by Amy Sumida
A pair of double doors were opened for Triton, who was still swimming at the head of our procession with his daughter. He entered the room beyond and the rest of us followed. It was a large, empty chamber, and I had my suspicions as to what it was for. Sure enough, as soon as Poseidon and I entered, the doors were shut behind us, and I felt a pull coming from beneath me. I glanced down and saw grates in the floor, drawing the water out of the room.
As the water level lowered, the Tritons shifted their tails to legs, including Triteia. They all wore armored skirts like ancient Greek warriors; strips of leather studded with metal strapped around their waists. Water dripped off the skirts onto their bare feet. Poseidon isn't a shifter—he has no tail—so he remained as he was and floated down to the grated floor to land on his boots. He released his hold on my waist and transferred it to my wrist as we waited for the water to drain away completely. Then panels slid over the grates and a whooshing sound announced the pressurization of the chamber.
The double doors at the other end of the room opened, and Triton led us into the corridor beyond, his daughter still in tow but now walking on bare feet. Our parade of prisoners followed Poseidon's son through a palace that looked as if it belonged on land. The floors and walls within this air-filled section were pale stone, polished to a glossy sheen. The corridor floor was bare but the walls were adorned with paintings, tapestries, and sconces that held ancient statues and vases. I recognized the pieces from Poseidon's original palace. It looked as if he'd moved house.
The rooms we passed were appointed lavishly with thick rugs, gilded furniture, and massive mirrors to make the spaces seem even larger. Golden rods held damask drapes, giving the illusion that there were windows behind them. The only clue that we were under the sea came from the flower arrangements which featured branches of coral and flowers formed of shells.
“Father!” Triteia growled and pulled back on Triton's grip. “Why are you doing this? Why are you siding with this madman?”
The other prisoners stared at Triton, all of us eager to hear his answer. But my great-uncle didn't say anything, just glanced at his daughter, tightened his grip, and went back to dragging her along. I grimaced and didn't try to attempt a conversation with Poseidon; it looked as if they'd let us know what they had planned when they were good and ready.
We passed courtiers in luxurious clothing; sea folk making use of the air-filled rooms to wear things that otherwise would have been impractical. All of them bowed deeply to Poseidon, but none dared to speak to any of us. As soon as we passed, they scurried away like rats. I frowned at that and began to wonder how many of Poseidon's people were following him only because they had no choice. Was Triton included in their number? If so, he hid his fear well. But then, that's what warriors do.
Triton turned left and veered off down another corridor. The other guards did the same, following their commander with their charges in tow. Poseidon, however, kept striding forward, his water boots silent on the stone. He didn't even glance at his courtiers, just focused his stare forward. Not me; I stared around myself at everything, trying to absorb as much information as possible, not knowing what might come in handy later. Which is how I spotted Meg.
Megaera was one of the first abducted Greeks. I'd forgotten about them; the science-loving members of Divine Matter. The inventors. A guard was exiting a room as we passed. He bowed to Poseidon, who ignored the man as he had everyone else. I, however, stared past the guard and into the room he had exited. That's where I saw Meg.
Megaera was seated at a work table. Machines, beakers, and burners were scattered over the table's surface and around the room. It looked like a mad scientist's laboratory, augmented by Beneather technology. Things bubbled, beeped, and burned. I heard the sounds of other people in the room—sharp clicks, clacks, and murmurs—but didn't see them. Only Meg. She held a length of fabric that gleamed acid green. Part of it was set beneath a viewing device. I looked up from the fabric and met her startled stare. She opened her mouth as if to call out to me, but the guard shut the door before she could utter a single word.
My great-grandfather pulled me further down the corridor, leading me forward until we came to a stairwell. I frowned when I saw it, finally realizing where I'd seen such work before. In the Zone. The foundation of the fortress had a similar look to buildings built by Gargoyles. Had my great-grandfather abducted Gargoyles to do this work for him? They'd certainly be able to accomplish it faster than any amount of Tritons. How many beneathers had Poseidon captured already?
Poseidon led me up the stairs, winding past two floors before we came to the one he wanted. He took me down another corridor then through a doorway at the end. I stepped into the room and stopped cold. It was the bedroom I always used when I visited him. He had transported it to this palace. Every detail. The grand bed with its gilded headboard carved with sea creatures and a mattress covered with my favorite blue silk comforter embroidered with seashells. The delicate vanity that had once belonged to Marie Antoinette before she was Queen of France. The silk rugs in robin's egg blue and warm peach. The delicate dining set carved from pale wood and painted with pink roses. Even the watercolor paintings of flowers hung in the same spots they had in my old room. My gaze came to rest on the padded bench that stretched along the foot of the bed; a velvet dress laid across it.
“Take off the suit and put on the dress,” Poseidon ordered.
I turned to gape at him in shock. Not because of his command—I'd expected him to force me out of my gear—but because the sound of his voice was wrong. For a second, I'd thought that someone else had entered the room.
I yanked off my mask and demanded, “Who are you? You are not my grandfather.”
