by Carmen Kern
What seemed like an endless cycle of pain and cold and time to Kay Te was in reality only minutes. Persephone rubbed the muse’s back as Kay Te shivered in her arms. The goddess’s phone, the bedspread, everything was too far away for her to reach, and Persephone didn’t want to let go of Kay Te.
“Flames of Tartarus!” she whispered fiercely. The wallpaper in the room began to sprout vines that climbed the walls. Orange flowers burst open like flames doused with gas. The room came alive around them, fed by the anger of the goddess of spring.
Kay Te rested her eyes and regulated her breathing, in and out. She stilled her wild thoughts, sorting them like drawing panels in a story.
The pain isn’t real, she thought. It’s not mine. Stabbing pain lessened to a dull ache. She pulled out of Persephone’s embrace, sitting up straight in her chair. “I can’t see anything.” She paused. “I can’t hear, either. But I know Mr. Grim found Ferret, and he knows there’s a connection between us. This is his doing.”
Persephone held the muse’s hand while she talked.
“He’s got Ferret in a cage covered with Night. Pers, it’s so dark in here.”
“What can I do?” Persephone looked around the room wildly, at the growing greenery, at the small suitcase Hermes had brought her, at the black pages on the sketchbook. She squeezed Kay Te’s hand twice before pulling away. She patted the muse’s shoulder, trying to reassure her she was coming back. She lunged for a sweater from her suitcase and snatched her phone from the bedside table on the other side of the bed.
The vines on the walls slowed their growth, the flowers glowed yellow.
“Pers?” Kay Te said in a childlike voice.
Hurrying back to the muse, she clasped her tiny hand again, guiding it to the thick sweater she brought.
Kay Te ran her fingers over the cashmere. Persephone helped her put it on over her head, dressing her like a little kid. She led her to the bed, drew back the covers, and helped Kay Te climb in.
A waft of night air pushed the curtains aside, bringing with it something unsavory. The smell of sewage blew in and out again like a warning given in haste.
Persephone yanked her phone from her pocket, hit number one on her speed dial, and drew the covers over Kay Te while she waited.
The phone rang twice before Hecate answered. “Queen,” she answered in a voice thickened by a drink or two.
“Hey. I’ve got a problem…might be a witch problem. I just don’t know.” Persephone jumped when the muse grabbed her arm.
“I’m sorry,” Kay Te whispered.
“It’s Kay Te. Thanatos did something.”
Something muffled the receiver on the other end. Hecate spoke to someone else. Another rustling of noise from the receiver and, “Pers, we’re on our way.” The fun was knocked out of her voice. “Bob says we’ll be there in eight minutes.”
“Okay,” Persephone sat down on the bed.
“Okay,” Hecate repeated before the phone went quiet.
Persephone turned to the muse, who appeared to be awake, her turquoise eyes open but not focused on anything in this world. She seemed to be breathing normally, her shivering less violent. Persephone clasped the muse’s hand and waited.
At the edge of Kay Te’s darkness, a door appeared, an ugly yellow light crawling from underneath it, illuminating a walkway, no, a hallway with many other darkened doorways. Kay Te began to walk toward the farthest door. She instantly hated this place. She hated the faded molding wallpaper, the stink of wet dog and cabbage, the creaks in the floor, the banging in the pipes, and most of all, the open doors along the corridor. As she walked on a foul carpet, the fibers squishy with moisture, the noises grew louder. All of them now coming from behind the door at the end. Muffled talking, a snap of a whip, cries of pleasure, and the screams of nightmares.
She hurried past the dark open doors, telling herself, Don’t look, don’t look. She didn’t, not at first. It was the light under the door at the end she sought. It was the only thing that had broken through the never-ending darkness of this hell. And there was no doubt in her mind that that’s what this was.
