My heart clenched. “Why?”
“Only the dead and the living can set foot in Hades’ domain. I’m neither.”
I took a shaky breath. I’d assumed he’d be with me for everything. And after what had just taken place… I kind of assumed it was a big deal.
“I have to go,” I told him sadly.
“After you, then.”
We wound down the path to the docks, where a small rowboat awaited us. A huge figure clad in a long black jacket and hood lifted a hand in greeting.
“Do you seek passage?” a voice like stone asked.
I glanced at Scott, who nodded for me to respond. “I do.”
“Come aboard.”
I clambered over the hull and sat upon the bench, Scott right behind me.
“What shall you give Charon to pass?” the hooded figure intoned.
The rowboat rocked beneath us, yet we remained moored to the rocky shore. The lapping of waves sounded eerily like moans. I clutched the edge of the boat, my heart beating along with the motion of the river. I hated that I couldn’t see the boatman’s face beneath his hood, but something told me I didn’t want to. Some deeply ingrained sense inside me argued that what existed beneath that hood wasn’t for the eyes of the living.
“I don’t-” I cleared the fear away from my throat. “I don’t have anything.”
“You have time. I take payment in the form of time.”
I glanced at Scott. His jaw was set, his mahogany gaze on me. He nodded, but he looked as if he meant the opposite.
I tore my eyes from the sexy vampire and met Charon’s invisible stare. “I am not familiar with the payment method, but I am willing. What do you require and how do I fulfill it?”
“One hundred days,” Charon responded without pause.
Scott grimaced and looked away.
“I-I’m sorry?” I asked, confused. “One hundred days of what? Servitude? I’m not very good at rowing a boat.”
Charon loomed over me. He crossed thick arms over his black jacket. “One hundred days of your life, girl.”
I gripped the edge of the boat so hard my fingertips grew numb. “You want to take one hundred days of my life.”
Charon inclined his head without comment.
“For passage to the gates of hell?”
“Where is the confusion, human girl? I am the boatman. I require payment for the trip, and you come without coin. I can accept a portion of your life in return.”
It’s just one hundred days, I told myself. You’re a witch. You’ve got more days ahead of you than you could possibly imagine. Just do it. For Dad.
I took a deep breath. “Okay. One hundred days in return for my safe passage.”
“I do not promise ‘safe’ passage.” Charon’s hand darted across the space between us. Before it touched my forehead, I caught sight of it — nothing but five bleached-white bones.
Then his rough touch was on me and the pain began.
I screamed at the feeling of a dozen hands thrusting inside me. Every day for one hundred days, ripped from me in payment. Disorienting scenes played in my mind, of a young girl that looked like me and Scott’s eerie red eyes filled with emotion, and my dad, healthy, whole, alive.
Then I fell backwards into the bottom of the boat, my legs splayed elegantly above me over the wooden seat. Charon moved to the front of the craft, and we were in motion.
Scott knelt on the bench and reached for me. Gentle hands gripped my arms and tugged. I clutched at him as the inky river swam around me, a cyclone of colors like a bruise.
“Easy,” Scott murmured, his lips on my hairline. He moved to sit beside me, to hold me. “Breathe through it. You’ll feel better in a minute.”
I closed my eyes and took comfort in his scent. His cold skin soothed my forehead. I stayed nestled against his neck, wary of returning to reality. In “reality,” I’d just given up three months of my life to a ferryman with bones for fingers.
It was easier to stay cuddled against the vampire who’d made my body sing.
“Gitta,” Scott said breathlessly after several long moments. “I don’t want to let you go, but I need to. You… fuck, you smell good. You smell like me. Mine.” He dipped his head, his nose tracing the curve of my neck.
I stilled, afraid if I leaned into his mouth, I wouldn’t stop until he took me right there in the ferryman’s boat. I could hardly breathe as his lips found the place in my neck where my blood pulsed. Warmth and desire pooled between my legs, and fear danced beneath my skin. The pinpricks in my neck throbbed with need.
Scott groaned as if he could sense both emotions within me. His mouth opened and he scraped his teeth against my skin, but didn’t break through. Then his tongue trailed my collarbone, and his hand found my breast. “Fuck. Breathe, Gitta. Breathe. I’m losing control.”
I hadn’t realized I wasn’t breathing. I sucked in air and scooted across the bench, as far from Scott as I could reach without leaping from the boat.
His eyes were still closed. He dropped his head into his hands. “Fuck. I went so long without a woman, and you’re a fucking witch… This is the worst…” He breathed in and out, his gaze moving over the river. “Just stay there. Don’t come near me. I can’t control myself around you.”
His order excited me, beckoned me to disobey, as much as it terrified the crap out of me. Charon, to his credit, hadn’t acknowledged anything untoward had taken place behind him as he guided the boat along silent waters.
The trip passed in silence, though I was all-too-aware of Scott’s presence on the bench beside me. I didn’t know what to say to him that wouldn’t sound corny. Thanks for rocking my world? I really like you, will you wait for me?
