by Gwenda Bond
“I hear she’s a clever one. She could ask me a query and if I cannot answer, then she may have safe passage across my river.”
“Probably the best we’ll get,” Luke says to me, voice low.
The offer seems too good to be true. This is something I can do. Trivia! I half-expected she’d ask for the spearhead.
I search my mind for a good question.
“Do you accept?” Styx growls at me.
“Yes,” I say quickly.
She sits back onto the churning water. “Then, ask.”
Usually I can’t stop my brain from throwing up weird, random facts. Now, when I most need the ocean of them, they dry up to a single drop. I try to come up with something other than my first idea. Anything.
But nothing else comes.
“I said ask.” Styx’s patience is wearing thin.
“Callie, go on,” Luke says.
Porsoth must sense what’s happening because he says to Luke, “Give her a moment.”
“No moments. Ask,” Styx insists.
I still have this lone question in my head. It’s not a great one, but why would the goddess Styx know the answer? I don’t have a choice. I have to go with it.
I clasp my hands in front of me and look straight at her and ask, “What is the episode of Star Trek where Kirk and Uhura kiss?”
Luke gapes at me. Porsoth sighs heavily.
The dragon is silent and when she opens her mouth steam hisses out and her long sharp teeth show and I recognize that she’s grinning.
“‘Plato’s Children.’” Her long reptilian head shakes, her face a frown. “I expected more.”
“Me too,” Luke says and that hurts.
I failed. I didn’t win passage. I lost a trivia competition with an old one.
“Let me try again,” I say and even I hear the pleading note. “Give me another toll.”
“Callie, you don’t know what you’re saying.” Porsoth’s words are a warning.
I’m fully aware this is probably not smart. “I don’t have the option of failure. We have to get to Lilith’s.”
Luke takes a step closer to me. “We need to get out of here,” he says.
“No, I need another toll,” I say to Styx.
Styx stretches her long neck again and gazes up at the sky. “Oh, you humans with your ceaseless scheming.”
“Callie,” Luke says, “let’s go.”
The dragon lowers her head. “And yet a favor to the prince might be to my benefit. I’d like to see how this all turns out, so … I’ll let you pass for what’s in your bag.”
I clutch it. “You can’t have the spear. That would make this whole thing pointless.”
“Not the spear,” she says with a hiss. “The grimoire.”
I should say yes. Why do I need it? I don’t. But something inside me balks. Hard.
“What about another round of trivia?” I try.
“The grimoire,” she repeats.
“What’s the problem?” Luke asks, forehead crumpled in a frown. I know he’s right.
“I can’t explain it.” I shrug helplessly. “I don’t want to give it up.”
“We all have to do things we don’t want to do sometimes,” Porsoth says. “Sometimes for thousands of years.”
“Thousands of years,” Luke repeats. “That’s it.” He lifts his hand. “How about if Callie gives you the grimoire—”
“No!” I don’t know why I protest that way. But I couldn’t stop if I wanted to.
Luke continues. “How about if Callie gives you the grimoire at the end of her mortal life span?”
After he’s said it, Luke checks in with me. “Okay? You’re not going to need it in the afterlife.”
The something that balked inside me seems to find this acceptable. “Oh. Okay.”
“Very clever,” Porsoth says with approval. “That hadn’t occurred to me.”
Luke ignores him and turns back to Styx. “Do we have a deal?”
“Do we have a deal, do we…” Styx plays coy. I expect her to start swimming in the river, doing some dragon backstroke, making us wait for an answer.
“Do we?” Luke says.
Styx’s pointy chin inclines. “Only for you. What’s a mortal life span to me? A nap.”
“So we get to pass?” I ask. And under my breath, “That was both better and worse than I expected.”
Luke waits. “We’re not across yet.”
“You may pass.” Having made the declaration, Styx sweeps one long wing out over the water, holding it level, stretching from one bank to the other. Her wing is our passage across. She could move it at any moment and get the grimoire with no waiting.
