by S. L. Stacy
***
Point Park is located in downtown Shadesburg. The park is shaped like a triangle, the city’s three major rivers converging at its topmost point. During the day, it’s usually bustling with dog walkers, joggers, and visitors simply admiring the boats out on the water or the fountain located at the tip of the Point. In the summer, it boasts a number of events, including the regatta, an arts festival, and fireworks on the Fourth of July.
But tonight, there aren’t any events going on, the fountain is turned off, and the park is dark and empty. Here, we’ve turned our backs to the lights and noise of downtown. Instead of techno music pouring from the open doors of a night club, we can hear the trees whispering to each other in the wind and the soothing rustle of water. A gray fog creeps inland, reaching for us with ghostly fingers. My sorority sisters and I stand in a huddle, looking around the park like lost children searching for their mother.
“I wish we had an adult with us,” Gwen says.
“We are adults,” Sam points out.
Gwen glares at her. “A real adult.”
I wish we had a “real” adult with us, too—someone to hold my hand and tell me what the hell I’m supposed to do. But it’s just us, and my friends have turned to me for guidance. Genie’s spirit is imprisoned in the Underworld. There’s no time to waste.
“I don’t see any gateways,” Julia says, peering up and down the park.
“Yeah. Where’s the ‘Underworld: Straight Ahead’ sign?” Sam wonders.
“There’s nothing here. Genie was wrong.” Shivering, Julia crosses her arms over her chest. “Let’s just go home. It’s freezing out here.”
“Maybe you should have worn a jacket.”
Julia’s blue eyes plead with Sam to give her a break. “I didn’t think it would be this cold!”
“It’s the middle of October! In Shadesburg. It’s gonna get cold.”
“The fountain,” I say, cutting off whatever weak comeback Julia was about to throw at Sam. “The fountain is here.” I start walking toward it, the others following cautiously behind me.
“The fountain isn’t a gate,” Gwen points out.
“The term is figurative. Probably.”
When we reach it, Gwen looks the fountain up and down, forehead pinched. “I never realized how creepy this thing is.” A few of the others nod in agreement.
“It’s just because it’s nighttime,” I say, although a chill escapes down my spine as I gaze up at it. I walk a slow circle around the base, running a hand along the cold, grayish white stone. A sculpture of a bearded man rowing a small boat rises up through the center of it. His creator had a keen eye for detail, from the folds in the old man’s cloak to the tiny creases across his forehead and around his eyes. The fingers of one hand are wrapped around the handle of a long paddle; the other hand is outstretched, beckoning us inside his boat.
As I pass around the back of the structure, I lose sight of his solemn face, but I can still feel his eyes on me, watching me. I pause to read the inscription carved into the base: The Ferryman. D.H. 1953.
“What’s D.H.?” Julia wonders, looking at the inscription over my shoulder.
“The sculptor’s initials, I guess,” I say as I finish my perusal of the fountain.
“Whoever D.H. was,” Sam says, “he or she must have consulted some pretty authentic primary sources to make this.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, if it does open a gateway or whatever to the Underworld, he must have had some sort of contact with the Olympians in order to make it. I mean, it’s super convenient that there’s an access point to another dimension just sitting in the middle of Point Park.”
“That’s an interesting theory—and you’re probably right—but we have enough mysteries to solve right now.” Sighing, I give the statue another once-over. “This must be what Genie was talking about—there’s nothing else here—but I have no idea what we’re supposed to do next.”
“We’re supposed to pay the blood toll,” Sam reminds me.
“I know that.”
“His hand.” Sam places her hand in the sculpture’s outstretched palm. “I think you’re supposed to sprinkle the blood over his hand. It makes perfect sense,” she continues when I just stare at her, eyebrows raised. “He’s supposed to be Charon, the ferryman who carried the souls of the dead across the river Styx into the Underworld. What?” Sam says, noticing all of our perplexed gazes. “I’ve been brushing up on my Greek mythology. For obvious reasons.”