Time, pulled thin like toffee, seemed to snap, leaving her to wander forever or for a fraction of a second. Now, at every door, when Kay Te willed herself to turn away, her eyes wouldn’t obey. She couldn’t help but glance inside the rooms as if she were trapped in a carnival ride of terror. Headless creatures hung upside down on crossbeams, the snapping jaws of Leviathan slowly eating their way up their bodies. Circus freaks, two-headed bearded women, conjoined triplets, werewolves, fanged humans with disjointed bat wings, all fighting to the death, though they tried not to. Cannibals, blood, ghouls freshly risen from their graves, bones, slaughtered beasts riddled with maggots…she fled past them now, sickened with horror.
The door with the light was before her. She knocked, not daring to look back. Gorge rose in her throat as the door opened into a room tailored to her own fears. Phobetor sat waiting on a dirty bed, his true face exposed in all its grotesquery.
“Welcome to your nightmare, Muse.”
Her mouth form around some final words that she never did hear. Words no one heard. For she was all alone with the god of nightmares.
Persephone rested the back of her hand on the muse’s forehead. “She’s colder. Flames, her skin is freezing.”
Bob jumped up from the other side of the bed and searched the closets for extra blankets. “How the hell are we supposed to fight something we can’t see?” He emptied the shelves of blankets and pillows, dropping a few on the floor as he carried them to the bed.
“Hecate?” Persephone looked up at the witch.
“There’s no easy way to fight the unseen.” Hecate hovered her hands over Kay Te’s body, working her way from head to toe and back again. Her eyes rolled back, turning milky white. She probed the girl with her mind. The muse’s essence stunk of evil, but Hecate couldn’t seem to pinpoint the exact origin. But there was something there.
“Damn,” the witch goddess said, her eyes rolling forward, refocusing. She dropped her hands to her thighs. “I think she’s stuck in a nightmare of her own fears. There’s no doubt Phobetor is orchestrating the whole thing. I’d recognize his cheap cologne anywhere. The guy’s got money. You’d think he could get something with a more manly smell.”
Persephone and Bob stopped unfolding the blankets and stared at Hecate.
“And I digress,” she said, noting their gaze. She pulled back her long dark hair, piling it on the top of her head while she paced a line in front of the TV to the open window. She walked with both hands holding her hair while the others piled blankets on Kay Te. Hecate stopped and spun around. “Did you try drawing something in the sketchpad?”
Bob tucked the blankets under Kay Te’s chin and pushed back a stray lock of her hair.
“I can’t even draw a stick figure person without making it look like a capital H.” Persephone smoothed out the top blanket and sat down on the bed, taking the muse’s hand.
Bob brushed his palm against the muse’s cheek and said, “I took an art class or two, but it was just to up my GPA. What do you have in mind?” He glanced up at Hecate.
“Outline a single panel and write a word, any word.” Hecate dropped her hair.
Bob rounded the end of the bed and sat down at the table. He picked up a dark felt pen and drew a line down the length of the paper. The pen squeaked but no ink came out. He switched the pen out for a pencil and the same thing happened. Nothing marked the page. “You want me to keep trying or…”
Hecate placed her hand on Bob’s shoulder. “No. My guess is that the muse tried to redraw the scene before she…” The witch’s words faded off.
Persephone buried her head in her hands. “I’ve got one suggestion, and it’s a bad one,” she said, her voice muffled by her fingers. She raised her head again, her hair messed, fallen over her face. “Tell me you’ve got an idea, Hec.”
“I can’t sense the or
igin of a spell or a curse…or even a compulsion. We can’t counteract a spell when there isn’t one. I’ve got nothing.”
“Which is why you’re thinking nightmare,” Bob said, both hands on the table. “Which makes sense dealing with the Night brothers. And Pers, I think I know what you’re thinking, but I don’t like the guy.”
“I don’t like the guy either.”
“If you guys don’t like him, I know I won’t.” Hecate looked between Persephone and Bob. “Are you going to tell me who we’re hating on?”
“Rad,” they said in unison.
Hecate looked at the ceiling as if saying a prayer to a god that no longer sat in the mighty halls of Olympus. But she was never one to do such a thing, even when the gods ruled from their holy city.
Persephone looked at the carpet. “Hate him or not, I can’t think of anything else.”
