Underworld's Daughter

by Molly Ringle

  To cover the license plate of the silver SUV, Landon had attached fake dealer plates on it, along with a holiday evergreen wreath on the front. After this little visit, they’d pull over somewhere and remove the wreath, change their hats and glasses, and switch to yet another set of plates. Landon and Krystal had it all planned, clever kids.

  “Leave it running,” she told Landon.

  She opened the door and heaved herself out. Leaning on her cane, she hurried across the uneven gravel into the stand. The cold wind whipped about beneath the tent roof, rattling the tattered edges of the canopy. She kept her thick scarf wrapped around her neck and head, and glanced about, shaking raindrops off her coat. A string of multicolored lights lined the inside of the tent, and some 1950s crooner sang “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” from the speakers. A teenage boy in the back room was busy moving crates around, and didn’t notice Betty.

  Terry did, though. He looked up from his box of yellow onions, and froze. Anger or fear rippled through his face, then he steeled it with a mask of calm, and said, “Afternoon.”

  “Afternoon, Mr. Darrow.” She hobbled forward a couple of steps. “Do you remember we spoke several weeks ago? About Sophie, and Adrian.”

  The mask stayed in place. “I remember.” He set down the onion he held, and rested his gloved hand on the far edge of the wooden case, watching her. He didn’t question the name “Adrian.” Perhaps he knew by now, then. Likely he had confronted Sophie last time, as Betty had hoped, and learned a few disturbing things, though likely not all the disturbing things.

  “He isn’t what a father would want for his daughter, is he,” she commiserated.

  “I admit he wouldn’t have been my first choice.” Still keeping a guarded gaze on her, Terry rolled his upper lip under his teeth, making his mustache wiggle.

  She picked up a green pear and sniffed it. “It would please me if you could help us catch him. You’re in a good position to do so.”

  “Sorry. I trust my daughter. And I trust Adrian, at least for now. I’m going to have to pass.”

  Betty set down the pear and smiled at the little lights decorating the tent. “Cute place you’ve got here. I’m sure you’d hate to see anything happen to it. Or to your family.”

  Fury flared in his eyes. He plunged his hand down behind the display case and yanked a baseball bat into the air. With a quick swing it was pointed at her, gripped in both his hands, and he advanced with slow steps. “Ross, call 911 now,” he bellowed without looking away from Betty.

  The boy popped his head out, dumbfounded. “What? Why?”

  “Do it! We have an intruder.”

  The boy nodded and scrambled off.

  “You,” Terry said to her, “are done harassing my daughter. And hell if I’m going to let you threaten me and the rest of my family.”

  She edged backward, keeping pace with his advance. “Terry, I give you this last chance to cooperate. You will not like the consequences if you refuse.”

  “You stay right there. We’re going to see how well you like jail.”

  “Drop it, sir,” Krystal barked in her brittle voice.

  He looked past Betty and his mouth opened in shock.

  “Drop it now,” Krystal added.

  He let go of the bat, which smacked to the gravel, and lifted his hands. Resentment burned in his gaze.

  Betty glanced with a smile over her shoulder. Krystal, in black-haired wig and tinted glasses, pointed her handgun at Terry from the opened window of the back seat. Betty looked again at Terry. “You’ll cooperate and help get Adrian for us, won’t you? So we don’t have to ask Sophie again, I mean.”

  Terry glowered. “I may not totally like the guy. But he’s right about one thing. You’re evil.”

  “A subjective word. You may live to regret saying that.” She limped to the car and opened the door. “Or maybe you won’t. Live, that is.” She climbed in and shut her door. “Let’s go.”

  Landon peeled out. They didn’t even hear sirens yet.

  “Too bad about her family,” Betty said. “But it’s what I expected.”

  “Traitors,” Krystal said with scorn, and tossed her wig onto the floor.

  Please come find me, Sophie’s text said.

  Adrian’s heart kicked up in fright. As a test, he answered in an English-lettered version of the Underworld language, Daughter’s name?

