by S. L. Stacy
But he’s not here. It’s just me. And, even though my brain is screaming at me not to do it, my arms extend toward the hilt again, like they’re not even a part of me. Feeling a bit like Arthur in The Sword in the Stone, I clasp it with both hands, and, digging the ball of my foot into the uneven ground, pull upward using all of my strength.
Nothing happens.
A few chunks of rock loosen under the pressure of my foot, skipping down the sides of the slope, but the sword doesn’t budge. Adjusting my footing, I try again, teeth gritted as I give it another determined tug. And another. And another.
On the fifth try, the sword slides out of the stone with unexpected ease. I stagger backwards, glancing from the shining blade in my hand to the stubborn rock I just pulled it from in surprise.
“Fifth time’s the charm, I guess.” I hold Godslayer out in front of me, feeling the weight of it in my hand. It’s lighter than I thought it would be, and I swing it back and forth a few times, testing it out.
“Well, that wasn’t so bad,” I say to Apate, smirking down at her, but she doesn’t seem to hear me, staring with rapt attention at something behind me. She arches her back, growling. A chill brushing the back of my neck, I turn slowly to follow her gaze. Three pairs of fiery red eyes stare back at us from about a quarter of a mile away.
“Oh, fudge.”
The eyes belong to a giant hound so hideous it’s a shoe-in for World’s Ugliest Dog. Its three heads watch me hungrily, each with a slimy, pink tongue falling out of the side of its mouth, fat droplets of saliva oozing to the ground. One of the heads snarls, flashing a set of yellow, razor-sharp teeth. A long, serpent-like tail slithers back and forth through the air behind it. Its only redeeming feature is its fur, which is shiny and black, like crushed velvet.
The middle head gives a bark of warning, and then the beast surges into motion, bounding toward us. At the same time, the ground and canyon walls begin to shake, chunks of rock breaking loose and raining down all around us.
While Apate continues to hiss at the creature, I stand frozen, a deer caught in the glow of its angry red eyes. As it draws nearer, I realize the serpent-like tail is an actual snake, with scaly black skin and yellow eyes. My stomach does a sick flop watching its tiny red tongue flicking out to taste the air. The heads lift their voices in a cacophony of deafening howls, the sound of their claws scraping over the rock just audible underneath.
I feel a sudden, sharp pain through my pant leg and glance down to see Apate nipping my calf with her tiny incisors.
“Ow!” I growl, kicking her off, but she dodges my leg, glaring at me. It’s just the pinch I need to bring me out of my daze. I try summoning my wings first, desperately hoping that maybe what went down at The Midnight Shoppe was a trick and I still have them. When nothing happens, I scoop Apate up with my free hand and take off running instead, just as I catch a whiff of the hound’s stinking breath on the air.
“I. Hate. Running.” I gasp each word, calves already starting to burn as I pump them harder and harder, the snaps of three sets of jaws sounding only inches behind me. Not for the first time tonight, I scold myself for having been so naïve back at the occult store. Now, more than ever, would have been a great time to have wings.
Remembering the boat, I look toward the river to find it keeping pace with me, a swift-moving, brown blur over the dark water. Veering to the left, I throw Apate into it while it’s still moving, diving in after her. Turning, I see the creature stop short of the river bank, watching our small boat speed away with furious eyes. Heads lifted skyward, it lets out an angry, blood-curdling howl. Shivering, I look away from it and gently but urgently hit the side of the rowboat, coaxing it to go faster.
We may have put a barrier between us and the hound for now, but the sword’s bloodthirsty guard isn’t our only problem, I realize, looking around the canyon from the relative safety of the boat. Removing the sword from the stone seems to have triggered a chain reaction in this section of the Underworld. Whoever put Godslayer here didn’t want anyone making off with it alive.
Wave after wave of rock and dirt roll down the sides of the canyon, the valley filling with large boulders and clouds of dust. Chunks with the size and force of canons hit the river, stirring up waves that jerk our tiny boat mercilessly back and forth. Through the escalating haze, I can still see the hound racing over the trembling ground, dodging flying shards of rock as it continues to pursue us from land. I keep Godslayer clutched in my hand the entire time, holding it up like a shield against the avalanche.
