Underworld's Daughter

by Molly Ringle

  “It’ll hurt while it heals,” Persephone said. “He’ll need to rest.”

  “Let’s get those clothes off him and put him in the pool.” Hermes slid his arms beneath Adonis’ shoulders and lifted him. “He won’t want to look like this when he wakes up surrounded by beautiful women.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Adonis opened his eyes. The stalactites of the Underworld hung above him, glistening in the glow of souls and torches. That he expected. But he was naked in a chest-deep pool of cold water, and still appeared to have flesh and a heartbeat and chattering teeth, all of which he did not expect.

  He wiped water off his eyelashes to clear his vision further. Someone held him around the chest from behind, sharing the pool with him and keeping his head above water. He twisted around to look.

  Hermes smiled. “Hello. Feeling better?”

  “How did…” Adonis splashed free of him and stood, shivering and looking from Hermes’ naked body to his own, not sure whether to be offended or grateful.

  “The water’s cold, isn’t it?” Hermes said. “But Hekate thought staying in it would help heal you faster. Something about magic. You know how she is.”

  Adonis had no idea what he was talking about. Chilly water dripped down his chest from his wet hair, which hung loose over his shoulders. Hermes or someone had bathed him to wash off the blood, he supposed.

  He splayed his hand over his smooth belly, frowning at it. Where was the wound? And considering he’d been staggeringly drunk, why didn’t his head pound nor his mouth feel like it was scoured with wool? Why did he mostly feel…fine?

  Hermes leaned back against the pool’s edge, arms spread along the rocks, and studied Adonis. “I remember when you looked like that. Not a giant change, mind you. You were aging gracefully. Still, it’s noticeable.”

  “Now we look the same age,” a woman’s voice said.

  Adonis swirled in the water, startled.

  Hekate walked up, carrying folded white cloth over her arm and a torch in her hand. The large immortal dog padded beside her.

  “He’s confused,” Hermes confided to Hekate. He addressed Adonis again. “To sum up, the good news is you’re immortal now. The bad news is Aphrodite still broke up with you, and you have to leave and go away so no one finds out we made you immortal, at least for a while. We went a bit over the heads of the usual council, you see.”

  “So I heard,” a man said.

  Hekate turned to look at Hades, who stepped forward from one of the tunnels and glowered at the scene in front of him. “Hello, Father,” she said sweetly.

  “Hades. Join us?” Hermes invited from the pool.

  Hades leaned against a limestone column and rubbed his face. “Persephone went to Zeus and Hera to tell them Ares mortally wounded Adonis. We’re allowing them to think, for now, that he died. They’ll advise Ares to leave the country a while. He usually listens to them, so he’ll do it. But people will be panicking, shrieking about how the gods not only released a plague, but now are stabbing mortals for fun too. It’s the kind of thing those mad speech-makers love to say against us.”

  “We could show them he’s not dead,” Hermes said, “but then we’d have to explain how he survived such a wound.”

  “And a miraculous recovery won’t help the rumors,” Hades said.

  “Would only make them worse,” Hermes agreed. “He’s known to be Aphrodite’s lover. Special favors bestowed by the gods to bring him back to life, when we ‘let’ everyone else die? No, the mortals wouldn’t like that.”

  The mortals, Adonis thought. A class he had belonged to, so bitterly and inescapably, until just now. How strange. He flexed his wet hand, noting how a scab that had been on his thumb several days was now gone. He lifted the strands of brownish-blond hair draped over his shoulder to see if his threads of gray were still there, but the torchlight was too dim for him to tell.

  “By the way, you should be able to track us now,” Hermes addressed him. “The four of us—Aphrodite, Hekate, Persephone, and I—gave you a small cut and all gave you drops of our blood while you were recovering, and we got a drop of yours too. Well, Hekate and Persephone did. Aphrodite and I could already track you, of course.” Hermes widened his eyes in a roguish flash.

  Adonis thought for a moment, and realized that indeed, even blindfolded he could have pointed in the direction of each of those people and estimated whether they were near or far.

  Aphrodite, for example, was far. Or at least, farther than the Underworld. Probably back on her island.