  Hekate. It’s me, safe for now, just bad day. She used the Underworld words too.

  Still, someone could have been forcing her to answer. And “safe for now” didn’t reassure him. He leaped out of the Airstream into the night. Clouds overhead smothered every star. In the beam of a flashlight, he and Kiri sprinted across the wilderness toward Sophie’s location. Mud splattered him on the way, and he had to clamber over three huge fallen trees and innumerable smaller logs.

  Adrian drew up close to Sophie’s living-world location, ordered Kiri to stay, and switched over.

  To his relief, she was alone; and to his surprise, they were in a restroom of some campus building—likely the women’s room—standing outside one of the stalls. But he forgot his uncertainty about being caught in here when he saw the tears in her eyes and the panic creasing her forehead. He drew her into his arms. “What, what happened?”

  She clutched him. “Switch us over.”

  He obeyed. They thudded a few centimeters down to the wet ground in the darkness. Kiri barked a happy hello.

  Adrian stepped back to sit upon one of the fallen trees, pulling Sophie onto his lap. With her face on his shoulder, she spilled out a flood of words. Her father had called; Quentin came and threatened him again, this time at gunpoint; the police didn’t get there in time; Quentin got away and still hadn’t been found. As she spoke, cold anger and resolve pooled within him, edged with panic.

  “All I want to do is hide.” Sophie was trembling, as she had been since he first fetched her. “Hide here forever, never go back. Except I need to hide everyone else too. My family, my friends, your family, Zoe’s…everyone I might ever care about. And they wouldn’t go. Dad doesn’t want to hide, he said so. He’s mad instead of scared. He wants to ‘take a stand,’ even though he knows how dangerous they are. How can we convince them to—I don’t know, join the Witness Protection Program or something?” She lifted her head. “Is that even a real thing? The Witness Protection Program?”

  “Um. Well, yeah, it is, but I don’t think we could easily explain our case to the U.S. government. Hiding out here’s a better idea. It’s just, as you say, I don’t think we can convince them all to do it. I didn’t want it to come down to a war against Thanatos, but…” He sighed. “We have to stop them.”

  “Can we? How?”

  He kicked his boot heel against the tree a few times. “Okay, suppose I swallow my pride and apologize to Niko.”

  She nodded instantly, sitting up straighter. “And Freya. They were awesome last time. I’ve been wanting to text them myself.”

  “Fine. Let’s do it.” He got out his phone. Its screen lit up their patch of wilderness. “Maybe with more of us searching, we’ll at least find out where Quentin’s hiding.”

  Selecting Niko’s number, he gritted his teeth and texted, I apologise, mate. We need you back. Q’s threatening S’s family again. She’s probably in Washington. New assassins with guns. Help please? Name your price.

  He sent it off.

  Sophie kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

  Adrian tapped his camera app. “Hey, got something to show you. Dropped by the Underworld today for an errand. Look.” He turned the screen toward her, displaying the close-up shot he’d taken.

  Two tiny green fruits gleamed in the flash of the photo, glossy leaves around them, dried-up flower petals still stuck to their tops.

  Sophie drew in a breath in rapture. “The oranges.”

  “Merry Christmas.”

  She took the phone and gazed at the picture. “How long till they’re ready?”

  “Took three or four months to ripen l
ast time.”

  She studied them. “At least one bite for me and one for Liam,” she finally said. “If Liam wants.”

  “Absolutely. Reserved for you two, no exceptions this time.”

  His phone buzzed. “Ah,” she said, and handed it back to him. “I think Niko responded.”

  Adrian opened the text and snorted. “God. Wanker.”

  “What’s it say?”

  “‘My price? A blow job. Then I’m at your service, mate.’ But he did add a smiley face, so…”

  She chuckled. “I think we have him back.”

  He resettled her across his lap and hugged her.

  She wasn’t trembling anymore. She tilted her head and pointed above them. “Stars coming out.”

  Adrian looked up at the stars twinkling between drifting clouds. “Yeah. Nice.”

