Fates and Furies (The Sphinx Book 4)

by Raye Wagner

  Nyx turned toward the door and waved in a group of women. “Daughters, we have much to do.”

  Hope nodded to Atropos and Lachesis. Clotho kept her head bowed, and Hope had to close her eyes as the fabric of reality sprung forth from the dark space between the clicking of Clotho’s needles.

  “Blink,” Nyx whispered.

  Hope opened her eyes but kept her gaze away from Clotho, which wasn’t difficult as three more women crossed the threshold. These sisters were identical, from the writhing striped serpents on their heads, to the dusky pallor of their skin. Black wings, that reminded Hope of bats, peeked out of the back of their chitons.

  “Alecto, Tisiphone, and Megaera,” Nyx said by way of introduction. “Ladies, veil yourselves.”

  The serpents became wild locks of hair in multiple hues of black, red, and gray, and the wings disappeared.

  “She was a monster before,” Tisiphone said with a frown. “I don’t know why we can’t take our natural form.”

  Nyx shook her head as though the protestation was a wearied topic. “She is not the only one here.”

  Hope turned to see Athan’s face blanched with fear. Part of her wondered if he would’ve accepted her as a Sphinx. The thought made her heart hurt with doubt.

  As if she had called to him, he circled his arm around her waist. Whispering in her ear, he said, “I don’t care that they have serpents for hair or bat wings, which is actually kinda cool. It’s just them, Hope. They scare the crap out of me.”

  She huffed a small laugh and nestled into him.

  “He looks so much like his father, Tisi,” Alecto said with a wink at Hope. “Maybe you can convince the handsome demigod to give up our sister and stay here with us.”

  Tisiphone rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. Sisters don’t steal. Besides, he looks nothing like Hermes. Right, Atropos?”

  “Stop it,” Atropos snapped. Her angled features were pinched with anger. “Focus on the task at hand.”

  Hope nudged Athan with her elbow. “Your dad’s quite the ladies’ man, huh?”

  “News to me,” Athan said, gazing down at her with a grimace. “And for the record, that is so, so creepy.”

  “Hope,” Nyx called after silencing her other daughters with several snaps of her fingers. “The floor is yours. Tell us your plan and what you will need.”

  Hope outlined what she wanted to do and the roles she would need help with. Each of the goddesses contributed, chiming in with suggestions, hemming up avenues with no chance of success, and clarifying when Hope’s ignorance showed.

  “Clo will not be able to weave their threads to Tartarus all at once. What she did to Thanatos was limited by the amount of thread she could bind to him,” Atropos said. “That was one to one. What you’re proposing would take an actual piece of the fabric of Tartarus.”

  Hope looked at Clotho and asked, “Do you still have my sewing kit?”

  Clotho shook her head and continued to knit. “Lachesis has it in the bag.”

  Lachesis was rummaging through the bag by the time Hope turned to her. A moment later, the brunette goddess held out the slender case and, with a blush, said, “If you ever go to visit Hephaestus again, I’d love if you would take me with you.”

  Hope felt an odd sense of déjà vu from high school, and the fact that one of the Fates was asking for an introduction to another god was quite possibly the weirdest thing ever. But a sense of kinship to the beautiful Moirai made Hope acquiesce. “If this works, it’s the least I can do.” She turned to Nyx and, holding up the slender case, asked, “Can I cut a piece from Tartarus with the shears?”

  Nyx shook her head, and her wild lavender curls swayed with the movement. “You will not be able to wield them now that you have my thread in you.”

  Hope looked around the room. They were all daughters of Nyx now, which left only . . . She opened the case and pulled out the shears. The handles swirled with the colors of chaos, and Hope felt the power of the instrument in her hand. Staring at the scissors, she asked, “If I give them to Athan, will he be able to use them?”

  When no one said anything, Hope looked up.

  Each goddess wore an expression of certainty and triumph, although the Fates were more sedate than their sisters.

  “We will win,” Alecto said.

  “Nothing can stop us,” gloated Megaera.