“Well, it’s worth a try,” I say, taking out the kitchen knife, wrapped in a hand towel, that I brought for the ritual. I remove the towel and toss it to Gwen, who folds it up and jams it inside her coat pocket. Then, I position the palm of my hand directly above Charon’s stone hand, holding the knife against it. “Stand back,” I tell the others.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Sam asks me quietly.
I nod. Biting my lower lip, I swiftly draw the blade across my palm, wincing as the skin breaks. “With this blood, we open the gates,” I recite. My stomach does somersaults as I watch blood bubble out of the cut. Holding the wound closer to the sculpture’s palm, I tip my hand, letting it drain freely.
My sisters join me for the rest of the chant. “With this blood, we pay Charon’s price. Let those who are lost, be found. Let those who have fallen, rise.”
Soon, the small fissures in the stone run red, my blood pooling in the center of his hand. We repeat the words two more times, just like Genie instructed.
After the ritual is complete, we become silent, watching the sculpture expectantly. Feeling lightheaded, I retract my palm, rubbing it with my other hand. The cut is already starting to heal over, the skin reforming as though it was never broken at all. Just one of the perks of being a halfling. Beside me, Sam’s shoulders fall, and she sighs in defeat. “I guess I was wrong. Nothing’s happening. Let’s just g—”
Suddenly, the stone of the hand begins to glow—at first a dull orange, in seconds turning bright red, as though it’s been dipped inside a raging fire. Sam and I throw out our arms, herding Gwen, Julia, and the others back. A blinding light issues from the fountain, and I squeeze my eyes shut against it, shielding my face with my hands. The air around us shudders, bracing itself for whatever comes next—which turns out to be a sharp hissing sound, followed by a gush of wind that almost knocks us to the ground. Only when everything goes still again do I dare open my eyes.
In front of us, a shimmering portal has appeared, blocking the ferryman and his boat, the edges of it curling outward like bits of silver flame. I only have a moment to digest what I’m seeing when something pale and amorphous comes shooting out of it, breezing over us before I can discern what it is. A second later, the portal folds in on itself, crumpling until it’s nothing more than a small, silver dot, before disappearing completely.
Chapter 8
Unfinished Business
“Genie!” I shout into the night, but only silence answers me, the park feeling emptier than ever.
“It didn’t work,” Julia sobs, holding herself. “She didn’t come.”
“Then what was that…thing that came out?” Gwen says, brown eyes darting around the park.
“I don’t think that was Genie,” Sam says, voice hoarse.
I look at her. “Who else would it be?”
Sam raises her eyebrows. “Or what else.”
“God, I’m right here!” We all jump at the sound of Genie’s frustrated voice. She hovers where the portal stood only seconds ago, the ferryman’s hand reaching right through her.
This time, Genie has appeared in Nereid form, most of her body covered in silver scales, her glossy, eel-like tail undulating in the air. “Which you probably would have noticed if you all weren’t so busy yapping. Yap, yap, yap.” She puts her thumb and fingers together, opening and closing her hand in time with the words. “Blah, blah, blah. You never shut up!”
Genie’s words hit me like bits of stone, but I ignore their
sting. Death hasn’t been a smooth transition for her. She’s entitled to some hostility. “Genie, you’re…you’re okay now. You’re free,” I say, walking slowly toward her. “You can move on in peace.”
Her eyes glow like hot coals, lips curving into a smile that makes me go numb. Genie laughs in a way I’ve never heard her laugh before, like a demon cackling into the night. “Yes. I am free. Thank you, sisters”—she spits the word, as though it burns like acid on her ghostly tongue—“for freeing me.”
“Now what?” Sam says, voice quivering slightly. She comes to stand beside me.
Genie tilts her head to the side, hair falling over her shoulder in a dark wave. Her wicked smile disappears, leaving a determined frown. “Now, you die.”
Sam and I both take a step back.
“What do you mean?” I ask Genie, heart pounding. “We just rescued you. You’re free to go now.”
“Not quite yet,” Genie says, taking to the air. She swims a circle around us as she continues, “I have some…unfinished business to attend to. Like punishing those who betrayed me.” Behind her, the dark waters of the Ohio River begin to churn, the current growing restless.