They sat silently for a moment.
Bob looked up at the goddesses. “What about Apollo? He’s the man when it comes to healing.”
“There’s nothing to heal, not yet anyway. Kay Te’s mind and body are intact. I felt her spirit, her god power. Nothing is broken or injured.”
Bob shoved the sketchpad away with little force. He just didn’t have it in him. “What good are god powers if you can’t use them, if you can’t help someone?”
“Do you know how many times I’ve wondered the same thing? I can’t save my husband from a cartoon world. It doesn’t look like he can save himself either. And now this happens to Kay Te. All because we dragged her into our fight.” She ran her fingers through her hair angrily. “Honestly, I didn’t think Thanatos would be this hard to catch. He’s not the brightest star in the constellation. I should’ve sent him to Tartarus when he— Well, I didn’t. And now he’s flaunting himself like a sicko in the park.”
“You said Ferret has the cuffs on?” Bob asked.
“He does. But we don’t know where he is…or where they took him. And we don’t know where Hades is. From what we saw, it seemed that the people he was with were in hiding. There were stores of weapons. It was a cave or someplace underground. And if they wanted him dead, I don’t think they would’ve patched him up. It seemed like they had other plans.”
“But there’s still a chance we can find them both. If Ferret can still get to Hades, there’s a chance.” Bob sucked his bottom lip.
“Have you always been this optimistic?” Hecate asked.
“No,” Bob said. “I’m not sure what’s wrong with me.”
Persephone gave him a small smile. “So. Who’s going to call the purple devil?”
There was a long time of silence as they exchanged looks. Bob tapped his fingers on the table. Hecate shrugged.
“Fine.” Persephone picked up her phone. “I’m not sure how much longer Rad’s going to play along my threats. Blackmail only goes so far, especially with the djinn.”
“You could just owe him a favor.” Hecate shrugged.
“No chance.” Persephone dialed her phone.
“You owed the djinn a favor before and lived to tell about it.” Hecate smirked.
Persephone tipped the phone away from her ear. “I lived. But you have no idea what I had to do for Axle.”
“And I don’t want to know. There are some things you can’t unhear.”
“Hello.” Persephone stood, making her way to the end of the bed. “Yes, it’s me…no, we need your help…yes, again. Do I have to…I’m pretty sure you don’t want to piss off the queen of the Underworld, or the witch goddess.” Persephone glanced at Hecate.
“Damn right,” Hecate said.
“Or Bob,” Bob added.
“Or Bob…Okay, first, that’s physically impossible, even for me, and second, if you say something like that again I’ll carve your lips off your face…we’re in the same room as before…see you soon.” Persephone hung up.
“He caved when you mentioned my name, didn’t he?” Bob looked at Persephone and leaned his chair back on two legs.
The goddesses couldn’t help but grin.
“Does it ever seem like we’re just flitting from one devil to the other, trying to make a deal?” Bob asked.
“Welcome to the world of the gods, Bob.” Hecate patted him on the shoulder and crossed the room to check on Kay Te.
“That’s what I thought,” Bob mumbled.
FOURTEEN
Barges in the harbor sounded their horns, warning each other and the docks they were coming. It was a welcome sound. For some it meant getting to work, readying the cranes, lining up the trucks, double-checking paperwork. For others it was the promise of food and supplies making their way to the corner stores and markets and hospitals.
The rotters didn’t seem to hear anything at all. Not the shouts or the commands from the remaining RCMP officers tasked with keeping order in the city without the use of violence. With more and more people wandering in the streets, the officers fenced off quadrants of blocks to keep the rotters contained. It mostly worked. It also made it easier for volunteers to keep the undead fed and clothed. The city and first responders were still working on ways to keep the streets and the people clean, or at the very least, not filthy. Sanitation and self-care were just another set of problems they had to solve on top of the other hundred.
