by Cate Masters
Three AM. It was time.
On cue, her mother entered the room, followed by Gram and Lydia.
A rainbow stretched from iridescent amber clouds to her window. Floating along the ribbons of color, Iris descended, her great wings billowing. Reaching the sill, she extended her staff. “Come.”
Not exactly an invitation. At her mother’s serene nod, Joss clambered out the window. What a poor excuse for a goddess. Demi-goddess. Goddess grandchild. Whatever.
Joss’s mother, Gram, and Lydia glided out. Apparently they’d done this before. Maybe Joss would grow more graceful at window escapes, though she hoped it wouldn’t be a frequent occurrence in her life.
On second thought, she could get used to traveling this way. Iris in the lead, the rainbow lifted them like an escalator into the clouds, then glided down again into a mist.
Alarmed, Joss whispered, “Where are we going?”
Her mother said, “To accommodate Lord Plouton’s demand to meet in a neutral zone.”
The mist cleared. Darkness crowded close, walling them in. It breathed and moved like a living thing, slithering and hungry as a snake. It left room enough only to walk around a marble-topped table.
This was neutral territory? Joss hated to think what might happen if one of them stepped beyond the border.
Iris took her place at the head of the table in an ornate gilded chair. At the opposite end, the ebony chair sat empty.
Sitting beside her mother, Joss leaned in. “Where is he?”
Her mother smiled. “On his way. Don’t worry.”
Iris added, “He likes to make an entrance.”
From the black void beyond the ebony chair, a hiss grew in intensity. The darkness undulated, then swirled into a huge tunnel. Torches illuminated its sides, showing the approach of Lord Plouton. Head down, his long black coattails fluttered behind him as he strode with purpose into the room and halted. The tunnel sucked itself shut.
Much as she hated to admit, the Prince of Darkness appeared stunning. Again shirtless, she struggled to avert her gaze from his washboard abs. His black hair hung to his shoulders. He gave a bow, and his black eyes focused on Joss.
Her head swam, struggling against the pull of his gaze. The urge to go to him.
Summoning her strength, Joss collected her resolve. No.
His brow arched slightly, and he tilted his head in acknowledgement.
Plouton, impressed? Not likely. Her body shook with the effort, and took her last reserve of energy to simply sit without sliding onto the floor in a useless puddle.
“Enough tomfoolery,” Iris commanded.
Spreading a hand against his bare chest, Lord Plouton was the image of innocence. “Moi? I never engage in such nonsense.”
A glance at Joss confirmed it. No, far from a game. More like a test of her will. Somehow she’d bested him. The knowledge bolstered her spine.
Iris scowled. “May we begin now?”
“Of course. Why else would I be here?” Flipping back his coattails, he sat and assessed the room. “Certainly not for the décor. Or the refreshments.” Tsking, he added, “You should make more effort not to be so boring.” He winced as if in distaste.
Sounding imposed upon, Iris asked, “Let’s get down to business, shall we?”
Mouthing, boring, Plouton then shot Joss a dazzling smile. An umbrella drink appeared in front of him, red and frothing. He splayed his hands around it and looked at Joss in silent offering.
He could certainly ooze charm when he wanted. Folding her hands, Joss forced her attention to Iris.
Iris struck her staff three times against the floor. “We are here to forge a new treaty. A binding treaty. A treaty to—”
His hand mimicking a yapping puppet, Lord Plouton shifted. “A treaty. We get it.”
Pursing her lips, Iris glared. “Fine.” Reaching toward the empty table, her hand closed around a scroll. “We’ll be brief. The terms are as follows. We renew our agreement not to sully the ley lines with our use.”
He shrugged. “Impossible. Jocelyn lives atop it.”
Hearing him utter her name, Joss shivered. What, now I’m on a first name basis with Satan? No thanks.
“True,” Iris said, “only to run her business. Not to gain any personal power.”
Plouton chuckled. “So she’s a saint already? Be serious.”
Exhibiting no stress, Iris continued. “Jocelyn knew nothing of the energies below the property when she bought it. She wants only to live there because the inn is there, and Jocelyn’s livelihood.”