Too soon, we were mooring on a silent dock where a massive set of double doors hung open to light beyond.
A woman that looked as if she’d stepped from the pages of a magazine stood haloed in the light. Long ebony curls brushed her hips, and the plunging neckline of her black dress reached nearly to her bellybutton. The slit in her dress went far enough north over her leg to leave little doubt she had no patience for panties.
“Brigitta Holtzer,” the woman mused. “You’re impressive, little witch. I think I made it too easy for you.”
I glanced at my vampire. “Who’s that?”
“Ah, Scott. Dear, sweet Scott. How’s it hanging?” The woman laughed. “Did you enjoy her blood? Her body? I let you have her, you know. Just to make it worse for you.”
He cast his gaze down and didn’t reply.
I touched his knee. “Scott?”
“Don’t call me that,” he said, his voice choked.
I touched his chin. “Look at me.”
“I can’t.” He closed his eyes and turned away.
“I’m coming back to you,” I promised. “I’m yours now, remember? You’re still going to have to explain that one to me.”
He cracked a smile, that interminable lock of hair cascading into his eyes. I leaned to kiss him, but barely had a chance to brush his lips before Charon gripped me by the arms and vacated me from the boat.
“My Queen,” he said with a bow toward the formidable woman. Then he picked up his pole and shoved away from the rocks.
I watched Scott fade away until the inky river hid him from view. For the first time, I could read the expression on his face clearly — regret.
“Come with me, girl,” the woman said, her tone oddly soothing. “We have things to discuss.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The woman led me through the brilliantly lit doors. A flick of her wrist closed them behind us, and I felt the energy of her magick on my skin. It gave me a jolt; I gasped at the sheer power.
She chuckled. “Ah, yes. You get that from us, you know. The gods. Magick isn’t just for witches.”
We were in a building of rooms and corridors and staircases. A castle, by the look of it. We passed windows, but I was unable to see out them, so dark was the exterior.
The woman led me into a s
mall parlor, where a fire burned in the hearth and two glasses sat on a table. She motioned to one of the chairs.
“I’m Persephone, if you haven’t figured it out,” she said, easing elegantly onto the chair across from me.
I gaped. I had a hard time correlating the woman before me with the woman in the myth.
She pursed her red lips and poured wine into my glass. “I spend eons down here in this rotting hole. I see many shades come and go. I haven’t much to occupy me here outside of my husband, so when a shade arrives with most of her personality still intact, I tend to befriend them. Amuse myself with their presence while they’re here.”
I felt like I’d suddenly joined a conversation in the middle and missed out on the context. “What do you mean, ‘still intact’?”
“Dying isn’t as romantic as you humans like to portray it.” Persephone tapped a cigarette from a packet on the table and slipped it between her lips. Her match flared, casting demonic shadows over her beautiful face. She took a long draw and regarded me. “Your soul passes over, but what made you you doesn’t always. Newer souls start fresh every time they rebirth. The older the soul, the more likely they’ll retain something of themselves when they arrive here.
“I knew your mother.” The words filled the air between us for a full moment before I registered what she had said.
“Wh… what?”
“Your mother. Helena Holtzer. Dumb name. Smart woman.” Persephone took a drag on her cigarette. When she exhaled, the smoke created a funereal pall over her face, giving her an even more otherworldly look.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“For fuck’s sake, Brigitta. Did you think humans casually waltz into the Underworld on a whim?”
“I don’t — ”
“They don’t,” Persephone cut me off. She stabbed her cigarette on the table, extinguishing the light. “Humans cannot come here unless they’re dead. Which you are not. So how did you come to be here, Brigitta, if not by my hand?”
“Scott — ”
Persephone laughed. “Scott. As if he’s some great savior. The man was born in these tunnels, and he will die in these tunnels. He may have led you here, but I admitted you.”
“Why?”
“Boredom.” Persephone grinned, her sharp teeth glinting in the candle light. “Curiosity. Why are you here? Your mother is long gone. You won’t find her waiting.”
My heart stuttered at the idea of my mother being here. It had never occurred to me—I mean, it had never occurred to me that this place even existed. Yet here I sat, watching a famous demi-goddess pound back bourbon like it was water.
“I’m not here for Mom.”
Persephone slouched in her chair, the slit in her skirt hovering dangerously close to her belly button. “Oh?”
I couldn’t stop myself. “Is she safe? Is she happy?”
“Is anybody ever safe or happy on your filthy surface world?” the goddess answered evasively.
Okay. I wouldn’t be digging any details out of her, obviously.
“I’m here about my dad.”
“Mikhail. Good in bed, I’ve heard.” She smiled wolfishly.
I grimaced. I could have done without that knowledge. “He’s sick.”
“Your point? Humans are disgusting bags of illness and insecurity. You birth. You eat and shit for six dozen years. Then you die.”