At last, up ahead, I see something else break through the thickening curtains of dust: the familiar glimmer of the rift that will take us back to Point Park. As soon as the boat docks itself on shore, I grab Apate and make a beeline for it, gaze locked on its faint, wavering sheen. Dirt stings my eyes, making them water, but I resist closing them, afraid that if I take my eyes off of the rift—even for a second—the next time I look, it will be gone, or I won’t be able to find it. The plumes of dust and whizzing rock, the demonic hound who may or may not still be in hot pursuit somewhere behind us, all fade into the background.
I’m so focused on the rift, our glittering lifeline home, that I don’t see the bowling ball-sized mass of rock hurtling toward me until it collides with my right shoulder, knocking me over.
The impact sends the sword clattering to the ground and Apate flying through the air. She quickly regains control of her descent, landing on all four paws with an enviable grace. I shoot my hands out in front of me at the last second, trying to catch myself. It helps a little—at least I don’t hit my head—but the rest of my body collides with the cold, hard ground. For a few moments I just lie there, unmoving, breathing hard. Everything is blinding, white-hot pain.
Slowly, agonizingly, I get to my feet. I glance down at my palms, bloody and tender from the fall, burning from the little splinters of gravel embedded in the raw skin. The right side of my body, which bore the brunt of the impact, throbs with even the slightest movement.
Grinding my teeth against the pain, I stoop to retrieve the sword, then drag myself forward, the glimmer only a few feet away now. After a quick look back at me—I guess to make sure I’m still there—Apate goes through first, disappearing into the ghostly film.
I’m about to follow her when a low, menacing growl sounds behind me, raising goosebumps on my arms. I don’t have to turn around to know that the hound has caught up with me. Its hot breath licks the back of my neck, reeking of fish and rotten eggs. The nearness of it triggers something deep inside of me, a primal instinct that tightens my grip on the sword handle. In one fluid motion, I swing around and strike out with it, the blade drawing a scarlet arc in the dark as I cut into the middle head’s stinky muzzle.
The beast yelps and jerks back, startled. I take advantage of its moment of surprise, running forward and lashing out with the sword again, this time making a quick, clean slice through its neck.
Blood, bright red and warm, splatters me as the head falls to the ground at my feet with a sickening plop. Vacant, scarlet eyes stare up at me, slimy tongue lolling out of its gaping mouth. The stump of pink muscle and white bone that remains of its neck continues to jerk and spasm, like it’s trying to find me and doesn’t yet realize it’s missing a crucial part of its anatomy. The beast wavers as though on the verge of fainting, its remaining two heads howling in pain.
I take my chance. Sword still in hand, I spin around and leap into the glimmer. It slams me with that familiar suffocating coldness, icy vines wrapping themselves around my face and chest.
Suddenly, I feel a second assault from behind, something sharp slicing through the back of my head. One of the hound’s massive claws, I think to myself, red dots swimming in front of my vision. The cold mist engulfs the rest of my body, and I’m completely through a second later, falling rather than stepping into the park. Once again, I drop to the ground, the back of my head searing with pain, drenched in my own sticky, warm blood.
The antidot
e. I need to get the final ingredient for the antidote.
This is my last thought before I lose consciousness.
Chapter 16
I awake with a shudder and a gasp.
My eyes open, and I sit up quickly—too quickly, I realize a moment later, as my head starts spinning. I put a hand to my forehead and close them again, letting the dizziness pass. I gently touch the back of my hair, only remembering why I’m doing so when I feel the clumps of drying blood there. My harried escape from the Underworld, I recall. The rock slide. The three-headed hound. It dug its claw into the back of my head just as I was leaving. The wound has healed, but my hair is still caked with blood. Looking around the park, there’s no sign of the hound now. I must have injured it badly enough that it couldn’t follow me out of the Underworld.
I see a tall figure standing some distance away, over by the fountain, the moonlight glinting off his white blonde hair. Dolos. But he isn’t looking at me—he’s studying whatever he’s got in his hands, tilting it back and forth, running a careful hand along the blade. For a second, I forget how to breathe. The sword. He’s got Godslayer.