  Fear prickled at Hope’s conscience. “It’s not a battle,” she said, waving her arms in protest. “If we go into it thinking that way—”

  Athan squeezed her side. “You are proposing to overthrow Olympus. You’re not just going into battle, Hope. You’re declaring war.”

  Her act of defiance took on a new perspective. She straightened as her thinking shifted. This wasn’t a protest; it was a revolution. Hope turned to Nyx. “Will Athan be able to cut the fabric?”

  “He can wield the shears, and he has certainly proven worthy,” Nyx said. “But he will not be able to see the threads.”

  “What if I guide his hand?”

  A slow smile spread over the goddess of night, her entire body reacting to Hope’s question. “Then you will need to have one of the Furies escort you to Tartarus.”

  Hope didn’t want to burden Athan with anything else, but they had no other options. She looked up at him and asked, “Is that okay? Do you mind?”

  She could see his pulse in the feathering vein in his neck.

  With a deep breath, he nodded. “Of course I’ll do it.”

  Lachesis pulled a much smaller version of her messenger bag from within the leather purse. “This will hold the fabric of the divine. Don’t lose it. It’s the last one we have.”

  Hope accepted the buttery-soft, brown-leather satchel and put the strap over her chest, mirroring the Fate. After putting the shears back into the silver case with the needle and threader, Hope dropped the sewing kit into the bag.

  “Alecto, will you take Athan and me to your realm?” Hope asked. “To the deepest darkest pit.”

  The Fury’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “Sisters,” Alecto said, “let’s go.”

  Tisiphone, Alecto, and Megaera drew close, and just before they reached Hope and Athan, Alecto said, “Stay close. The pit is deep.”

  Icy cold tendrils of pain shot up Hope’s wrist where Alecto held. The fibers around them shifted as the Furies pulled Hope and Athan down into the blackness beneath them.

  An unseen force buffeted them, pushing and pulling, cutting and beating, the torture sharp and brutal. Hope was thrown one way and couldn’t quite recover as another blast hit her, making her stumble in a different direction.

  Hope opened her eyes and willed herself to see. Dark threads waved like the wind—no, that was too tame a term. The force was a tornado, blowing the thin strands together, the gossamers creating a web that rapidly coalesced into a massive tangle. The fibers were bitterly cold, and when Hope reached out to touch the fabric, she drew her hand back with a hiss. The thin strands were razor sharp.

  The Furies extended their arms, joining hands around Athan and Hope, and the force of Tartarus died around them.

  “Cut now,” Alecto said through gritted teeth. Her face and her sisters’ were contorted with the effort of holding back the abuse of the realm.

  Pulling Athan with her, Hope knelt to the ground. The stone cut through her chiton, slicing into her knees. Ignoring the pain, she opened the silver case and handed the shears to Athan. “Here.”

  Athan took the scissors, but his large hands fumbled them. The small pinking shears fell, and he caught them just before they hit the ground.

  Hope’s eyes widened. She had no idea what would’ve happened, and she was grateful she didn’t have to find out. “We need to cut a piece of the fabric. I’ll hold it, and you cut.”

  Athan nodded, pushing his fingers into the petite handles.

  Hope grimaced as the fibers sliced through her skin. Grabbing a chunk of the material of Tartarus in each hand, she said, “Right between my hands, cut that chunk out.�
��

  Athan opened the shears and pushed them into the thick pitch. “Here?”

  She nodded, and sharp icy shards of pain bludgeoned up her arms.

  He snapped the blades closed and they cut through the dark pitch, but as he pulled the blades away, Hope watched in horror as the frayed ends of the fabric knitted back together.

  “Cut faster!” Tisiphone cried.

  The Furies swayed on their feet. Each one of them wore the same grimace of pain.

  Hope’s mind reeled, trying to come up with another way to secure the fabric. But they were running out of time.

  Blood dripped down her arms, and Hope pulled the knotted mass of material closer to her. “Do it again.”

  Athan snipped the fabric, and before he could pull the shears away from the cloth, Hope gripped the edge of where he’d cut and pulled it away from the other side.

