited her unceremoniously in a large carved wood chair.
Phoebe looked around. The room was filled with red velvet couches and chaises. Tables were laden with fruit, meats, cheeses and big decanters of wine. And in the middle of it all was Nikos, wearing a robe and slippers and nuzzling the neck of a snake maiden. Other maidens were fawning over him, too, giggling and flicking their forked tongues flirtatiously. Nikos took a loud slurp from a goblet of wine and grinned at one of the snake girls. She giggled shrilly and shook her long curls.
“Oh, gross,” Phoebe muttered. Then she jumped to her feet.
“What’s going on here, Nikos?” she demanded.
Nikos took another long sip of wine and then looked Phoebe over lazily.
“Ah, Phoebe, much better,” he said. “That hairdo really su
its you. Blond—not your color, darling.”
“Whatever,” Phoebe sputtered. “I demand to know why you’ve brought me here. And where are the other models?”
“Now, Phoebe,” Nikos drawled, crossing his legs and popping a grape into his mouth. “I don’t see how we can have a civilized conversation when you’re in such a state. Sit down. Relax. Have some wine.”
The moment he said the words, one of his snaky maidens shoved a brimming goblet of red wine into Phoebe’s hand. She glared at Nikos. This was all a game to him! She threw the goblet to the floor, watching the thin, rose-tinted glass shatter. The wine oozed across the stone, looking scarily like blood.
“I want answers,” she said, returning her gaze to Nikos, “and I want them now.”
He glared at Phoebe and flicked a finger at one of the manservants guarding the door. Immediately, the servant grabbed a cloth and swept away the broken glass and spilled wine.
Nikos lurched to his feet, stumbling a bit. He’s drunk, Phoebe thought.
“You really ought to be happy, you know,” Nikos said. “It’s not every day a girl gets spirited away to become the bride of royalty.”
“The what!” Phoebe shrieked. “Did you just say . . . bride?”
Nikos sighed and rolled his eyes.
“I know,” he said. “The very word makes me cringe as well.” Then he shrugged his shoulders. “But there’s nothing that can be done.”
“Okay, wait a minute,” Phoebe sputtered. “What are you talking about?”
“Sit down, Phoebe,” Nikos said coldly.
Phoebe planted her hands on her hips and prepared to defy the order, but then she looked around. The door was guarded, and Nikos clearly wasn’t going to attack. She might as well try to warm up. She curled her lip at her stark, carved chair and walked over to one of the sumptuous velvet chairs. One of the snake maidens was curled within it, nibbling at a pear.
“I’ll take this seat, thank you,” Phoebe said archly. The maiden hissed at her. But when Nikos shot her an irritable glance, she slithered out of the chair. Phoebe sank into the soft cushions and rubbed her chilled arms. Then she glared at Nikos and waited.
“Phoebe,” Nikos said, a sarcastic grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, “I want you to marry me.”
“Uh-huh,” Phoebe said dryly. “I can tell. You’re treating me with so much respect and affection.”
“Oh, please,” Nikos said, rolling his blue eyes. “As if affection and marriage have anything to do with each other.”
“On earth, they do,” Phoebe retorted.
“Ha,” Nikos laughed dryly. “Well, in Hades, marriage is an obligation. Look at my parents.”
“Spare me your psychobabble,” Phoebe said. “All I want to know is why you want to marry me.”
“Okay, that was an exaggeration,” Nikos said, popping another grape into his mouth. “I have to marry you. It’s a dad thing.”
“Dad, meaning Hades?” Phoebe said, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.
“Yes.” Nikos sighed sullenly. “My father thinks I’m irresponsible.”
“Imagine that,” Phoebe muttered, eyeing the boozy feast.
“He’s ordered me to take a bride by my twenty-fifth birthday,” Nikos continued. “If I don’t, I’m banished.”
“Banished where?” Phoebe asked, arching her eyebrows.
“Earth!” he replied with a sneer. “Doomed to live a humdrum life with no power, no magic, walking among mortals who, between you and me, are not the most attractive sorts.”
“Right back at you,” Phoebe spat, glaring at the blank-eyed babes slithering about.
“My father’s spell has already been cast,” Nikos said, ignoring Phoebe’s slur. “If there’s not a ring on my finger the morning of my twenty-fifth birthday, I’ll instantly be sent . . . up there.”
He shuddered visibly as he referred to earth.
“And as I told your sisters, I can’t take just any bride,” he continued, running his hand over his slicked-back curls proudly. “I’m a prince of the underworld, after all. A divine being.”
“Uh-huh,” Phoebe replied.
“Pity there’s such a shortage of single goddesses these days,” Nikos lamented. “You were the best I could come up with. I knew you were the one the minute I heard your name—Phoebe. You know, the original Phoebe was a Titan, the goddess of the moon. Face it, darling. This was meant to be.”
“So all that talk at the coffeehouse . . .” Phoebe said, her steely anger faltering for a moment.
