by Cate Masters
“More likely I share her skill of putting men to sleep.” Joss gave a wry laugh.
Lydia swirled her fingernail around the edge of her cup. “Hardly, darling. Especially not Eric Hendricks.”
After a sip, Gram set down her glass. “He’s always worshipped you.”
“No, he was lonely. And so was I. Nothing more to it.” Besides his incredible lovemaking skills, but she wasn’t about to share that with them.
“You’re sure he won’t remember anything?” Joss stressed the last word to ensure Gram would get her meaning.
“Only his suffering during the time of The Mark. The rest will seem like terrible dreams.”
On a sigh, she said, “Good.”
“Tonight,” Gram said, “we complete our family reunion.”
Joss’s mother nodded gravely.
“You don’t mean…” A glance at her mother, grandmother, and aunt confirmed her suspicion. “Oh, boy.”
Mom reached across the island to take her hand. “I’m afraid I have terrible news. About your Eric Hendricks.”
Joss held more tightly. “What?”
“He’s trapped,” her mother said, “in The Underworld.”
Gram laid a hand on her shoulder. “In Tartarus, dear.”
“Hell.” Lydia stroked her arm.
“No. We saved him from The Mark. How could this happen?”
Her mother shook her head. “All I know is, he’s there.”
“Is there anything we can do to help him?”
Gram sighed. “We will find out later.”
Joss fought to steady herself, and nodded. Later couldn’t come soon enough.
Lydia extended her hand. “Come. Let’s try on your outfit.” When Joss hesitated, her aunt linked arms and led her to the foyer. She released her, lifted the bag, and handed it to her. “I can’t wait to see you in this.”
The suitcase was surprisingly light in Joss’s hold. “You really shouldn’t have.”
“Nonsense. You’re a goddess. You should look like one.”
That didn’t sound promising, but she flashed a wan smile. “Be right back.” Heading to the bedroom, she glanced over her shoulder at her family. Still watching her, smiling.
Did she really want to join the ranks of the Goddess Brigade? She set the bag on the bed and blew out a breath before releasing the two silver latches and lifting the lid.
The clothing within shimmered. Not quite like the fabric of her mother’s outfit, but light as gossamer, the color of sea foam. When she lifted the gown and turned it, the blue shifted to green with a soft glimmer reminiscent of moonlight on the sea. Joss suddenly couldn’t wait to try it on, and shed her jeans and T-shirt in a hurry, and then stepped into the gown. It fit as if sewn for her. She turned in front of the mirror over her bureau, at a loss for words. It was nothing short of gorgeous.
Next she fastened the wide leather belt around her. It, too, had a sheath, but no sword. Guess I don’t rank as high as I thought. She didn’t blame them for not trusting her with a weapon.
Lastly, she drew out the midnight-blue robe. As lightweight as the gown, and its color likewise shifted with her movements.
Nothing ridiculous about this outfit. With pride in her steps, she approached the front room where her family waited. They turned toward her and their eyes widened.
Oh crap. They’re too quiet. “Well?”
Her mother rose and strode to her. “I could not be more proud, Joss. You’re amazing.”
A hitch in Joss’s breath surprised her. She covered the unexpected emotion with a grin. “Not exactly goddess material yet.”
Mom nodded with certainty. “Yes, you are. More than I could have hoped.”
“Truly, Jocelyn,” Gram said.
Lydia affirmed it with a gracious nod.
Before this moment, Joss didn’t think she’d be able to say, “I’m ready whenever you are.” Now, she meant every word.
Chapter 20
Gram took hold of Joss’s hand, her mother grasped the other, and Lydia held on to Gram. The grandfather clock struck twelve.
If ever there was a right time, this better be it. Joss closed her eyes and imagined a place of wondrous beauty and peace. A swirl of colors formed in her mind and expanded to surround them with hues of sky blue, tulip red, sunny gold, and spring green. Lifted by the soft chants of Gram, Mom and Lydia, Joss floated up, weightless. The colors coalesced into a sparkling arch that drew them higher into a mist.