  Adonis nodded. “I do feel it.”

  “Good,” Hermes said. “That will help you come back to us eventually.”

  “So he’ll have to leave.” Hekate sounded sad. “Become someone else.”

  “For a while,” Hermes said. “That’d be my advice.”

  Adonis looked about to find the three of them watching him, awaiting an answer. He cleared his throat. “I…had no plans. Anything you think is best.”

  “Then let’s get you dressed,” Hermes said, “and train you on a spirit horse. And on how to switch realms.”

  Three days later, after grasping the art of switching realms, and after several practice flights upon a spirit horse—which he had ridden before with Aphrodite, but never alone—Adonis was ready to depart the Underworld.

  Persephone had returned. She had informed his workers at the vineyards that he had been mortally wounded, and that Aphrodite had taken his body to the spirit realm. By custom, in the absence of an heir, the vineyards would pass to his chief overseer. Adonis hardly cared about that anymore. Anyone who wanted his troublesome lands and vines was welcome to them. Several of his workers, though, had been kind to him and counted as friends or almost family, and he felt touched to hear they grieved for him and would be holding a funeral, even without his body. Persephone reported they had already begun planning it, and intended to make Aphrodite the chief goddess to whom sacrifices would be dedicated.

  Wasn’t that ironic, Adonis thought at first. The goddess who caused his would-be suicide receiving the honors at his funeral. Then again, maybe it was fitting. In the logic of worshippers, making sacrifices to Aphrodite after such an event might keep her from bringing doom down upon them next.

  In the fields, he said goodbye to the soul of his mother for the time being. Her pride at seeing him turned immortal almost returned cheer to his heart. Almost.

  Persephone and Hades packed him a bag of extra clothes, food, knives, and other useful items for a traveler.

  He hadn’t seen Aphrodite since she left him that night. They told him she had brought him here, had made it possible for his life be saved—with the help of Hekate’s magic—but she evidently still didn’t want to face him. He could sense her now, but to follow that sense and show up against her wishes would do him no favors. He would have to live with knowing where she was and doing nothing about it. The ache in his heart grew at the thought. Immortality did nothing to ease loneliness or rejection, it would seem.

  “Here.” Hekate ran up, holding a pomegranate in a small cloth. “You should eat this. For the languages, if nothing else. Someone traveling can always use those.” She flashed an anxious look at her mother, who nodded in assent.

  Adonis accepted the fruit and pulled it open, catching its wayward seeds and droplets of red juice in the cloth. He ate the seeds, recalling that Aphrodite had eaten this fruit too, when most of the immortals hadn’t. He would become her equal in as many ways as he could.

  None of this could be happening, he still thought. It was likely a dream while his body lay dying by that bonfire. For if it were real, and he had to abandon his home country and take on a new identity, then what next?

  Hades stepped closer. Adonis glanced cautiously at him. Hades had always intimidated him with that fierce unsmiling gaze.

  But now he looked more resigned than fierce, and he pulled a bronze knife from his belt. “I might as well track you too. Let’s have your arm.”

  Surprised
, Adonis held out his arm. Hades dealt the quick cuts to Adonis’ wrist and his own, and pressed them together.

  “I once left my homeland too,” Hades added, “letting everyone think I was dead. It’s a strange journey. But you’ll get used to it.” He let go of Adonis’ arm.

  Adonis pressed the pomegranate-stained cloth to the cut. “Thank you.” He looked around at the others. “All of you. I…hope I’m worthy of this gift.”

  “You’re worthier than some who were born with it,” Hermes remarked. “And who continue doing nothing to deserve it. Certain rock-brained soldiers come to mind.”

  They walked with Adonis to the entrance chamber. He led his new spirit horse along by the reins, a white mare with gray mane and tail. Strange how it felt like leading a live horse, but when you reached back to pat her on the nose, there was no tangible nose to be touched.

  “Where will you go?” Hekate asked.

  “I’m not sure. Where was Ares going?”

  “He’ll head west, from what Zeus said,” Persephone answered.

  “Then I’ll go east.” Adonis had been to India with Aphrodite a couple of times. He wouldn’t mind spending longer there, wandering around. Deciding who to be now.