“Such a shame too. You have such potential for”—his gaze ran across her uncomfortably—“more.”
Heat flamed in Joss’s face. “I want no more.”
“Don’t be difficult, Lord Plouton. You of all people know she speaks the truth.”
“Difficult? Me?” Plouton steepled his hand below his chin. His ebony eyes narrowed, though he exhibited no anger. Joss guessed he probably enjoyed this sort of meeting. Likely, he didn’t often socialize with his contemporaries, so it provided an opportunity for him to wield his sharp wits against worthy opponents.
Plouton shot to his feet, studying Joss as he circled her. “You honestly don’t know, do you?”
Joss asked her family as much as him. “Know what?”
“The tawdry back story of the longstanding feud.”
At Gram’s gasp, Joss froze. “Do you mean the grudge against my family?” She’d been so swept away by what Gram revealed about her father and husband’s deaths, she hadn’t asked enough questions. Now she wished she had.
Still pacing, Plouton’s laugh filled the cavernous room. “Yes, the so-called grudge. Let me fill you in.”
Iris clutched her staff. “Lord Plouton.”
“The girl deserves the truth, doesn’t she? Isn’t that what you’re always preaching?”
“I want to know.” Or needed to, so she might anticipate any future attacks.
“Your great-grandmother Eleanor had an illicit affair with Silas. A demon of title in The Underworld. Believing she loved him wholeheartedly, he killed her husband Jonas so they could be together. Eleanor, to his utter heartbreak, rejected him afterward, called him a monster. Silas couldn’t accept the loss and began taking his revenge on other women.”
“Oh, God. Why didn’t you tell me?” Joss asked.
Gram hung her head. “The fae intervened, tasking Eleanor with stopping Silas for good.”
“Yes,” Plouton hissed. “She lured him back to her side with promises but gave him poison. He died in her arms as she kissed him goodbye and told him how sorry she was, that she never meant to hurt him but couldn’t let him destroy any more lives. Silas’s family demanded their own revenge. Caught in the middle, what was I, Lord of The Underworld, to do? I had no choice but to begin a war with the fae.”
Iris’s expression soured. “War should have been your last choice, Lord Plouton.”
Plouton tsk’d. “Now, Iris, you’ll recall that I allowed only a few instances before calling back my demons. I pledged to them I would exact revenge when the time was right. And then Joss commandeered the ley line.” He shook his head at her like she was a naughty girl.
“I did not comman—”
“Hush.” Plouton appeared instantly in front of her, scowling. “My demons called for me to do my duty. So I did. And now you beg for mercy?”
Joss steeled herself. Thought it was the other way around.
The devil laughed. “What a shame you’re on the wrong side.”
“I’m not.” Joss stood taller.
He waved her off. “A pointless argument. At any rate, here I am, caught in the middle yet again. Do I want war? No. But you’re a pretty little time bomb living on top of the world’s largest energy source. How do I know you’re not going to”—he snapped his fingers—“light the fuse again?”
“I swear to you by all that’s good.”
“Oh, no. I don’t g
ive a rat’s ass about anything good.”
Did he want her to swear by something evil? “I give you my word.”
“And what else?” He boomed the words.
“I have nothing else.”
“Lord Plouton,” Iris said. “If you truly have no interest in war, then the treaty will give you an excuse to end the war. You can easily placate the demons’ family by tossing some Underworld land titles at them.”
He sank to a seat at the table and tilted his head at Iris. “Do you think so, goddess? Truly?”
Iris toyed with her staff. “If you prefer to battle, Lord, you might find the odds against you now.” The goddess glanced pointedly at Joss. “You’ve observed her great power here. Above, you would not wish to witness how the ley line bends to her will at a mere thought.”
Joss froze. Did Iris intimidate the Lord of The Underworld by threatening him with Joss’s power?
Plouton sighed and plucked invisible lint from his jacket. “All right. So long as Jocelyn doesn’t tap into the energies, nor any of your brethren, I and my minions will likewise leave them untouched.”