Poseidon's face spread in a pleased smirk. “Well done, Elaria. You are the first to figure it out and it only took hearing me speak. But that's likely a Spellsinger trait; a keen ear.”
My heart sped up. We'd thought that Poseidon had gone crazy but this wasn't insanity, it was impersonation. Or worse. I should have known that this man was an impostor the second I locked stares with him. My great-grandfather would never have looked at me as this man did.
“Is it an illusion?” I cocked my head and tossed the mask on the bed as I looked him over.
“Not at all.” His smile shifted into something predatory. “This is the body of Poseidon.”
“Just not his mind,” I concluded.
“No,” the impostor agreed. “Another soul controls this shell now. Although, Poseidon has been irritatingly tenacious and refuses to leave.”
“How did you take his body?” I tried not to panic. My grandfather was trapped in his own body with this wicked thing, and I needed to keep calm if I wanted to save him. And my men. Sweet stones, were my men alive?
“I was imprisoned in water. Water and ice,” the stranger's voice dropped into a purr as he strode forward and looked me up and down. “Someone put me to sleep and trapped me in it just when I was about to break free. But the water that imprisoned me connects to an underground river. A river that leads to the Pacific Ocean. In my restless dreams, I drifted down that fluid pathway and found a powerful mind. Slowly, I invaded that mind and once I was inside it, both mind and body became mine.”
My mind reeled as he spoke, churning through possibilities that made my blood run cold. It couldn't be. I had sung him to sleep myself. But then I recalled the stone fortress; the way it had been carved out of the mountain. And my choker. He'd done something to my necklace. I yanked the collar of my wet suit down as I turned toward the vanity. The reflection showed a continuous collar of seamless onyx around my throat. The oval cabochons had lengthened and fused into one solid piece of stone and the silver fastenings had fallen away. I could feel the bits of metal in my cleavage.
Stone; this wicked being had been imprisoned in ice and water underground, somewhere near the Pacific Ocean, and had stone magic in addition to the water magic he'd taken from my great-grandfather. There was only one conclusion to arrive at.
>
“Gargo,” I whispered in horror as I turned my stare back to him.
“I'm flattered that you remember me, Spellsinger.” He grabbed my hand and lifted it to his lips, kissing it as if he were a gentleman.
But as Gargo's mouth—it was no longer Poseidon's—met my hand, he nipped at me with his sharp teeth. I hissed and tried to yank my hand away, but he kept a firm hold of it, his eyes flashing with magic as his tongue darted out to taste my blood. His eyes closed as he savored the flavor.
“There it is,” Gargo murmured as he opened his eyes and let me go. “I'd know that blood anywhere. The blood that nearly freed me. It's nice to finally meet you in person, Goddess of Fire and Light.”
“Delighted, I'm sure, God of the Gargoyles,” I said sarcastically.
Gargo laughed. “I've seen you in Poseidon's memories but they don't do you justice. You're very amusing. It's a pity that I must have my vengeance upon you.”
“I protected my world and myself, and I'd do it again,” I snarled.
“You betrayed a fellow god,” he snarled back, baring his teeth at me.
“I betrayed you by saving myself?” I scoffed. “Try again.”
Gargo narrowed his eyes at me then slowly smiled. “Perhaps we can come to an understanding.”
“An understanding?”
“You help me conquer this world, and I'll forgive your inhospitable actions.”
“Not a chance.” I crossed my arms.
“There is every chance.” He grinned again. “One way or another, you will help me take back my world, Spellsinger. The only question is whether you survive to feel guilty about it.”
“As you said; I'm a goddess. I'll survive.”
“But you aren't at full power, are you?” He lifted a brow as he strode casually around me in a circle as if he could see the level of my power. “There is only a small spark of Fire left along with a glimmer of Light. It's growing but it isn't anywhere near the level it needs to be to challenge me.”
“You'd be surprised at what I can do. Some call it miraculous.”
“Can you create a planet? A race?” Gargo asked as he stopped before me. “That's what gods can do.”
I swallowed roughly, and he grinned, his stare focused on my throat. Or maybe my jugular.
“Do you know the easiest way to kill a god?” He leaned in to whisper. When I didn't say anything, he answered anyway, “With another god. I will destroy you, little goddess. Or you could join your scant power to mine and live to see your lovers again.”
I didn't dare ask him if my lovers lived; that would only give him more fodder.
“There is no choice,” I murmured.
Gargo drew back with another of his smug grins, thinking he'd won.
“I will never join you,” I added, and his grin faded. “I owe that much, at least, to this planet and its people.”
“Then destruction it is,” he declared as if it hadn't mattered to him either way. “But rest assured that I will drain every drop of usefulness out of you before I cast you into the abyss.”
“Oh, yes, that's very comforting.” I rolled my eyes.
“The suit.” Gargo narrowed his eyes and waved at my wet suit. “Take it off now and put on the dress.”
“So that I'll have no escape?” I lifted a brow at him.
“You already have no escape. This is so you have no hope either.”
“Lovely,” I muttered.