  He climbed upon his horse. The others bade him farewell. He shot into the sky and eased up on the reins to let the horse go faster and faster. It was nearing sunset now; the red and orange rays stained the sea. Only three days had passed since she had thrown him out. Three days, but everything in his life had changed.

  He flew out over the sea, low enough to feel the spray of a surfacing dolphin or whale on his ankle as he whipped past.

  The sense of Aphrodite pulled within his chest, and his hands steered the horse toward her island. Just for a last look at the land, he thought. He wouldn’t even switch realms to see her. He landed, wondering if he’d be strong enough to stick to that decision.

  No building stood here in the spirit realm, just rocks and wild olive trees. Her palatial home with its white columns existed only in the living world. Nonetheless, he and she had lain right here many a time, upon this beach, in this realm.

  He slid off his horse and picked up a diamond-shaped piece of lapis lazuli from the ground. One of Aphrodite’s tunics sported a line of these blue stones stitched to its hem. It must have fallen off on some visit. She might not even have been with Adonis at the time. She could easily have been with someone else. That was the trouble. Too often, she was with someone else.

  He tucked the stone into a small bag at his belt, and walked forward, following his sense of her. Then he stopped, for she was approaching. She remained in the other realm—somehow he could tell that without looking—but she drew right up to him until the shimmer of her presence sang in his ears.

  She didn’t switch realms, nor did he. They lingered with the wall of the realms between them, hesitating. Emotions and smothered declarations pulsed inside him.

  What words could they add to the millions they’d already spoken? Didn’t he already know what she would say? Wouldn’t it only hurt more to hear the rejection again, or even to see her again?

  He lifted a hand to caress the air where she would be, if they shared the same realm. Silently, he thanked her for delivering him to the Underworld, to salvation. Apologized for the jealousy he couldn’t control. Vowed to be worthy of her the next time they met, whenever it might be.

  Then he backed away. She didn’t move, didn’t appear. He climbed onto his spirit horse, snapped the reins, and vaulted away eastward at the speed of a shooting star.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The young woman fired twelve shots from the handgun, knocking down each of the soda cans she and Landon had set up on the fence posts between the pine trees. She swung the gun down to her side, relaxed her stance, and turned to Betty Quentin with a smile. The cold sunlight gleamed in her long orange-red hair and brought out the pale freckles on her white skin. Landon smiled too, and his gaze moved anxiously from the young woman to Betty.

  “Impressive,” Betty said.

  “That’s at fifty yards.” Krystal’s voice was as cold and brittle as her name—or the Idaho ground this late November morning. “I can usually hit about half that at a hundred yards.”

  “Close range will be more important. I’m not likely to need a sniper, but we’ll see.” Betty shifted her weight, leaning on her cane, careful to avoid any of the large pinecones that littered the dry ground. “Courage and dedication are the important things. Plus a strong stomach. To do what needs to be done.”

  “Someone asked me once if I could be an executioner.” Krystal slotted the gun into its shoulder holster. “You know, actually pull the switch on the electric chair. I said, for murderers? Terrorists? The only people who ever get the death sentence? Of course I could.” She squinted at the fence posts. “The person who asked was surprised. Guess not everyone feels that way.”

  Betty nodded and hobbled closer to Krystal. “And the people who help them? Harbor them? What about them?”

  Krystal flicked her hair over her shoulder. “Sounds like treason to me.”

  Betty glanced in approval at Landon. “She gets it.”

  Landon smiled, looking relieved. Silly boy, Betty thought affectionately. As if she wouldn’t have accepted Krystal after spending most of yesterday indoctrinating her into the history and purpose of Thanatos, not to mention letting her sleep under their roof.

  “So. A two part operation, like before,” Betty told them. “Only, we hope, with success on both fronts instead of just one.”

  “First the test attack on Tabitha Lofgren,” Landon said.

  “To distract and divert them, and find out what we can about her. And shortly thereafter, the elimination of Adrian Watts.”

  “Using Sophie’s family,” Krystal added. They’d filled her in on the latest players, too.

