Spellcrash

by Kelly McCullough

  Melchior nodded and shifted shape again. A picture opened on his screen. Persephone sitting in a garden under the open sky—after her long ordeal in Hades, she refused to allow a roof of any kind over her head. The goddess looked into the camera and raised the corners of her lips in a very good imitation of a smile. If I hadn’t known her as well as I did, I might even have believed it.

  “Ravirn,” she said, “I’m sorry to impose on you yet again after the great service you’ve already done me, but the very thought of what I’m about to show you fills me with a dread that makes it very hard for me to act with restraint. I don’t want to have to do something about this, so I am asking you to address it if you would.”

  It was my turn to whistle. The last time Persephone had acted without restraints, she had very nearly destroyed the whole damn multiverse. Coupled with a request for my help and the plethora of doomsday viruses she had just shown herself to possess, it was both the gentlest and most terrifying threat anyone had ever made to me. I glanced a question at my grandmother.

  Thalia nodded. “She’s deadly serious.”

  Melchior had paused the playback during the interplay—better than TiVo, that little guy. Now he started it again.

  Persephone whistled something long and complex and self-harmonizing. It was a subtle piece of coding and one I definitely wanted to listen to again later for study purposes. The spell resulted in the formation of a black picture frame in the air beside her. The area within initially showed only static.

  “I won’t watch this again,” she said in a voice edged with jagged ice, “but you must.” Then she rose and walked out of the picture as the camera moved in tight on the contents of the frame so that we were watching a picture within a picture.

  The static seemed to fold in on itself, reaching into elsewhere. As it did so, a haze like heat distortion shimmered into being in front of the black frame—a typical symptom of some sort of really heavy-duty encryption. Whatever was at the other end of the spell, Persephone truly didn’t want it finding its way back to her. When the picture came clear, I understood why.

  “Oh hell,” I whispered.

  “Hades, actually,” said Thalia.

  “From where I sit on Hades’ personal hate list, there’s not a whole lot of difference between the two,” I replied.

  The frame provided a window into Hades’ office in the underworld. It had changed radically since my last visit. Not surprising since that visit had resulted in the utter destruction of Hades’

  headquarters complex. But even though the positioning of the camera—probably a monitor mount—hid much of the room from me, I recognized the place instantly. The presence of the death god in his pretentious office chair was only the most obvious giveaway. Even without Hades as a pointer I would have recognized the horrible deadness of the lands beyond the Styx.

  Our view showed the god sitting at an angle to the screen, giving us a two-thirds view of his face. He was nodding thoughtfully. Behind him, a large open window looked over a pier on the river Lethe. As I watched, a young man walked hesitantly out to the end of the pier and stared into the water. He wore a sort of grayed-out version of the T-shirt-and-jeans uniform of the college set, and his shoulders slumped with the classic dejection of the dead.

  “That’s very interesting,” Hades said to someone offscreen, drawing my attention back to the foreground.

  I realized then that I’d been avoiding looking at Hades. He was snake skinny, with dark, smoky hair that moved on its own and skin drawn too tight over his bones. His flesh had something of smoke to it, too, a tenuous quality, as though it might drift away between one moment and the next, revealing his true self—a skeleton that only played at being a man.

  “My principal thought you might feel that way, all things considered.” The voice answering Hades was a woman’s and very tense. It sounded familiar, too, though I couldn’t immediately place it.

  “Is the damage really so extensive?” asked Hades, and there was a hunger that lurked just beneath the surface of his words.

  “Irreparable,” said a second woman. This one had a faint accent that sounded as though she didn’t have quite the right vocal apparatus for human speech. “She knows she cannot ever properly resume her role and thus must find another to take her throne.”

  Hades leaned back and steepled his hands, too obviously working at projecting confidence and limited interest. The Lord of the Dead clearly hadn’t had to do much bargaining over the long years of his reign. The immediate question his attitude raised was who had something that he wanted that much.

  “I have a hard time imagining her retirement,” said Hades at last.

  “So does she,” replied the second woman, the one with the inhuman accent.

  “Am I the only candidate?” asked Hades.

  “Don’t be an idiot,” replied the first—more familiar-sounding—woman, and I almost knew her then. “You are one of four. This is by way of a preliminary interview for a tough job.”

  Hades’ jaw clenched. “Whom do I have to convince? Her?” He nodded straight ahead. “Or you?” Again the nod, this time a bit to the right.

  “You need to convince my mother, of course,” said the first voice, and I would have had it then even without the edge of a green wing that momentarily slipped into the picture.

  Megaera, the Fury with hair and wings of ship-devouring seaweed. In turn, that meant the trio must be talking about Necessity. My back clenched. Every muscle from the backs of my knees to my neck contracted all in an instant at the thought of Necessity handing over her role as the Fate of the Gods to anyone, much less Hades.