Thanatos requested that the news crew meet him for his interview on the corner of Cambie and Water Street, in front of the Gastown Steam Clock and a block away from the fences and hundreds of rotters. Sheryl Channing, the news anchor for CTV, checked her makeup in a compact mirror. Her cameraman polished the camera lens with a cloth, his eyes flicking between his equipment and the few people in the streets.
Thanatos, his ears heavy from rings of thick silver, was dressed in a suit of dark purple. The color of royalty. The tattoos on his hands were the only ones showing, most of the words covered by ornately carved silver rings. He was posh and gangster, and he was ready for his show.
Thanatos closed his eyes and listened. It was the one thing he missed about the dying—the sounds of their souls. The grinding of regret, crackling of anger, smooth jazz of jealousy, gentle breeze of contentment…there were so many luscious songs from the souls of the dying. And if he listened closely, he could hear them faintly from the walking masses herded like cattle into the corral just down the street.
“Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Night, you look like you were far away. But we’re on in two minutes.” Sheryl, freshly powdered and camera polished, touched the god’s arm.
He reveled in her warm touch, picturing her slain, lying prone across an altar in one of his ancient temples. A handsome smile grew on his face. Opening his eyes, he looked at the anchorwoman and said, “Where would you like me?”
The woman took a step closer to Thanatos, drawn in. The god’s words drew suggestive scenes in Sheryl’s mind, images she didn’t want to shake.
The CTV cameraman called out from beneath an old maple tree, its massive branches shading a patch of green to the side of a boutique dress shop that had gone out of business.
“Over here, then.” Sheryl swung her professionally colored hair over her shoulder and escorted the god to a shaded spot underneath the tree.
“One minute,” said the cameraman.
“Quickly.” Sheryl held the microphone daintily in her hand. “We’re running human interest stories on local businesses, successful businesses that have been hit hard because of the deadless phenomenon. I’ll ask questions about your chain of mortuaries in particular…how hard you’ve been hit business wise, and so on.” She stared at Thanatos, her eyes unblinking, dry and then burning with tears.
The once-busy corner was strangely quiet, even for the current state of the city. A few people passed behind the small crew while they arranged themselves in the best light.
“Twenty seconds.” The cameraman lined up his shot, double-checking his settings. “Ned, get more light on Mr. Night,” he said.
Ned tilted the reflector until he got the ligh
t on Thanatos’s face. His usual gray skin seemed a burnished bronze in the Vancouver sunlight.
“Sheryl, five seconds.”
She jerked her head around at the sound of her name. She wet her lips and moved away from Thanatos for the introduction shot. She smoothed her long bangs and waited.
“Two, and…” The cameraman signaled to Sheryl.
“Good morning, Vancouver! I’m Sheryl Channing coming to you live from the downtown core, just steps away from the Gastown Steam Clock. For those of you following our weekly stories, this is the second of five interviews with the owners of local businesses who have been affected by our city’s, and the world’s, deadless phenomenon. While so many of you deal with friends and loved ones suffering with this condition, our local businesses struggle to keep their doors open.” Sheryl turned to Thanatos, closing the distance between them. “Today we are talking to Mr. Thanatos Night, owner and CEO of Cimmerian Funeral Homes. Thank you for taking the time to talk to us this morning, Mr. Night.” Sheryl smiled a little brighter than usual at her guest.
“Thank you for having me, Sheryl.” Thanatos bowed slightly, placing his tattooed fingers on his chest.
Sheryl momentarily lost herself in the god’s motion, in the flashing silver rings, and his black, black eyes.
The cameraman eased to his left while he moved closer, zooming in for a tighter shot. He glanced up from behind his camera, silently calling for his anchor to keep the sequence going by circling his hand below the camera.
Sheryl caught the cameraman’s gesture, brushed her hair from her face, and cleared her throat in a most fetching way. “I have to ask, and this is more out of my own curiosity, but where did you come up with the name for your chain of funeral homes?” She held the microphone out for Thanatos.
The god of death had never been envious of his brother’s masks until now. How does one look underwhelming, sheepish, almost at a loss for words yet smart enough to run a large company? he thought. But as most things merely thought by a god, it was made so.