The path to all that was, is, or ever will be, Gram had described it earlier. The only path leading them where they needed to go.
Joy buoyed Joss ever higher, up to the apex of the bridge. From there, she looked down at the landscape below, fields stretching into forests and glens of green. They descended lightly into a circle of grass surrounded by lush gardens.
Music such as Joss had never heard enticed her to find it. “Who’s playing such wonderful tunes?”
Gram held her wrist. “The Dryads, in the trees. We have no business with them.”
“Can’t we go listen for a few minutes?” The music beckoned her almost irresistibly.
“A few minutes here may translate into years at home. We must go now.” Gram led the way. “Stay close, and take care. We must show utmost respect. No matter what, don’t drink or eat anything.”
Joss couldn’t remember seeing her grandmother so serious. As she walked beside Mom and Lydia, Joss found it difficult not to stray off the path to investigate. Flowering vines trailed from branches, and behind the veil of petals flitted winged beings, shimmering with the glow of pure energy. They tended the flowers, some with blooms nearly as large as themselves. The gardens ended where the forest began, and Gram reminded them to be careful. “Stay away from the scaled ones.”
The air grew murky, and they soon passed a swamp with a thick skin of slimy green. A head with bulging eyes surfaced to peer at them. Joss hurried to keep pace with her grandmother, who moved with purposeful steps toward a lusher portion of the woods. Trees gave way to a large clearing, alive with dancing creatures. Their laughter and conversation stilled at their entrance.
The beauty of the faces surrounding them, staring at them, awed Joss. Every one with flawless creamy skin, glowing with a pure light. Their eyes appeared glistening jewels of crystalline blue, smoky quartz, or pale emerald. Each bowed as the crowd parted. At its center sat a young woman dressed in robes of bright colors, her golden wings in repose. Above her head hovered a ring of shimmering light.
Gram curtsied and gestured behind her back for Joss, Mom, and Lydia to do the same. “Hail, Goddess Iris,” she said.
Iris? Her ancestor? Lowering her head, Joss snuck a peek. The goddess’s long hair shone like silken onyx, her smile demure as she nodded.
A male flitted in front of them. “Only the purest of heart may continue.”
Iris intervened by holding up a hand. “Jocelyn is pure of heart. She’s continuing the long tradition of providing a safe haven for our kind in the mortal world by growing the revered triad of oak, ash and thorn. More importantly, lavender, which we have long honored to be the sign of a strong woman. A goddess.” Iris nodded in acknowledgement.
Nervous that she’d appear to misrepresent herself, Joss deepened her curtsy. “Please, I’m no goddess.”
Iris tempered her correction with a smile. “Every woman is a goddess in her own right, and deserves to be treated as sacred.”
Joss couldn’t argue with the idea.
Gram straightened. “If you please, Great One…we are in dire need of your assistance. Our town is under attack by agents of The Underworld.”
The goddess’s smile faded. She went rigid except for her wings expanding with a flash of gold. “Are you certain of this? Take care before you answer.” She indicated an ornate jug beside the silver throne. “The penalty is steep.”
“Penalty?” Joss couldn’t let Gram risk injury.
Iris lifted the jug. “This
ewer contains the waters of the River Styx. Are you familiar with the River Styx?”
If Joss remembered her mythology correctly, she was. “The river’s a boundary between earth and this realm. It circles The Underworld nine times.”
“Though this is no court, I demand the truth from those who visit. Those who do not abide my rules suffer eternal sleep. So I ask again, are you certain?”
Gram bowed. “The fair ones tending my granddaughter’s lavender field confirmed it.”
Iris set down the jug and floated along, the ribbons on her staff fluttering. “This is indeed distressing news. How many?”
“The fae know of two,” Gram said. “More are said to be on the way.”
Joss stepped forward. “There’s another problem.”
The hush falling over the clearing set her on edge. Apparently, she shouldn’t have spoken directly to the goddess, relative or not.
“What problem?” Iris’s diction was crisp.
She steadied her voice. “They’ve taken a man prisoner.”
“What man? Someone important to you?”