“Hey!” I call over to him, getting slowly to my feet. The pain has ebbed, particularly in my right shoulder, but my body is stiff. Dolos looks up at the sound of my voice and smiles, tucking the sword into his belt. There’s a skip in his step as he comes over.
“I was hoping you’d wake up soon,” he says. He holds out his hand to help me the rest of the way up. “You don’t look so good. No offense,” he adds, dropping his hand when I ignore it.
“Well, that’s what happens when you’re chased out of the Underworld by a three-headed dog thing in the middle of a rock slide,” I tell him, crossing my arms. I take a few slow, deep breaths, trying not to let on how difficult it was for me just to stand up.
“Three headed dog thing? Oh, you mean Cerberus,” he realizes, snapping his fingers. Contemplative, green eyes look me up and down. If I didn’t know any better, I’d almost think he was concerned. “He really did a number on you, didn’t he? The brute.”
I look at my fingertips, red with the blood from my head wound. I wipe them on my leg. “I did a number on him, too. Chopped off one of his heads.”
Dolos gives me one of his wicked grins. “I would’ve liked to have seen that. I bet you’re cute when you’re slaying bloodthirsty monsters.”
“Oh, shut up. I don’t even know why I’m wasting time telling you any of this.” I stick out my hand. “Just give me the sword.”
“Sword?” he echoes, brow furrowed. “What sword?”
“Don’t play innocent. I saw you with it. Now give it back.”
“Oh, you mean this sword,” he says, spreading his jacket so that I can see it strapped to his belt, the blade encased in a black leather sheath. “I’m not giving it to you. It’s mine.”
“It’s mine!” I exclaim, flinching at how childish I sound. “I found it.”
“No, I found it. Over there.” He points to the ground, a few feet away from where I fell out of the rift. “Finders keepers.”
“It was over there because I passed out and must have dropped it. I saw it sticking out of this rock in the Underworld and so I…I…took it.”
Dolos’s eyebrows shoot up. “You took it. You mean you stole it?”
“Yes. Fine. I stole it,” I admit, throwing my arms in the air. “I took it for protection.”
“It doesn’t matter why you took it. It’s still stealing,” he points out, not even trying to hide his amusement. “I have to say, I’m surprised at you, Carly. And pleased. You got your hands a little dirty to gain the upper hand. I mean, you ended up failing—miserably—but at least you went for it. Gosh, I feel almost…proud.” He places a hand over his heart, blinking back fake tears. “I’ve taught you well.”
“But you’re not going to give it back.” I’ve been holding out my hand expectantly this entire time, but I finally withdraw it, the gravity of what is happening finally sinking in.
He shakes his head. “Of course not. This is Godslayer. Oh, yes, I know what it is,” he says, seeing the stricken look on my face. “And now that I have it, there’s no stopping us.”
I sigh, frustrated. “But that’s…that’s not fair.”
“All is fair in love and war. Just another expression I’ve learned during my time here. My favorite, so far.”
“Well, you might have the sword, but that doesn’t mean we’re not coming after you.” My eyes do another sweep of our surroundings, this time looking out for Dionysus. He should be back by now, too, but there’s no sign of him. Either he got detained wherever he ended up, or he came back before I did and left to go find me, thinking I had been the first one out. Or maybe he ditched me, just like he did to Victoria. I reach for my fanny pack so that I can check my phone. Maybe he at least texted me an apology before he bailed.
Except that I’m not wearing it, I realize, the weight of nothingness at my hip suddenly palpable. I spin in a circle, looking around in panic. “Where’s my bag?” I cry out, facing Dolos again.
“You mean this bag?” he asks me, angling himself to show me the pack, which he has hooked over his shoulder like a purse. “I like it, but I’m not sure it really goes with my look.” Sliding it off his arm, he clasps it around his waist, spreading his coat open to show me. “What do you think?”
My blood boils. Not only does he now have my cell phone and emergency money, he has all of my ingredients for making the antidote. “If the look you’re going for is lunatic jackass, I’m inclined to agree.” Dolos barely flinches at the insult.