  “Exactly,” Betty said. “If they won’t help turn him over, well…” She nodded toward the obliterated soda cans. “Guess they’re traitors.”

  The three returned to the car, to drive back to the cabin.

  “Best we don’t stay at the cabin much longer,” Betty remarked. “We’re lucky no one’s found us so far, but the longer we stay, the greater the chance someone will.”

  “We’ll want somewhere closer to the traitors anyway,” Krystal said.

  “Oregon?” Landon asked. “Or Washington this time?”

  “That may depend on whether Sophie’s parents choose to be on our side,” Betty said. “Let’s move west. We can find a place to stay. And we’ll deliver them a reminder.”

  “So how did this happen?” Ben Zarro asked Tabitha. The stage lights blazed upon his stiffly swept-back hair and navy-blue suit. “How did you start hanging out with all these famous people? Did it require a pact with Satan, or…?”

  The audience laughed, as did Tabitha, throwing back her silky blonde hair. “I’m good at networking,” she answered, crossing her legs in their shimmery wine-red tights. “I met Grange Redway at a party in Seattle, and he knew someone else, and they knew someone else…” She shrugged.

  Zoe watched from the second row of the studio, surrounded by strangers in the other seats. Pride and excitement tingled inside her, at being in New York City with a date who was a guest on “Late Night with Ben Zarro.” And this time Zoe didn’t even have to lie to her parents about where she was going.

  “We’ll cover for you,” they’d said. “We’ll keep it secret.” And they’d winked and touched their noses in weird gestures of complicity, all set to stand guard for the immortals. They were sweet.

  Tabitha soared through the quick interview, flirting with Ben Zarro and delighting everyone with saucy, hilarious gossip about the celebrities she had partied with.

  “Finally, I hear you’re good at selecting wines,” Ben said toward the end of their allotted time. “And other drinks. Is this true?”

  “Yes.”

  “How? How is that? You’re not even old enough to drink.”

  “I’
ve helped my mother with catering gigs, and she allows me to taste drinks. I have an excellent palate.” Tabitha smiled.

  Zoe grinned as the audience—largely college-aged—hooted and clapped.

  “All right, so, a modern holiday dinner,” Ben said. “Say, turkey and a risotto. Pumpkin pie for dessert. What should I drink with that?”

  “I would try a dry Prosecco with dinner. Or if you want something stronger, a gin cocktail, maybe one with apricot brandy. And I’d say sherry with dessert.”

  Ben gaped at her while the audience cheered again. Zoe laughed and applauded along with them.

  The catering answer was only part true, of course. In all of Tab’s past lives she’d been a connoisseur of feasting and entertaining, which contributed a great deal to her knowledge.

  “Well, now I’m hungry,” Ben concluded. He shot out his hand to shake hers. “Tabitha Lofgren, everyone! Internet sensation. Tabitha, a pleasure.”

  Zoe maneuvered through the jumble of people on the sidewalk outside the studio afterward, following her sense of Tab’s location. Soon Tabitha emerged from the crowd, and her warm arms engulfed Zoe.

  Finally, as easily and naturally as picking up a chocolate and biting into it, their lips met again in a kiss.

  They stood entwined on the frosty pavement, skyscrapers twinkling above, taxis honking on the street, scarf-wrapped pedestrians strolling around them. Zoe rested her nose on Tab’s cheek. All she needed was falling snowflakes and an ice-skating-in-Central-Park scene for the perfect ridiculously romantic New York evening.

  Then Tabitha’s hold went limp. She turned to look behind her. Zoe looked too, and though she saw nothing yet, she suddenly sensed it: a familiar soul drawing near at a walking pace.

  Tabitha slipped out of Zoe’s arms and stepped toward the arriving immortal. A knot of pedestrians strode past, and in their wake, the figure appeared. Freya walked toward them, in a quilted ski parka, tight jeans, suede ankle boots, and a sea-blue fleece beret. With her curves, graceful walk, stunning face, and bob of golden hair, she looked utterly fabulous. It was possible she wore lipstick and mascara, but also possible her lips were really that full and rosy, her lashes that dark and thick. Men and women both sent her second glances as she passed.