“Yes, goddess.” Joss had to save Eric’s life. She couldn’t bear the thought of him in pain or of losing him.
Iris narrowed her eyes. “If they use a pawn to lure us out, we must ready ourselves for battle. A terrible battle.” Iris’s colorful robes swirled as she strode, deep in thought.
Halting abruptly, the goddess returned to her throne and coolly appraised Joss. “Why should we lend our assistance? You’ve denied our very existence most of your life, despite having enjoyed our favor in your youth.”
Bowing, Joss mustered courage. “For which I am most grateful. It’s true I turned my back on my heritage, and I beg your forgiveness.”
“I seek not to pardon you, only to know you will truly honor your heritage. Celebrate it, rather than shamed by it.”
Mom’s smile lent her courage, and Joss straightened. “For many years, I repressed the gifts bestowed upon me. I have begun to reacquaint myself with them. I cannot promise to use them every day.”
“Most do not, yet their respect doesn’t falter.” Iris leaned closer. “Until you fully embrace and accept your true self, you will find no peace.”
For decades, Joss had tried to quell the aching loss of her former self and yearned to revive the girl she used to be, who loved her life, who believed in possibility, and yes, in magic. Iris had slammed the idea home. “I understand. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. We have much work to do.” Silence increased the tension during their wait. The goddess touched her feet to the ground. “If we are to succeed, we must gather other forces to our aid. But first, you will accompany me,” she said to the three.
Gram, Mom and Lydia bowed. Joss blurted, “Where?”
Staff in hand, Iris strode off. “The Underworld, of course.”
* * * *
The four women followed the goddess along a rough path ending at the bank of a river. A hooded figure in a filthy cloak waited beside a long boat with a tall, curved bow, holding a lamp in its curl. Upon their approach, he turned. A scraggly beard contrasted with his eyes that appeared to spout fire.
If Iris noticed the stench emanating from the man, she gave no indication, merely bowing. “Charon, we seek an audience with Lord Plouton.”
Arching a brow, Charon’s eyes blazed brighter. “And my payment?”
From her waist, Iris drew a Golden Bough. “I need no obols as fare. My guests are not dead, and you know I am immortal. Take me to Plouton.”
With a low growl, Charon moved aside. Iris stepped inside the boat and sat on an ornately carved wooden chair. Gram gestured for them to follow and took a place on the bench behind. Lydia’s seriousness set Joss on edge. She’d never known her aunt not to make light of a situation, except during readings. Here, there seemed little to make light of. Joss settled on a seat behind Gram.
The boatman stood at the helm and pointed forward. Invisible hands moved oars lining the boat’s sides.
The world’s vivid colors faded to shades of gray and black. From within the darkening curtain surrounding them, yellow eyes stared out hungrily. Joss peered over the vessel’s edge. Below the surface slithered indistinguishable forms. The shape of a face materialized, its blank stare haunting. The features solidified, melding into someone familiar. Eric. He opened his mouth, bubbles rising to the surface. “Joss. Help me.”
Fear strangled Joss’s throat. “Eric.” She reached toward him.
Mom grasped her arm before it touched the water. “Never touch the River Styx. Your soul might be cursed to ride this journey forever.”
“But Eric—”
Sternly, Gram said, “It’s not Eric.”
Shuddering, Joss pressed closer between Mom and Gram. Maybe not, but the specter of him probably meant something terrible.
The goddess stared ahead as the boat sped forward into the depths of darkness. The air grew murky, heat laden with unfamiliar scents, not altogether unpleasant. Joss guessed it was part of the initial allure, and wouldn’t be so enticing once the gates closed behind in finality.
The boat glided to a stop at a dock. Iris thanked the boatman and climbed ashore. Joss scrambled behind Gram, Mom, and Lydia to keep up with the goddess flying ahead, her golden wings glinting in the lantern she held.
“Say nothing unless spoken to,” Iris cautioned.
No need to remind Joss twice. She wanted only to leave.
Outside a heavy iron gate, a three-headed dog growled at their approach.
Iris bowed. “Step aside, Cerberus. We come to speak to Lord Plouton. I’m sure he’s expecting us.”