Iris turned to Joss. “Jocelyn, will you abide by this agreement?”
Good question. She wanted to, but could she?
Joss nodded and found her voice. “Yes.”
Her mother leaned close. “Speak the words, or they are not binding.”
Mustering whatever confidence she could spare, Joss said, “I will not try to use the power of the ley line.”
“Bah.” Plouton waved. “What are you, a legal expert?”
Confused, Joss hoped the others would provide her guidance. “I don’t understand.”
The Lord of The Underworld rose menacingly, leaning over the table to glare at her. “Don’t add any language to leave a loop hole. Do you expect me to fall for such a ploy? ‘Try to.’ I can hear the excuses already.” He rolled his eyes. In an exaggerated high-pitched tone, he fluttered his fingers. “Oh, I accidentally called upon the power below to make Boiling Springs a thriving metropolis.”
Absurd. Angrily, Joss argued, “I wouldn’t.”
“Don’t give me any malarkey. If you so much as use it to make your damn lavender smell sweeter, I’ll descend on you with every last bit of brimstone in my realm.”
Solemnly, Iris asked Joss, “Can you pledge your full cooperation?”
Each member waited expectantly. Everything rode on her answer.
She had to. She would. “Yes.”
The goddess folded her hands on the table top. “Plouton, you will agree to our terms, or forfeit any future claim on the ley line in central Pennsylvania.”
His gaze darted between Iris and Gram to Joss. “You cannot bar me from access to it.”
“Oh, but I can. You’re well aware of it. Jocelyn will forcefully ensure peace if necessary.” Iris relaxed in her chair. “If peace is broken, she can invoke her vengeance. How well can your kingdoms withstand such an assault, I wonder?”
Joss dared not blink nor argue. With every force of her will, she silently begged Plouton to agree.
Narrowing his eyes, he stared like a predator stalking its prey. Nostrils flared, his jaw sawed back and forth almost imperceptibly. When Iris returned his stare with equal menace, he grated out, “What are the terms?”
“No harm shall come to Jocelyn Gibson, nor any of her family. Nor any man she loves, or takes as a spouse.”
He laughed. “I can’t be responsible for what happens to them. People have accidents all the time.”
Iris rose with the dignity of royalty. “Let it be written on the Scroll of Eternity. Lord Plouton forfeits any future hold on the ley line beneath Boiling Springs, Pennsylvania.”
His nostrils flared. “Fine. I promise, no harm will come to them from me.”
“Nor any minion doing your bidding,” Iris prompted.
Plouton grumbled in an ancient language, punctuated by what surely must have been curses.
The goddess repeated her demand. “Neither you, nor any of your minions. For the record, Lord Plouton. Now, or forever hold your peace.”
“Peace.” He spat a laugh. Rising slowly, he placed a hand on his chest theatrically. “I promise I shall cause no harm to Jocelyn Gibson or her loved ones.”
Grabbing his leather gloves, Plouton appeared ready to leave. “Fine, we’re done here. Oh, except for one last detail.”
Uh, oh. Joss’s breath caught in her throat.
Sounding bored, he said, “I’m keeping the two village idiots.”
A gasp escaped Joss. “Tom and Sheree? Why?”
Lord Plouton grinned. “What they lack in brains, they make up for in greed and self-absorption. My kind of people. Trust me, you wouldn’t want them back. They’re more than happy where they are.”
Could it be true?
At the snap of Plouton’s fingers, Sheree and Tom appeared. At least, the two vaguely resembled Tom and Sheree. A more feral version of them. Meeting the gaze of everyone in the room, their toothy, hungry smiles appeared eager to tear into each.
The Lord of The Underworld lazily shifted his hips. “Tell the members of this esteemed court where you would prefer to spend your time. In dreary Boiling Springs, or with me?”
Both pawed at him like trained dogs.
“Don’t send us back there,” Tom begged.
Sheree fawned. “We want to be with you.”
Despair washed over Joss. She’d never before seen lost souls, yet didn’t doubt two stood before her now.
Turning to each one around the table, Iris waited for their nods before her sad response. “Agreed.”