“You fell for that?” Nikos said. “Please, darling. You’re not my type. I mean, you’re not bad-looking . . . at least, not yet.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Phoebe demanded, jumping to her feet. A finger of fear was worming its way into her gut.
“Well, we are going to be married,” Nikos said blandly. “You’ll be, you know, the old ball and chain? I’m sure it won’t be too long before you let yourself go.”
He snickered and pointed at one of the tables, groaning with food. It held an entire turkey and a cornucopia of vegetables; an alluringly steamy tureen of creamy soup; cakes, pies, and a tray piled high with chocolates.
“You might as well get started,” Nikos sneered, getting to his feet and handing Phoebe a plate. “Eat till you’re huge. I don’t care. All I need is the wedding ceremony.”
“Never!” Phoebe screamed, throwing the plate to the stone floor. She wanted to claw the eyes out of the bowing, scraping servant who lurched forward to sweep the china shards away.
“You’re wrong, my dear,” Nikos said. With three strides of his long legs, he was standing before her. He grabbed her wrist, wrenching it painfully in his strong, thin fingers. Then he reached into the pocket of his robe.
Phoebe gasped and tensed every muscle, waiting for Nikos to pull out a blade, a bludgeon, or some other kind of weapon. His eyes glowed red with rage as he thrust his hand before Phoebe’s face. Clutched in his fingers was a ring.
An engagement ring. Phoebe stifled another gasp—this time of admiration. The center stone, emerald cut, was a canary diamond. It must have been six or seven carats, as garish as every stick of furniture in the grotesque castle. Still, even if it was way too showy, the glinting, gold stone was dazzling.
On either side of the diamond were large triangular rubies—as red as the spilled wine, as red as Nikos’s sinister eyes.
Nikos gripped Phoebe’s left hand and shoved the ring onto her fourth finger. It fit perfectly. This is too eerie, Phoebe screamed inside.
As soon as he’d wrenched the ring onto Phoebe’s hand, Nikos dropped it. Then he skulked back to his perch on the couch between two fawning maidens.
“So, I’ve given you a gift. Now you’ll have to think of something for me,” he said snidely. “After all, my birthday’s coming up—August fifteenth.”
Phoebe put a hand to her forehead. “That’s—”
“Right,” Nikos said. “Five days away. Which means our blessed nuptials, Phoebe darling, are in four days.”
CHAPTER
7
Piper was flopped on her favorite living room sofa, staring despondently into the sunroom. “How can they just sleep like that?” she muttered, feeling a twinge of envy. If only she could fall asleep and forget this living nightmare. Phoebe was trapped in Hades, and she and Prue couldn’t seem to find any solution.
Not that Prue wasn’t still trying. She was curled up in a chair nearby, the enormous Book of Shadows on her lap, scanning each page carefully. Every once in a while, she shook her head irritably and flipped the page.
“Maybe we should just photograph ourselves again and go back to Hades,” Piper suggested miserably. “We could try a stealth attack—just grab Phoebe and get out of there.”
“I don’t think that’ll work,” Prue said. “Remember that long trek through Hades to get to his cave? We’d be so exhausted by the time we got there, I doubt we’d be effective. Especially without our powers.”
“Besides, if it were possible to sneak out and work our way back to earth,” Prue pointed out, “Phoebe would be back with us by now. I just know she’s stuck in that palace.”
“Wondering why we haven’t swooped in to rescue her, I’m sure,” Piper said.
Prue was gazing back at a page in The Book of Shadows. She held up a finger and said, “Wait a minute. I think I may have found something.”
“What is it?” Piper exclaimed, leaping to join Prue on the couch.
“Here, an incantation for lost souls,” Prue said, pointing at a smudged page of text. “ ‘When a wandering spirit evades you, Say thee this spell, for it will aid you . . .’ ”
Piper shrugged at her sister. “Sounds good to me,” she said.
“We don’t have the Power of Three,” Prue warned. “So let’s say it three times, just to be sure.”
Prue and Piper clasped each other’s hands and read from the book.
“ ‘Spirit, O spirit, where are you roaming, follow our call and return to us running. Spirit, O spirit . . .’ ”
Three times they chanted the incantation. They clutched each other’s hands so hard, their knuckles went white. At the last word, Prue and Piper opened their eyes and gazed at each other hopefully.
Piper looked wildly around the room, but Phoebe was nowhere to be seen. Piper sighed and turned to Prue. But Prue was looking beyond her, pointing at the wall, gaping, trembling.
“What?” Piper shrieked, following Prue’s gaze. Prue was staring into a small, gilt-framed mirror, one of Grams’s favorite antiques. It hung on the wall next to the kitchen door.
“Oh my . . . Phoebe!” Piper cried, jumping to her feet. Prue was right behind her. Together they gazed into the mirror. Instead of their own reflections, they saw their sister, or at least a ghostly projection of her. She was pacing angrily back and forth in a small room with stone floors.
“It looks like she’s locked in some sort of bedroom,” Prue breathed. “See the four-poster bed? And there’s a velvet chaise.”
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