“But we didn’t betray you!” says Gwen.
“Oh, that’s right. Silly me.” Genie shakes her head. “Of course you didn’t. You were right there when I drowned and did everything you could to save me. Wait…no you didn’t! None of you were there. None of you!”
“Genie, we didn’t know—” someone else tries to protest, but the ghost’s shrieking voice cuts her off.
“Where. Were. You? You abandoned me in my greatest hour of need. I needed my friends. I needed my sisters!” As Genie rants, dipping and weaving in the air, the water continues to rise, spilling out onto the river bank. At the same time, the tears welling in my eyes break free, pouring down my cold cheeks.
“We know,” I tell her. “And we’re sorry. We’re so, so sorry. But we didn’t know you were in trouble. If we had, nothing would have stopped us from coming after you. You must know that.”
“Now, you will pay,” Genie hisses as though I haven’t said anything. A dark, deadly wave emerges from the river, climbing toward the sky, higher and higher. “You will die as I did. You will suffer as I did.”
“Genie, please. Don’t.” The wall of water seems to hesitate for a moment, frozen in time. Then, it surges forward.
The wave slams into me with the force of a wrecking ball, knocking me to the ground. Gasping for breath, I accidentally swallow some of the cold, metallic-tasting water. Another wave hits me, then another, and another. Impossibly, water continues to rise around me, lifting me up into a slippery embrace. It tosses me back and forth like I’m nothing more than a piece of dead seaweed. Everything is burning: my body from the impact of the fall, my lungs as they fight for air.
Change, I tell myself, trying to imagine myself in Nereid form. Come on. You can do it.
But before the transformation can take hold, a welcomed darkness rushes in, with promises to dispel the water and the pain. I let it pull me under.
Chapter 9
Queen of Darkness
At first, neither Genie, Sam nor I could control our newfound abilities very well.
Once, we were sitting in the middle of the Student Union, and Genie’s skin erupted in scales. Another time, one of us—or maybe it was all three of us—accidentally set off the emergency sprinkler system in one of the academic buildings. As water nymphs, our connection to the water allows us to control it, but we hadn’t yet learned how to harness its energy in the right way. And, unlike in some fairy tales, there was no concealment charm to hide the physical changes. In those first few weeks, the transformations controlled us, appearing and vanishing at will.
The first time I transformed completely was when I was doing laps in the university pool, training for an upcoming swim meet. Luckily, it was pretty late, and I was alone in the pool when my pale skin started to itch and bubble, and my legs, ankles and feet began to fuse together, forming a long, slick tail. I remember holding my breath and biting down hard on my tongue against the pain of melting bone and shifting muscle.
When it was over, I cringed at the sight of my ugly, scaly skin and elongated tail. It wasn’t even elegant and pretty, like a mermaid’s tail. It was more like an eel’s, with forked fins extending from the end of it. I scraped my nails over the rough scales on my arm, wanting to rip them up—pick them out, one by one, if that’s what it took to find the human skin underneath.
In the distance, a door slammed, followed by determined footsteps. Heart thudding, I slipped underneath the surface of the water to hide myself, my hair billowing outward in a dark cloud around me.
Pushing out with my arms, I swam toward the bottom of the pool. Instinct took over, and I dragged my tail back and forth through the water, using it to propel myself faster and deeper, as far as I could go. I waited at the bottom for a long time, breathing through my gills, starting to feel powerful as I flexed my tail. With renewed appreciation, I studied the way the scales shimmered all over my body, like a skin-tight coat of silver armor.
The noises turned out to be a false alarm. When I cautiously peeked my head above the water later, the area around the pool was empty, and the footsteps had disappeared. But I was grateful for them because, in my moment of panic, I discovered just what my new body could do. I felt more free and powerful underwater than I ever had on land.
***
Wake up.