“Look at you.” He beams, awestruck. “Swearing. Stealing legendary swords. I like this new Carly. She’s fun.”
“There’s no new Carly. I’m just tired, covered in dirt and blood and really, really mad.”
“It’s time to let go of that anger.” The twinkle of amusement gone from his eyes, he looks at me seriously. “This is the end of the road for you, Carly. I’m sorry, but it is. You lost. And I won.”
“Why?” I shoot back. “Because you have my bag? I can get the ingredients again. I know where to find them now.” Well, all except for the last one. That depends on whether or not I can figure out what the heck “to burn the shade, you need the sun” even means. And, to be honest, I’m not really looking forward to another trip through the Underworld to get more asphodel anytime soon. I push aside these uncertainties for now, keeping my voice firm when I say, “I’m not giving up that easily.”
He tilts his head, considering what I’ve just said, then shrugs. “I’m sure you will get everything you need and make the antidote, at some point. Just not in time to stop us from invading Olympus.” His eyes leave me, looking at something behind me. “And I’m sorry, but we just can’t let that happen.”
I look back, following his gaze. Two people are walking toward me, dressed mostly in black, daggers in hand. One of them is Brian, the president of Sigma Iota, well-defined muscle rippling underneath dark jeans and a snug t-shirt. The girl with him, I realize with a shudder of betrayal, is Rae. She fixes me with a mischievous grin, brown ponytail swinging behind her like a pendulum as they advance.
Gulping, I turn back to Dolos. “Sending in a few of your followers to do your dirty work. Why don’t you fight me yourself, you…” I scan the park, but he’s gone, of course, leaving me to battle it out with two of his puppet soldiers. “Coward,” I finish under my breath.
“Carly!” Brian calls to me. I face them, fingering my dagger, which is thankfully still tucked into my belt. At least Dolos didn’t leave me completely defenseless. Brian and Rae stop a few feet away from me.
“You,” I seethe, meeting Rae’s arrogant, hazel eyes. “You said you had no idea where Victoria was. Now it turns out you’re a member of Eric’s army?” No wonder she was so freakishly strong back at the Delta Iota Kappa house.
Rae gives a small shrug, grimacing. “Yeah, about that. I lied.”
“No kidding. Ready to tell me where she is n
ow?” I widen my stance, hands on my hips, trying to look formidable.
“Let’s just say she’s…lending us a hand.” Rae looks up at her companion, mouth trembling as she holds back a laugh. Brian frowns down at her, not as amused by this as Rae seems to be.
I shake my head. “Victoria would never do that.”
“Oh, of course not.” Her smile turns cold. “Not willingly, at least.”
“That’s enough, Rae,” Brian snaps impatiently, sounding as though he’s reprimanding a child. She crosses her arms, looking petulant, while Brian’s dark eyes turn to me. “Go home, Carly. Just walk away, and we can end this now. You’re Alec’s ex-girlfriend. I don’t want to fight you. Neither of us do.”
“Speak for yourself,” Rae mutters.
“I don’t want to fight you, either, Brian.” To my relief, my voice comes out level and calm, despite the apprehension coursing through me. During his spiel, I noticed the Sigma Iota badge pinned to his shirt, glowing like a hot brand against the black material. Rae is wearing a similar piece of jewelry, a necklace with a shield pendant, also alight with a sinister glow. Even if Brian truly doesn’t want to fight me, he may not have a choice. I reach underneath my sweater, drawing out the dagger, and squeeze the cold hilt to steady my shaking hand. “But I can’t walk away from this.”
“Good,” Rae says, bloodlust shining in her eyes. “We can finish what you started earlier tonight. I think I’ll start by breaking both of your arms—”
A sudden, heart-stopping growl cuts Rae off. All three of us freeze. Keeping her and Brian in my peripheral vision, I glance in the direction of the sound, expecting, for a moment, to see Cerberus prowling toward us. What I do find isn’t much better.
“What is that thing?” Rae wonders, voice going up an octave.
“Your backup,” I say bitterly, recognizing it as the monster the Sigma Iotas brought over from Titan—bull-like snout, leathery skin, horns and all.
She mashes her lips together, shaking her head. “We didn’t call for backup.”