  It would take about ten minutes and forty-seven seconds from the time he took over to the instant when my eternal-torment regimen started. The only reason it would take even that long was that the first ten minutes would be devoted to reclaiming Persephone and . . . I shuddered. It didn’t bear thinking about. I found myself looking past Hades to his window, staring at the boy on the end of the pier again rather than looking at the death god. The boy seemed mesmerized by the water flowing beneath him.

  I couldn’t blame him. Putting Hades aside, I wasn’t too keen about any of the other likely candidates for taking on the role of Necessity 2.0 either. The second woman had said there were four. That could only mean the pole powers. Fate would hand me over to Hades in an instant. Eris I love as a sister—a completely psychotic and extremely dangerous sister. No one in their right mind would want to live in a universe ruled by Discord. Zeus? Zeus I might be able to live with, though that would likely put Athena in the role now held by the Furies—divine enforcer and cosmic sys-admin—and if she had her druthers, she’d skin me slowly. No, none of the candidates was particularly good for team Raven.

  “Is there any way for me to sweeten the pot?” asked Hades, dragging my attention back to him and the office. “Special favors Necessity needs to have done before the handover? Things I could help either of you with?”

  “That sounds suspiciously like an attempt at bribery,” said Megaera.

  Hades nodded and opened his hands wide. “Is that a problem? Because I could always rescind the offer if you’d prefer.”

  Megaera stepped forward into the frame. I could see her head, about half of her torso, and one poisonous green wing. She looked tense enough to kill—just like always.

  “I’m not entirely sure I’m comfortable with the direction this conversation is taking,” she said.

  “Why not?” asked Hades. “If you don’t believe that Zeus and the others will make similar offers, you don’t know them. Besides, don’t you think that your dear, dear mother would want to make sure you’re taken care of in the new regime?” He widened his eyes. “Unless you were planning on retiring as well? Surely not. With your work ethic?”

  “Of course not,” said Megaera, visibly startled. “Who would handle all of the computer details and enforcement duties?”

  “Well,” said Hades, sounding profoundly unctuous, “I imagine that depends
on who takes up the reins. Zeus would certainly install Athena in that seat, and I frankly doubt Eris would want any administration at all.”

  “Fate would keep us on,” said Megaera.

  “To be sure,” replied Hades, “but only as complete puppets. Is that really what you want?”

  “What we want doesn’t matter.” Megaera glanced back toward her offscreen companion.

  “Right?”

  “I don’t know for certain,” said the voice. “I can only speak with Necessity in special circumstances. But I can’t imagine that she would want you cast aside. She loves all her children so very much. Always has.”

  There was something decidedly off about the way the voice said “all.” It made my teeth itch.

  “Oh, well said.” Hades turned and grinned at the Fury. “Listen to your companion, Megaera.”

  “She’s not my companion. Neither is she a friend. She is—”

  “The voice of your mother,” interjected the other, “but only in some things.”

  Megaera submissively bowed her head for a second, then nodded. I really wanted to see who belonged to that voice.

  “So,” said Hades, “is there anything I can do for you? Anything at all? You need but ask.”

  Megaera relaxed her shoulders and mutely shook her head.

  “Are you sure you can’t think of something?” he asked. “Because I have a few thoughts there. Don’t you wonder what’s become of your sister Tisiphone? What the Raven has done with her? I could possibly help you to find out. Extract some information from him.”

  “We have our own window into Raven House,” said the alien voice. “One of my . . . little sisters is there, providing a feed.”

  “I was thinking of something more direct and—” Hades was interrupted by a chiming sound.

  “Hang on a moment.”

  He waved Megaera back out of sight of the camera, then turned directly toward the screen and tapped the button on his mouse. A picture opened within the corner of the one we were watching, a tiny window showing us what Hades was seeing on his computer. Zeus stood there, in all his buff, bronzed, frat-boy glory. Athena stood beside him, looking even more deliberately drab and invisible than usual—most of the time she eschews flash in favor of the power of going unnoticed.

  “Hades,” boomed Zeus. “So good to see a brother looking so good. We don’t talk nearly often enough. My fault really. It’s always business, business, business here on Mount Olympus. You know how it is, right?” He winked. “Anyway, I want you to pop on up and have a drink or three with me. Athena has had certain things about the situation with Necessity and that Raven boy brought to her attention, things that I thought we really ought to discuss.”

  Chaos and Discord! Didn’t anyone have anything better to think about than me? I know I did.

  “When can you get here?” said Zeus.

  Hades nodded. “May I ask about your sources first? I’m kind of busy at the moment.”

  Athena looked sideways at Zeus. He nodded, and the goddess of wisdom reluctantly opened her hand, creating an image of Cerice in the space above it. Great, my ex was about to sell me out to the powers that be . . . again. I leaned forward then and began very gently smacking my forehead against the table.