With a growl, the dog shuffled aside as the gates creaked open. The goddess glided ahead with surety. Joss’s confidence disappeared when the gates clanged shut behind them.
The narrow path led to a tall door gleaming red in the surrounding blackness, magnificent in its intricacy. In it appeared millions of scenes, each one a story in itself. Millions of stories, each ending in disaster. Joss pitied the souls damned for eternity.
At Iris’s knock, the door slid open. She strode inside.
Exchanging wary glances, the four followed. Crystal chandeliers lit the ceiling of the long hallway. Nothing like Joss expected. Artwork filled the walls, classic paintings beside contemporary. Sculptures stood sentinel along the gilded walls, exquisite works of alabaster and metal. Was Hell something like rehab? Could its prisoners still use their time creatively?
Iris flew before them, her feet not touching the sleek marble floor.
Ahead, piano keys tinkled, building to a crescendo.
The hallway emptied into a spacious room whose golden walls were lined with books, TV, DVD player. Magazines and newspapers littered a bronze table in front of a sleek black leather sofa.
At a baby grand piano sat a tall, thin man, eerie in his handsomeness. His skin, the color of charred bronze, gleamed in the soft light of the wall sconces as his hands moved across the keys with deft precision. His long black hair shifted across his face as he played.
“Don’t listen,” Iris murmured. “He plays to weaken you.”
Joss tried to block the melody. The notes seeped into her mind, cradling her. Calling her. Her body edged forward unconsciously. It took every part of her being to will it to stop. They waited as he finished playing with flair, fingers arched above the keys until the sound died away.
When he looked up, Joss’s blood chilled. His eyes held the fire of millenniums, entrancing and deadly. She forced her gaze away.
Chuckling, he approached. “Iris. It’s been too long. Forgive me for being so engrossed in playing. You know how I love music.”
Daring a glance, Joss stiffened as Iris tilted her cheek to receive his kiss.
“Yes, I remember,” the goddess said. “Your one weakness.”
The tale of Orpheus came to mind. Because of his exceptional musical talent, Orpheus was the only person upon who
m Plouton, or Hades, bestowed mercy, allowing Orpheus to remove his beloved wife from The Underworld. On one condition. Plouton must have known Orpheus’s weakness, knew he wouldn’t be able to resist turning around to be sure Hades hadn’t deceived him into leaving with anyone but his wife. The deal breaker. The devil always based the last conditions on the other’s weaknesses, thereby causing a person’s downfall. Joss would keep it in mind, but he must already know Joss’s weakness—Eric. The bargaining chip in this crazy game.
“Music and beautiful women have always been my weaknesses, and you grace me with the presence of so many.” He smiled at each in turn. “May I offer you some refreshments?”
“We appreciate your generosity,” Iris said, “but this isn’t a social visit.”
All innocence, his face blanked. “It’s not?” His gaze traveled to Gram, Mom, and Lydia. When it met Joss’s, he smiled. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”
And you never will. Joss shivered.
He threw his head back and laughed. Wagging his finger, he smiled. “I love feisty women. Of any age.” His mischievous gaze scanned across each again. “Please, have a seat.”
“We cannot stay long,” Iris said. “We came only to ask for your aid.”
Holding a hand to his chest, he asked, “My aid? I’m flattered. I don’t see how I could possibly assist such forceful women.”
Iris widened her stance. “You could call off your peons.”
“They act of their own free will, as does everyone. I love the beauty of it all.” He tapped a finger to his cheek. “With the exception, apparently, of you, my dear. When will you tire of being handmaiden to Hera? Personal messenger girl to another goddess, when you are a goddess in your own right?” He tilted his head teasingly.
Except for the smallest twitch of an eye, Iris stilled as if turned to stone. He’d obviously hit a nerve, possibly as old as time itself. “I am here on behalf of no one except myself. And my family.”
His eyes flashed bright, gaze scorching into Joss’s. “All the more interesting, then, isn’t it? Of course, your last venture on behalf of family had little impact, sorry to say.” He clucked his tongue slowly. Pointedly.