“Wait.” Joss reached for the flowing robes of Iris’s sleeve but stopped herself from grabbing the goddess. “What about Eric?”
Plouton examined his nails. “What about him?”
“I’m not leaving until I know he’s safe.”
“Oh, joy. You’re staying?” His perfectly even teeth glinted in the candlelight when he smiled. A cold smile.
Wanting to pummel him, she clenched her hands. “Release him, or the deal’s off.”
“Sorry. No can do.”
“You leave me no choice.”
“Everyone has a choice. Isn’t that what you said?”
Throwing her own words back at her. “I… You…” Rage stole her ability to speak a full sentence.
“Me and you? That does sound promising. But it’s beyond my control.”
“Liar!”
A shrug. “Among other things. But not this time.”
Oh God, had something happened? “Where is he?”
Plouton yawned. “No clue. I lost track of him after he left the boundaries of Tartarus.”
“He’s home?” She looked to her family for reassurance, but Gram, Lydia, and Mom appeared just as confused.
“Quite possibly.” He leaned over the table, his gaze searing into Joss’s. “What prompted this tete-a-tete? Has the weakling mortal captured your heart?”
Anger rose up like a specter within Joss. She knew he meant to rattle her, to weaken her, to infect her with his taunt. No way would she comply. “Interesting. So any ‘weakling’ can escape the inescapable Tartarus? How did he manage such a feat, I wonder?” Maybe her taunt would cause him to reveal the truth, and end her wondering.
His terrible smile cut a swath through her courage. “Bravo. Kudos on the performance, but know this. I will be watching what goes on at your little inn. Keep your pledge not to use the power of the ley line, and I shall keep mine.”
Joss nodded. “You have my word.” She turned to Gram. “We have to go.”
With a wicked smile, Plouton’s coat tails whirled as he readied to leave. “All right then. Wish I could say it was nice doing business with you. Ta.”
In a blink, the three were gone.
Meeting adjourned. Easier than Joss expected, and with the best possible outcome. The difficult part, she knew, awaited.
Her first task w
as making sure Eric had returned safely.
* * * *
Joss followed the three women off the end of the rainbow and into the house. Strange, she should be exhausted but wasn’t. “Anyone for tea? Or margaritas?”
“No thank you, dear.” Mom took hold of Joss’s shoulders. “I hate to leave so soon, but I must.”
“Already?”
Mom nodded. “Keep training against the ley line. Your mind is your greatest power.” She kissed her forehead, then stepped outside and vanished into the night.
Too late, Joss remembered to respond. “I will.” Saying goodbye to her mother was bittersweet. Knowing Mom hadn’t abandoned her eased the pain. Now that everyone knew Joss’s true identity, Mom could cross from the other realm and visit occasionally. Something to look forward to, although she suspected her mother would keep tabs. If only Joss had the same faith in herself that her relatives did.
Gram and Lydia crowded around with sad expressions.
Joss slumped. “You’re leaving too?”
“For now.” Gram pulled her into an embrace.
Lydia joined the group hug. “We’ll see you soon.”
“Drive safe.” She walked them to the car, and waited until the headlights faded in the distance before going back inside. Her head swirled with everything that had happened. So much to process, and so much yet to learn. And I still have an inn to run. The best solution, for now, was getting back to work.
She patted Taz’s head. “We’d better get some sleep.” To her surprise, the clock read three seventeen. Another puzzle. No sooner did her head hit the pillow than she fell fast asleep.
In the morning, Joss woke refreshed, and readied for the day. After checking email, she reported to Annie that the Boyers inquired about the possibility of holding a surprise fiftieth birthday party at the inn.
Annie whooped. “Great. Ask them what kind of cake. And for how many.”
Her thoughts couldn’t be further from the party. “About fifty. I’m going to suggest the white cake with lavender sugar. Hopefully, it will convince them to book it here.”
Rolling her eyes, Annie chuckled. “Tone down the enthusiasm, will you? The neighbors might complain.”
She sighed. “Sorry, sweetie.”