  “Does this get worse?” I asked Thalia. “Because if it does, I don’t want to know about it.”

  “There’s still a tiny bit more that you need to see.”

  “All right.” I sighed and sat up.

  Melchior restarted the playback, which he had again paused while I was distracted.

  “Oh my,” said Hades. “Yes, I think I’d better come through ASAP. Just give me a few minutes to clear my calendar.”

  “Agreed,” said Zeus, and flickered out.

  “Come see this,” said Hades.

  Megaera came around to stare over Hades’ shoulder at the screen. She was followed a moment later by—

  “What is that?” interjected Fenris.

  “Spinnerette,” replied Thalia.

  “Really?” asked the wolf.

  I understood his confusion. This one took a very different form from the spider-centaurs Necessity had usually employed in the past. A twelve-foot scorpion with a woman’s upper body and head where its stinger should have been. The scorpion part of the creature was the exact shade of poison ivy.

  The tail would have run about eight feet if it hadn’t ended in a woman. It was deep green for the first three feet, then slowly paled as it climbed the belly and breasts of the loosely human female form that tipped it. Her face and shoulders were an olive shade that wouldn’t have looked out of place in any city in Greece, and her hair was short and black.

  Her arms mirrored her torso, shading steadily toward the intense poisonous green of the scorpion as your view moved downward. The backs of her hands had some of the same chitinous quality as the main scorpion body, and her middle fingers ended in wicked, hollow claws. Adding to her gruesome aspect were the sharp vampirelike fangs at the corners of her mouth. A feature that probably explained her inhuman accent.

  “What is that you wanted to show us?” she asked as she slid in beside Megaera.

  “This.” Hades tapped a button and quickly replayed the video call from Zeus.

  When it hit the picture of Cerice, Megaera growled, “Damned fake Fury. She knows she’s not supposed to move on the Raven yet. We’re going to have words over this.”

  Megaera lashed out with one clawed hand as though she wanted to gut Cerice’s image. A hole opened in the wake of her claws, and she and the spinnerette stepped through into elsewhere, leaving Hades staring at the screen. Even though I knew he couldn’t see me, his dead eyes gave me the twitchies.

  He rose from the desk then, gathering up a briefcase and some other items, before stepping out of range of the camera. Beyond his office window, the boy on the pier took two long steps and dove into the river Lethe.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The image on Melchior’s screen froze. The boy in the background of the picture hung in the air above the waters of forgetfulness, his arms out in the beginning of a swan dive. Seconds ticked past, with the boy coming no closer to the end of all memory. Then, as if nothing had happened, the video started forward again. With a great splash, he vanished from sight and self—an idea that had its appeal. Take a leisurely swim and a nice long drink of the Lethe, and you get to walk away from all of your problems forever.

  Static ripped across the screen, closing off my window into Hades before the screen went black. Persephone did not return. Nor did I expect her to; she’d made her message clear enough. I needed to stop Hades for my own sake as much as hers, and possibly Necessity’s as well.

  “Will you do it?” asked Thalia.

  I nodded. Persephone’s request clinched things though I’d almost certainly have gotten involved without it. If for no other reason than needing Necessity at least partially functional to get me back to Tisiphone.

  An expression of profound relief spread across Thalia’s face. “Thank you. She’s got no brakes and all the tools she needs to tear the whole universe apart.”

  “And I wouldn’t blame her for it in the least,” I answered. “If I were her, looking at that, I wouldn’t have called me. I’d have gone direct to the part where you hit the big red doomsday button.”

  Thalia lifted her brow and tilted the corner of her mouth in a way that simultaneously suggested dawning understanding and continuing confusion.

  “You know,” she said. “I might be wrong about that.”

  “Wrong about what?” Melchior returned to goblin shape to speak.

  “The part about her not having any brakes.”

  “She nearly destroyed everything!” said Melchior.

  “Oh, she didn’t have any then.” Thalia smiled. “But I think maybe she does now. She has one lone brake on her actions, a sort of personal angel that she trusts to make things right, and he’s standing right here.” She picked up her napkin and folded it into a pair of white wings, which
she stuck lightly to my back before drawing a halo of golden light over my head.

  “Me?” I shook the halo free, and it dissipated. “No one in their right mind would call me an angel of any kind. That’s crazy talk.”

  “Not at all,” said Thalia. “Persephone was Hades’ prisoner and victim for thousands of years before you were even born. In all that time, the only members of the whole pantheon who ever did anything to get her out of that hell were her mother, Demeter, and, when Demeter forced him to it, Zeus. Even that was all only at the very beginning. Zeus cut the deal that got Persephone back to Demeter for nine months and left her with Hades for the other three. After that, all anyone did was say, ‘Oh, how sad,’ and go back to doing their own thing. Then along came Raven. Oh, I know you didn’t set out to help her, but you didn’t blame her for what her escape attempt did to you either.”