The longer I sat across from this malevolent woman, the more disgusted I became. This wasn’t the sweet, kidnapped Persephone mythology had taught me. This woman was harder, with sharper edges and teeth that cut.
“I have already lost my mother. I’m here now to beg for my father’s life.”
“As if we have control over who lives and dies.” Persephone twinkled with laughter. She stood and walked to her bar nook. She extracted a bottle and returned to the table. “It’s insane the value your people place on liquor. Do you know, there are alcohols in your world that cost more than a month’s worth of groceries?”
I refrained from comment, simply because I was certain her words held truth.
She uncapped the bottle and filled my glass. “Don’t worry. Alcohol hasn’t the same effect here. If only it did, then I might not feel so much.”
I tugged my glass towards me. Out of politeness, I suppose. Or empathy for the loneliness in Persephone’s eyes.
She tossed back half her glass without a grimace, slamming the mug to the table. “It isn’t fair,” she said in a quiet voice. “The people who die. Good people. Strong people. People like your mother.” She lifted a black gaze to me, heavy with regret. “Helena didn’t deserve to die while you lived.”
I stilled, my fingers wrapped around the glass. Persephone’s judgement left me thunderstruck, lost for a reply.
It wasn’t fair my mother had died only for me to live. I carried that guilt with me every step of my life.
“Where did she go?” I asked.
Persephone fluttered her fingers. “On. Forward. To a new life.”
“Is she a familiar?” I asked, my thoughts on Helga and Hermod.
“Not yet.” Her response was absentminded. She stared into her whiskey as if it held the secrets of the universe. “Not yet.”
She leveled an inscrutable gaze on me, the glass still twirling between her fingers. “What is your father’s life worth to you, Brigitta?”
I reached across the table and stilled her fingers. The glass scraped to a halt. She met my questioning glance but didn’t speak again.
“Anything,” I told her without hesitation. “His life is worth anything I have to offer and more.”
She chuckled. “Humans. So hung up on love and loyalty.”
I didn’t answer. Persephone’s thoughts were a million miles away.
“What if I could save your father?” she mused. “What would you give me in return?”
My heart ceased beating. “Anything. Everything.”
“Yes. I imagine so.”
I let the silence hang in the room. I felt like we were on the brink of something big. Too big.
“It is so lonely here, Brigitta Holtzer. So very lonely.”
I remained silent.
“I miss my mother. The golden grains. The hot sun.” Persephone sighed. “Time is not my friend here. Every day is a nightmare. Just me and the shades, wishing for another friend like Helena.”
For the first time, fear bled through my adrenaline. Where was she going with this? Better yet, did I really want to know?
“My mother has begged for my freedom every year since I came to be burdened by the Cycle. To no avail, of course. Hades is a man much set in his ways. He needs his consort.” Her faraway gaze shifted slightly and leveled on me. “Could you be his consort, Brigitta? Could you shoulder some of my burden and give me the freedom I so desperately desire?”
My heart pounded. “What are you asking me?”
“I descend at Midsummer every year. Until the winter solstice, I am cut off from my family. My friends. I lose myself in this place.” She gestured to her body, her long-fingered hands encompassing her entirety. “This isn’t me. This is what I become here. But you…” She grinned. “You could help me carry this world. You could offer a shoulder to bear the weight of this burden.”
Every breathless word she said hurtled me toward a life I wasn’t prepared to live.
“Samhain is so close. If you took my place…” She clapped her hands. “Oh, Brigitta! I could return to my mother. I could have two more months a year at home.”
“You want me to take your place?” I asked, astonished.
“I ask again — how far are you willing to go?”
I thought of my father, piled beneath blankets and black-veiled veins. I thought of his gloved hands and Jerick’s irreverent laugh and Brynja’s silent approval. Hermod drooling on my pillow. Coffee in the morning at Nature’s Magick — and oh my gods, Drake. I was supposed to have a birthday date; funny, because I couldn’t even conjure an image of Drake’s face behind the memory of S
cott’s.
Could I give all that up to save my father?
Yes. Anything.
“How long would I stay here?”
Persephone’s lips parted in a surprised smile. “You could cover the darkest months. Descend on Samhain… return with the rising sun on the December solstice.”
“Just two months? And my father would live?”
“I will heal him with my own hands.”
“Can you tell him where I am? Can you tell Scott? I promised him I’d come back — ”
Persephone’s face darkened. “You are not in a position to bargain, Brigitta. You take my place for two months every year of my Cycle, and I will save your father’s life. No more, no less. Do we have a deal?”
I closed my eyes and thought of Scott. Hermod and Jerick, my best friends, who would wonder at my disappearance. Brynja and her mysterious argument with the sexy Nordic witch. Dad… Who had cursed my father?
Did we have a deal?
I opened my eyes.
OH SNAP. Don't hate me.
The Descent Trilogy will continue in book two, Broken Magick, coming soon!
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Fragile Magick (Descent Trilogy Book 1) Page 8