“No,” I say. “It’s a trick. She’ll drop me in.”
The wing snaps tight, but stays extended.
“Styx has granted us passage,” Luke says and offers his arm. “She won’t revoke it.”
I hesitate, because Luke does also get my soul if we don’t make it. But the world ends and so he’ll still be in trouble with his dad. Foolish though it probably is, I’m not worried that he’s betraying me.
At least, not at this very moment.
“Trust me,” Luke says.
“I don’t trust her.”
Luke considers and smiles at me. “That must mean you trust me.”
Crap. “I didn’t say that.”
“Let’s go before her mood changes,” Porsoth says.
I hook my arm through Luke’s like we’re on some silly promenade and not about to cross a deadly poison river on the wing of the cranky goddess who rules it. Across the leathery dragon wing we go, step by step, steady as if we’re on solid ground, on toward Lilith’s house.
“I’ll be waiting here for you and your pretty book, human,” are Styx’s last rough, whispered words. They drift to me on the stale air.
* * *
It’s not as close as I thought it would be. I can barely keep my eyes open.
That’s despite being surrounded by a black forest, dead trees with grabbing branches, and more of those hedges with long, flesh-seeking thorns. The place on my arm where I got stuck by one earlier aches as if it’s calling out to this new batch.
“She needs to rest.”
Porsoth sounds fussy. I can’t help liking him.
“I know,” Luke says and gives me a concerned once-over. “She’s running on twenty minutes of sleep.”
And I can’t help liking Luke way too much.
I don’t bother to point out I’m right here and they could talk to me. Saying the words would take too much effort. The idea of curling up for a nap on the charred ground is almost tempting. Thorns or no thorns.
“It’s not much farther,” Luke says. “We can afford another little rest for you at Mother’s.”
I try to nod, but suspect I’m only looking at him. I’ve never been one to skip a night of sleep, because if I do I’m useless for days afterward. But Mag has always been able to manage an all-night movie or study fest without a yawn.
I don’t want to be angry at Mag anymore. I don’t want them to be angry at me either.
I may cry.
But that seems like a lot of effort at the moment too. Still, my lower lip trembles and my eyes start to burn.
Luke stares at me with a concerned squint. Porsoth pushes aside a branch, then stops. “What is it, Prince?”
“Apologies,” Luke says to me.
Before I can ask for what, he’s scooping me up in his arms. My first thought is that I fit there, nearly perfectly. I could protest, but why? I curl in toward his chest, keeping my arms where they aren’t in danger of thorns.
As Luke stalks forward, the last thing I see before I fall asleep is Porsoth, blinking those big owl eyes at me cradled against Luke’s chest.
* * *
I dream in shadows. It’s like zappity land, but more feverish. Screams and wails. Images of thorns sinking deep into my skin. Styx baring her teeth. Solomon Elerion baring his.
Those guardians dressed in whi
te, laughing, always laughing.
Lucifer laughing too.
When I come to, the gritty scent of ash assaulting my nose, I don’t immediately signal that I’m awake.
“You can’t walk in there carrying her, you know,” Porsoth is saying. “Your mother is territorial. And unpredictable. She might torture the girl.”
“More likely, she’ll torture me. I just wanted Callie to get a chance to sleep before … everything.”
Porsoth doesn’t respond.
Luke speaks again, quietly. “I didn’t want her soul.”
“You can’t lie to me. I’ve known you too long. I see how you look at her.”
“Fair enough. I do want it.” Luke sighs. “But I wish I didn’t.”
“Your father used to say the same thing about Lilith.”
“I guess I am like him,” Luke says.
I can’t stand that he’d think that for a moment, even though he’s going to take my soul. “Good … evening?” I say with a stagey yawn and wriggle enough that Luke puts me down. We’re surrounded by a charred wood, trees like skeletons and ash everywhere.
Luke studies me. His blue eyes are too perceptive. “Sleep well?”