  It was like trying to hold back a train with each hand. “Do it again, but don’t take the scissors out.”

  Athan’s face morphed into horror as he watched Hope strain against an invisible force. “What can I do?”

  “Just cut!”

  Athan jabbed the open shears into the gap and continued to snip. He wore his worry, etched on his face like a burden of anxiety.

  When he cut past where Hope was holding, it was painfully obvious he couldn’t see the fabric, which knit back together as he snipped.

  Hope gritted her teeth. Every muscle in her body strained with the tension of holding the threads apart. “Cut in a circle,” she ground out. “We need a piece of it to take with us.”

  Athan blushed with the reprimand but turned the scissors so he would be cutting perpendicular to where he’d been.

  “I need you down here. Closer to my hands.” Sweat dripped down her face.

  One of the Furies bumped Hope, and she glanced up again to see all three of them swaying.

  Athan knocked into her, his hands brushing hers when he positioned the shears closer to her hand. Hope watched in frustration as he cut nothing but air before hitting fabric again.

  Hope pulled the edge, gathering a scrap in her hand. She pointed at the next place for him to cut, straining to keep the edges away from each other.

  He continued to slice through the threads, and Hope furiously grabbed at the edges.

  A harrowing shriek from above made both Hope and Athan jump. The Furies’ hair writhed; snakes appeared and snapped at the wind. The triplets had drawn closer together, their arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders as they leaned over the demigods, bodies trembling.

  “Faster,” Hope cried.

  Athan cut, but the limitation on how much Hope could hold apart, was just as urgent. She gathered the edges, leaning back from where Athan cut, trying to keep the fabric of Tartarus from pulling together, and her muscles screamed with the effort.

  The shrieking intensified until there were three voices of pain and anguish screaming for revenge.

  Small tendrils of the gossamer breached the Furies, and pain whipped Hope in the face, making her nose run and her eyes water.

  Hope closed her eyes and pulled on the fabric in her hands. She heard the snip of the shears, the tension released, and she fell back, crashing into the goddess above.

  Agony slammed into Hope as screaming wind buffeted her. She scrambled to shove the black scrap of Tartarus into the leather bag at her side.

  The wind battered her, and the pain was excruciating. Someone yelled her name, and Hope wanted to respond, but when she opened her mouth, the threads of the pit sliced into her lips, gums, and tongue.

  Curling into a ball, Hope reached out for someone, anyone, to help her.

  “Skata! She’s here!” Athan called.

  She felt him huddle next to her, his arm over her back as he tried to protect her, and then the icy hand of one of the Furies gripped her. Hope felt a powerful jolt as they teleported, and with a sigh, she poked her head up to see the black rock of the Underworld, lit by the phosphorus glow.

  Lachesis stood above her, frowning, and offered a hand up.

  “Next time,” Nyx said, embracing Hope. “Take all your sisters. There is nothing heroic about surviving Tartarus.”

  Hope turned to the Furies in shock. “You knew it would be like that?”

  Alecto shrugged. “It’s our life. Now you know how the Olympians will feel.”

  Hope wanted to be livid, but she now had an appreciation for what she’d be binding the Olympians to. Her stomach turned, and she asked, “They will suffer like that?”

  Megaera raised her brows, her hair still writhing around her in a halo of chaos. “Don’t you want them to suffer?”

  Hope looked to Athan, who was still holding the shears, his hands and face lacerated with the attack of the very fibers of hell. He met her gaze with a small, sympathetic smile.

  “No. Not really. I just want them gone.” She felt weak with the admittance of her lack of desire for revenge.

  Nyx folded Hope into a hug. “There was a reason Zeus had Cronus bound there.”

  Hope nodded. She understood. It was the perfect prison, but she still had to know . . . “Is there no other way?”

  Nyx kissed Hope’s brow. “There is not.”

  Hope lifted the flap of the bag and looked in. All she could see was inky pitch, and icy tendrils seeped over the edges of the purse, changing the mild temperature of the Underworld to that of the arctic tundra. The faint wail of despondency echoed in the air, followed by shrill laughter.