  He’d suffer Niko for her, gladly. And he had already texted Zoe to ask her to fly to the Underworld when she had time and put a health-and-protection spell upon the orange tree to guarantee its successful harvest. But what could he possibly do to make up for what Thanatos inflicted upon her and the people she loved?

  In addition, she’d dream of Persephone’s heartbreaking end soon. Very soon, the way she was speeding ahead to follow the ancient adventures. He should warn her, tell her to brace herself.

  But he didn’t have the heart, not minutes after a new scare from Quentin. Besides, she probably had at least another night or two before reaching that part. So he hoped. Then she could always go back into the good parts again, slower, and savor them as many times as she liked, the way he’d been doing for three years now.

  Adrian shivered and hugged her tighter.

  “Cold?” she asked, eyes still upon the stars.

  “A bit. I’m fine.”

  Before going to bed, Sophie received texts from Niko and Freya. Freya’s said, Thinking of you, dear. Sorry Q has troubled your home again. Been lovely catching up with your Tab, and I’ll soon come see you too, if it’s all right?

  Niko’s said, Hello sugar. I’ve missed you. Can I squash some enemies for you?

  She sent back grateful acceptance to both messages, but remarked to Adrian, “He didn’t actually say ‘sorry.’”

  Adrian pulled off his shirt and tossed it into the pile on the tiny closet floor, then wriggled into the long-sleeved T-shirt he wore to bed. “That’s him all over. Doubt he’s apologized to anyone in the last three millennia.”

  He switched off the lamp and climbed into bed beside her. They intertwined under the covers, holding close and shivering while they warmed each other up. The Airstream had been getting progressively colder in the last few weeks. Some mornings when Sophie awoke, she could see her breath in the air. She hated to ask that he use up more generator fuel by setting the thermostat higher, and it seemed wrong to start the new generation of immortals off by polluting the air of the spirit realm. They’d discussed it, though it made them roll their eyes at themselves for being such environmental-guilt-ridden Westerners. She compensated by bringing extra fleece blankets to pile on the bed, and he looked up how to add weatherproofing to the trailer’s windows. Meanwhile, since the mattress still tended to be chilly when you first got into bed, they performed this body-heat exchange nightly.

  It usually led to more specialized touches and higher heat. But tonight, likely because her dad’s call had sent her flying like a scared bird into Adrian’s arms, he only held her. And when she kissed him, he hesitated.

  The dim orange nightlight from the bathroom glowed around his silhouette. She touched his cheek in question.

  “The dreams,” he said. “Thanatos is doing damage there too, you’ve said. And…well, you already know the immortals don’t live forever.”

  Dread washed over her. “Zeus and Hera have been killed already, like I told you. But…you mean us.”

  “Us and nearly everyone eventually. I don’t know if you’d get to any of that tonight, or even tomorrow, but I feel like I ought to warn you.”

  Tonight or tomorrow. So soon. The chill swept through her again, even though they were talking about events that happened over three thousand years ago. She scooted closer until she felt the beat of his heart against her arm. He was alive, here, now. So was she. That was what mattered, as he’d said. “It’s kind of like hearing your favorite character on a show is going to get killed off, isn’t it,” she said. “I mean, you know it doesn’t matter really, but in another way it totally matters. It feels real.”

  “It was real,” he said softly. “But we did come back. Try to hold onto that.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Hera showed up in the fields, a free soul again, about a year after her death, and Zeus a few months after her. Persephone gladly ran to greet each of them when the other souls sent out the word. The formerly royal pair bore a subdued gratitude now. Time in Tartaros tended to do that to souls, leaving them cowed but thankful, with a habit of finding as many of their former victims in the fields as they could and apologizing to them.

  Since they had only spent a year or so in the caves of punishment, evidently the Fates did recognize the large amount of good the pair had performed in life to help balance the bad. Those who were truly murderous and remorseless often got held for a span of time equal to a whole human life—thirty, forty, sometimes fifty or more years. Even the thought of one year in such confinement shot a chill through Persephone. To her memory, she had never been sent there between any of her past lives. But would she in future? Would she die at all?