I give no indication I’ve overheard anything they said. “I think so. Where are we?”
“Close. I was just about to wake you up,” he says.
I feel like he wants to say more, but he doesn’t.
“We’re practically on her doorstep,” Porsoth says.
I wish desperately for a toothbrush, and there’s really no choice about the other necessity I have to do. I look around panicked, because it’s not like there’s a safe spot. I toe the ashy ground with my now-filthy sneakers. At least I’m not on my period. “I need to pee.”
“Oh.”
“I guess demons don’t have to?” I say. Then I realize that I’m way too close to inquiring about the mechanics of demon bodies. “Never mind. I’ll hold it.”
“We love all things bodily,” Porsoth says. “Especially waste.”
“Speak for yourself,” Luke says.
My ears are burning.
He goes on, wearing a sexy little half-smile. “The sad thing is, you’re probably wishing he meant that in the dirty way right now, aren’t you?”
“Kind of,” I admit. “Somehow that’s less gross. Which.”
“I’ll keep watch for you,” Luke says. He hesitates and reaches into his leather jacket and pulls out a monogrammed handkerchief with a little flame and the initials L.A.M. on it, then hands it to me.
“No need to return it,” he says.
A woman with an artful tangle of black hair, a wild grin, and cold, kohl-lined eyes emerges from the forest. “How cozy,” she says. “But I’ll be happy to make you all comfortable. My son, I can guess why you’re here, but I’m way more interested in the company you’re keeping.”
She walks straight to me, and takes my arm. “I’m Lilith,” she says. “And you must be Callie. You’re in danger of making a huge mistake.”
I paste on a smile, dream of peeing, and stuff Luke’s handkerchief in my pocket. I make a mental note to ask who does Hell’s monogramming later.
“What mistake is that?” I ask.
“Why,” Lilith’s grin widens, “trusting my son.”
“But I don’t.”
I hear a soft intake of breath and know it’s from Luke.
Lilith makes a tsk sound, dismissing me. “Men will disappoint you every time. But it’s not too late. Come with me. We’ll talk…”
I can’t imagine Luke’s face right now. I also can’t bring myself to look at him. I have to do what his mom asks.
I wonder if she senses that I can close my eyes and still imagine his arms cradled around me. The truth is, I felt safe there.
I think I was.
But do I trust him? With anything besides my soul? With my heart?
I’m not that foolish.
Or that brave.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
LUKE
Mother pauses her educational monologue about the deficits of men in general and me in particular when we reach her overgrown house, the cottage frame completely hidden by wild black vines with small dark blooms. This is one of the few spots in Hell where things grow.
Lilith herds Callie through the open door. Once inside, we’re crowded into the common room stuffed full of herbs and random objects amassed over the centuries. Mother is a bit of a pack rat.
I see Callie hesitate, wanting to examine everything, starting with the stuffed alligator extended from the ceiling. But she’s hustled into the nearest bath chamber.
“I’ve set out everything you need, my dear girl,” Lilith says, more warmly than I will ever merit. “I watched your approach.”
Mother shuts the door to the bathing room before Callie gets in a word. She has yet to greet Porsoth.
She watched me carrying Callie. I’ve no doubt when she turns to catch my eye. My mother’s smile is eager. She doesn’t get many visitors out here, and she’s long since ceased being entertained by expeditions onto Earth. I asked her once if she ever got lonely and she laughed and said, “How can I be lonely when I have the best of company at all times?”
Mother and I have some personality traits in common. We both wear our confidence like armor, confident in the magnetism of our charisma. I’m not nearly as judgmental as she is, though.
“Your father paid me a visit. He was in rare form,” she says. “Did he meet her?”
“I imagine he told you all about the deadline he gave me when he loaned you the World Watcher. Where is it, by the way? And why did you ask for it?”
Mother extends a hand and tweaks my chin. “Not yet. Tell me what you mean for that girl.” She pauses. “I like her. You should leave her be.”