Her voice calls to me through the darkness, carried on a wave of consciousness rolling up from the deep, pulling me along with it. I emerge slowly, as though from a long sleep, mind steeped in fog and confusion. Everything is wet and soggy, smelling of damp earth and chilled air. I hear someone muttering hoarsely, her words garbled, and realize it’s me.
“Wake. Up!”
A cold hand slaps my face. I jolt upright and almost immediately bow forward, coughing up water onto the saturated ground. After several minutes of alternately gagging and gulping down air, I recover enough to look up, bringing a hand to my raw cheek. The dark figure crouched next to me straightens up, and a pair of black, iridescent eyes meet mine.
“You’re fine,” she tells me. “Now, get up. There is work to be done. Get up!” she repeats when I stay frozen to the ground, my stomach still churning uneasily. I wipe the sleeve of my shirt across my mouth, soaking up the excess water, then carefully stand up.
“You foolish girls,” she says, eyes sparking like black opals as they sweep the park. I notice her eyes don’t have any pupils, and for some reason the realization makes me feel sick again. “You foolish, foolish girls. You let my prisoner out—let her get away!”
“We f-freed her,” Gwen says, shivering as she gets to her feet.
The woman fixes her strange eyes on Gwen. “You have no idea what you’ve done.”
“Who are you?” Sam says, appearing beside me. Her short, dark blonde hair is matted to her head, her face drained of color. I can feel her trembling, as much as from fear as from being cold and wet. This woman—if you could even call her that—standing before us wears the nighttime like a cloak, her tall, slender body wrapped in darkness and gloom. Except for the long, dark braid snaking down her back and the flutter of her gauzy black dress, she’s more shadow than person, like a photographic negative of the woman she once was.
“Persephone,” I whisper before she can reply to Sam’s question. I don’t know a lot about Greek mythology, but I do remember reading a poem for a literature class once about Hades and his wife, a young woman he kidnapped and brought to the Underworld to be his queen. Although I can’t be sure that this woman is the Queen of the Underworld, there’s something regal about the way she holds herself as she moves around our group, pausing to study each of our faces.
Persephone gives a slight nod, confirming my suspicion. “You should have left it alone,” she says, gliding up to me. “We had her under control.”
“We were just trying to save our friend,” I te
ll her softly.
The Queen of the Underworld shakes her head. “You are the ones who need saving. That thing you let out—that is not your friend. That is not the woman you remember. Her last act on this world was one of malice. It tarnished what was left of her soul, and that is what survived beyond death. Only darkness. Evil. Nothing worth being reborn into this world for a second chance. I had just found a way to destroy it, when you let it escape.”
“You were going to destroy her,” Julia whimpers, cowering behind Gwen.
“How?” I ask, taking a few cautious steps toward Persephone. The others give a collective gasp, whether in reaction to the question or the fact that I’m walking up to her, I’m not sure.
“What are you doing?” Sam hisses behind me.
“Maybe we can make things right,” I say, keeping my eyes on the queen. “We let her out—we messed up. Now, we have a chance to fix our mistake.”
“By destroying her soul?” Gwen exclaims.
“It would still be freeing her, in a sense,” I insist. “Genie isn’t Genie anymore. We can put an end to her torment—to her suffering.”
Sam comes up to me again to whisper in my ear. “We don’t know if we can trust her,” she says, looking at Persephone. “She could be lying.”
“I don’t think she’s lying. Genie did just try to kill us.”
“Even so,” Sam says doubtfully. “There might be another way. Maybe we don’t have to destroy anything.”
“Well, we can try to reason with it—her, I guess. But if that doesn’t work…I’d rather have a backup plan.”
“Fine,” Persephone says loudly, and—although her face is rather expressionless—I know from her icy tone that she could hear everything Sam and I just said to each other. “You can take care of it. I will warn you, though, that there is nothing you can say or do that will bring your friend back. She is gone, forever. There is only one recourse.”
Reaching into the sleeve of her dress, she pulls out a folded up piece of old, grayish parchment and hands it to me. I accept it and unfold it carefully, afraid it’s going to disintegrate under my fingertips. “Say those words,” Persephone says, indicating the parchment, “and the soul will be unmade.”