“You trapped me underwater, Elaria Tanager. Now, I've trapped you and no one is coming to save you. Your lovers, those who survived my strike, will never find my new palace and even if they did, they don't have enough magic to free you. Now, take off the suit or I will. I assure you, you'll not enjoy the way I strip you.”
I peeled off the wet suit and tossed it at Gargo's face. He caught it with another smirk. Pieces of silver—the remnants of my choker—fell around me. I glanced down at my traveling stone just as he spotted it. My hand shot toward it, but Gargo was faster. He snatched the stone and my contact charm, tearing them away from me with a snarl. The stone I'd created with magic flew off its chain as Gargo broke it along with the other chain, but he didn't notice it. He was too busy staring at my body.
Gargo's fury disappeared, replaced by something far more sinister. His gaze lowered, his chest rising and falling with deeper breaths, and his lips parted for his tongue to dart out and wet them. He was practically salivating.
“Not happening,” I growled as I yanked the dress on. “I would die before I let you rape me in my grandfather's body, you sick freak.”
Gargo laughed low, loud, and scathingly as his stare went back to mine. “I suppose I should expect such arrogance from a fellow god. Or perhaps it's your numerous lovers who have convinced you that you're irresistible. Regardless of what gave you such unfounded pride, I assure you; it was a different kind of hunger you saw in my eyes. I crave another taste of your blood, not your body. I have women to slake my lust upon when I crave such things; willing women. Eager women.”
My stomach churned at the thought of him using my grandfather's body to slake his lust. My poor grandmother; her and Grandpa had been in love for millennia. How brokenhearted she must be.
“Taking you would be for torture only, and that's not the way I want to see you scream,” he went on maliciously. “Your blood, however, carries magic in it—delicious magic—but I can't indulge beyond a few licks. As I noted earlier, you are not at your full strength which means that I need to conserve what little magic you have so I may use it to truly free myself.”
I went pale as I realized what he truly wanted from me. If Gargo had his real body, he could take over the world without any help from beneathers. But he couldn't get to his body—or free it—without controlling the Beneath and me. My blood had the power to break his prison, and that prison was in Slate's zone. Gargo couldn't bargain with Slate because the only thing Slate would want would be my safe return. If Gargo wanted access to his body, he'd have to get control of the Oregon Zone first then take me there and bleed me dry.
“Ah, I see you've finally comprehended what a kettle of fish you're in,” Gargo declared and winked at me. “I'll leave you to stew in it for a bit.”
Gargo turned and left the room, closing the door behind him. The click of a lock sounded like a gunshot.
Chapter Eighteen
“Hungry, Elaria?” Gargo purred from the doorway of my guest room/prison cell.
“As it so happens, I am.” I lowered my hands and turned around to face him. “My dinner tray must have gotten lost.”
I'd been trying for hours to break the onyx collar with no success. After Gargo left, the first thing I did was retrieve the chunk of onyx Torin, Darc, Lucifer, Rath, and I had created. After failing to access its power and use that power to destroy the onyx collar, I gave up and hid it in my hair, slipping the hasp over a lock and then braiding my hair around it to hold it in place at the nape of my neck. There was no way that I'd let that asshole get his hands on that piece of brilliant magic. Then I attempted to physically break the collar. Hey, you never know unless you try.
“You won't be eating here, Elaria,” Gargo said. “You'll join me for dinner just as soon as you finish entertaining my army.”
“Excuse me?” I lifted my brows at him. That better not mean what I thought it meant.
“Not in that way.” He grimaced at me. “Do your thoughts center around sex constantly? How very base and disappointing. I expected more from you.”
“That wasn't a huge leap,” I huffed. “I suppose you want me to sing?”
“I admit that the thought brings me joy.” He grinned. “A goddess singing for me before she bleeds for me.”
“I'd rather starve.” I smirked when his smile shifted into a snarl.
“As you like.” Gargo lifted his chin but then his stare landed on my throat. “But whether you sing or not, you will whet my appetite.”
Gargo's hand shot forward and grabbed my wrist. He yanked me against his chest and lowe
red his mouth to my throat. I twisted and flailed as his arms circled me, calling him all sorts of nasty names. He grunted as my knee caught him in the worst possible place, but he didn't let go. His grip tightened and his breath came faster; hot on my skin.
“Father?” Triton's voice, sharpened with shock, came from the doorway.
Gargo stiffened, sighed deeply, and glanced at Triton over his shoulder. “What is it, Son?”
“What are you doing to Elaria?” Triton demanded.
“Trying to convince her to join us.” Gargo let me go reluctantly. “But she's rather steadfast in her refusal.”
My great-uncle is a regal, handsome man; traits he inherited from his father. Blond braids, tinged green, swept back from his face to unite in one long plait adorned with gold medals to display his prowess as a warrior. His body is a prime example of a sea god—muscular but sleek, and his eyes are deep-sea-green, a color that matches his tail perfectly, when he has a tail. When he doesn't, his strong legs hold him tall, usually in a stance that conveys his confidence in himself and the world around him. Except today, that confidence was missing.