  Death, at least, was looking more likely. Thanatos became only more determined with each passing month. Three more immortals, in different and far-apart attacks, had been captured and killed in the year since Zeus’ and Hera’s murder.

  Benna, Poseidon’s youngest daughter, was first, turned upon by the village she had lived in for years. A good woman who would never have merited the caves of punishment, her soul had appeared in the fields at once. Her two immortal sisters fled to shelters in the spirit world. Lately Poseidon and Amphitrite visited the Underworld often to talk to Benna, and bring her news of the rest of the family. The grief on the immortal couple’s face at seeing their daughter among the dead brought tears to Persephone’s eyes every time. It was too easy to remember almost losing Hekate, and to fear losing her again in this new and horrible way.

  The vicious fringe group also captured and killed one of the Muses, a sweet poet named Euterpe; and similarly, Epimetheus, Prometheus’ brother, who never suspected his living-world neighbors would betray him.

  At least Zeus and Hera had enjoyed over a century of immortality. These latest three had only tasted it for a modest span of years, and ended up living no longer than the average person.

  Fear and rage spread through the immortals. Several withdrew to the spirit world to build homes there and ventured only occasionally into the mortal realm, the way the Underworld gods already lived. But, as Persephone knew, residing in the spirit realm felt unnatural and lonely, even with souls, wild creatures, and other immortals for company. The immortals were meant to be stewards of both realms—she sensed it, and Hekate, more in tune with the forces of nature, confirmed it when Persephone mused aloud about it to her. But how could you act as steward and helper for those who might try to kill you?

  Living among others always involved danger, she supposed. Earth held treachery. Death and life were joined, eating each other’s tails like sacred snake bracelets. Anyone familiar with the Underworld knew that.

  But mortals hadn’t been actively trying to kill them before, not until lately. And it didn’t help that some immortals, Ares and Artemis foremost among them, had struck back in revenge, treating it as war. They hunted down and slaughtered several of the mob leaders, exactly as the other immortals had warned they shouldn’t. More meetings followed, more shouting at each other. Neither Persephone nor Hekate could take much of it. Hades, at least, seemed to get perverse pleasure out of reminding Ares how Tartaros had claimed Zeus for similar behavior.

&n
bsp; “Your record’s worse than his, in fact,” Hades had said at their last meeting, “and that’s only the deeds of yours I know about. I doubt you’re doing good works in your spare time to balance it out. You’re building yourself a lovely thick rope in the afterlife indeed.”

  “Assuming the afterlife can ever catch me,” Ares had retorted. “I don’t plan to be stupid enough to get killed.”

  “Oh, are you finally trying not to be stupid?” Hermes had said, in optimistic tones. “What good news.”

  Most mortals didn’t wish to harm the immortals, and the itinerant Thanatos speechmakers even got run out of town in some places. Most immortals, in their turn, devoted the majority of their time to improving the living world in some fashion. Gratitude and prayers in the form of written tablets or offerings of food appeared in sanctuaries that had sprung up all over the mainland and islands. Persephone had visited some, heard of others, and had no idea where every last one was or how many there were. She tried to reassure herself with that knowledge: the immortals had plenty of allies, more than they knew.

  Still, she had trouble sleeping every time Hekate jaunted off to another region, especially if her purpose was to join the Dionysia. Yes, Dionysos was especially well loved among mortals, and his followers particularly vicious against intruders. At a Dionysia up near Mount Olympos recently, three Thanatos fanatics, two men and a woman, had infiltrated the party and leapt upon Dionysos during a dance. Hekate had seen it all, and related it to her parents. The attackers stabbed him with knives while he fought back, all four tumbling on the ground in a whirl of blood. But the struggle lasted mere moments, because then his followers pulled the three off him and did to them exactly what Thanatos had done to Zeus and Hera: they ran them through with blades, tore them apart, and threw them on the fire.