“We’re a little past that.”
Mother’s cool eyes do what she’s best at: judging me. She finds me lacking too, but in a different way than Father. All she sees when she looks at me is him, and her own mistakes in that particular arena. He lured her here with the promise of immortality, a family, power. Bonus that her creator would not be a fan of the address. And here she is, her son (when she’d prefer a daughter) raised half a kingdom away by her enemy/paramour, who she must still attend state occasions beside, her domain this cottage queendom with a smaller border than she wants.
“I didn’t think you’d turn out to be so much like him,” she says.
I shrug as if it doesn’t bother me. He’d disagree; I don’t get to. Given how many stings I’ve suffered lately I tell myself that I barely feel this one.
I get back to the point. “We need to use the device without further delay.”
“He is correct,” Porsoth puts in. Then adds, “And you could be kinder to him.”
Mother rolls her eyes in cartoonish fashion. “Did I ask for your advice? Men are used to the entire world being kind to them. Anything else is a corrective.”
“Be that as it may,” Porsoth says.
The bath chamber door opens and Callie emerges. She’s cleaned up a little more and tidied her hair, but her shoes are still gray with ash and her T-shirt smudged with a long day and evening. She looks wonderful.
And concerned.
“Where’s this magic spyglass?” she asks.
“Spy-globe,” Mother and I say at the same time.
Mother’s lips quirk on one side with amusement. I do think she loves me, somewhere, way down in the darkest deeps inside her.
“I’ll show you when I’m ready,” she says. “Food?”
Callie looks at me like she’s ready to murder my mother. I cough to hide a laugh. “Sure, we could eat,” I say.
When Callie stalks over to me with her murder-eyes, I say as softly as I can, “Trust me, we’re not leaving without food.”
“Right,” Callie says with a frown. “She’s a mom. I am starving.”
“Me too.”
Callie’s frown deepens. “Is it safe for me to eat afterlife food?”
&nbs
p; What a curious question. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“You know, in the old stories about Faeryland and other realms, sometimes if you eat the food, then you have to stay there.”
“Luke rather skipped those tales,” Porsoth says.
Mother appears close beside us. “Do I look like a faery?”
Why I assumed these two busybodies would give us a second’s privacy, I don’t know.
“Don’t answer that.” I put my hand on Callie’s arm. “I didn’t skip all the reading. No pomegranate, okay? She’s not staying…” Yet. I don’t add the yet, but I can hear its echo.
Callie’s muscles stiffen slightly under my fingers. She hears it too.
“I know your father told you to get her soul.” Mother glances between us and what she sees must tell her everything. She puts a hand dramatically to her heart. “No. You wouldn’t. No son of mine would do such a thing…”
“She volunteered it.” Porsoth uses his full demonic voice, something I’ve only heard once or twice. There’s a sonic boom quality to it. We all tremble like leaves in its wake.
Mother recovers first and prepares to argue. “But—”
Callie holds up a hand to stop her. “It’s true. I’m on a mission. I needed Luke’s help, and now I have it.”
Mother shakes her head. “I have failed. And I do like her.”
So do I. I want to say the words, flirty and light to disperse the darkness in the horrified way my mother is staring at me. But I doubt that’s a magic trick I’m capable of pulling off.
“Some people would be glad to hear their son won’t be ended inside twenty-four hours,” I say instead.
“Not everything is about you.” Mother rakes a hand down my cheek, then Callie’s, almost tender, and crosses the jam-packed room to a small kitchen. There’s a soup pot on, and when she removes the lid the entire house fills with a rich, spicy, delicious smell.
“Porsoth, if you’re done showing off, set out the bowls.” She gestures to the open-faced cabinets above the counter.
Porsoth says nothing, and I wonder if he regrets speaking as he did to her. I liked it. It reminds me that his legend is based on fact.
“He did nothing wrong,” Callie says with a wink to Porsoth. Before anyone can stop her, she’s plucking down the bowls.