  The Furies smiled. “Even the fabric is alive.”

  “Close the bag,” Nyx commanded.

  Hope flipped the top over the bag, and the noise stopped. Seconds later, the temperature warmed. Her hand went to the small hilt with the Olympian shears at her side. She went through the mental checklist and confirmed she had all the tools she’d need. And in theory, her part wouldn’t be that difficult. But then, theoretically, with the Furies by her side, Tartarus should’ve been a cakewalk.

  “Are you ready?” Nyx asked.

  There was really only one thing left Hope needed to do, but she didn’t want to screw it up. “I seriously suck at sewing.”

  Clotho laughed. “You don’t have to worry about how pretty it is. Just get the threads in the needle and stitch them into the fabric.”

  Athan put his arm around Hope. “If I remember correctly, Thenia told me you did a sewing project with her once, right?”

  Hope snorted. Xan had teased her for weeks about it. “Hardly. It was a total disaster.”

  Athan bent down and looked into her eyes. “Did you get the button on the fabric?”

  Hope rolled her eyes. “Yes, but—”

  Athan put his finger over her lips. “That’s all we need to do.”

  Right. Just like the button.

  Athan licked his lips, and his gaze shifted to Hope’s patron goddess. He was ready to leave. He’d been ready to leave the moment he got here, and now there was truly no reason to stay. But it wasn’t his role to call the shots.

  Nyx stood in the middle of the crumbling structure, all white and lavender, looking otherworldly surrounded by the black rock. The house had further deteriorated since their trip to Tartarus, the walls only thin shadows of what they’d once been.

  “Let’s go,” Nyx said and waved them forward.

  Hope put her hand to Athan’s chest. “Wait.”

  He heard it in her tone before she had the chance to say it. Shaking his head, he said, “You are not leaving me again.”

  Fear washed over her features, and she choked out, “But Athan . . .”

  He ached for all she had been through, and he’d always acquiesced in the past when she and Xan left him behind. Athan had not only been the weakest link as a mortal, but Hope, and even his father, had convinced him that it was safer for her if he wasn’t in the throes of the action. Neither of those arguments held weight now. “Don’t even ask it. I’m not staying here.”

  “I can’t lose you, too.”

  Athan co
uld hardly believe what she was saying. “Do you think I’m weak?”

  Hope flinched. “No.”

  But she did. He could feel it in her hesitation. And compared to Xan’s fighting skills . . .

  His instinct was to bristle, but there was no time for pride. “Listen,” he said, stepping toward her. “You’re right. I’m not strong like Xan. I’m not a warrior like he was. I don’t have his natural inclination toward strategy, and I’m not nearly as good in a fight. I understand your hesitation to take me with you. But, I’m not rash or impulsive either. And more importantly—most importantly—I love you. So if nothing else, I want to stand by your side and defend you.” He brushed away the tears on her face. “Don’t take that away from me.”

  Hope choked on her emotion and closed the gap between them. “I’m sorry.”

  He held her close and kissed the top of her head. “There is nothing to be sorry for. And just like you didn’t want me to limit your choices, please don’t take away mine.”

  She ducked her head and whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

  “Shh. No more of that. With everything you’ve had to deal with, your reactions are perfectly normal.” He shifted, pulling away enough that they could move forward.

  Nyx nodded at him with a small smile of approval.

  “Come on now,” Athan said. “Your sisters are waiting for you.”

  The Fates were silent, but the Furies cackled and howled as they broke apart.

  “Enough,” Nyx said, stifling the commotion. “Leave them alone.”

  Clo straightened. “If we don’t go now, there will be repercussions.”

  The goddesses all turned to Athan, and he felt the weight of their expectation. “You want me to lead everyone up the rock to the gap Hope cut to Olympus?”

  Atropos laughed. “No, Son of Hermes. Just use your shears and cut a new one.”

  Athan pulled out the shears and moved to the wall. He glanced at Atropos, and she gave him an encouraging nod. Gods, he hoped this worked. He pushed the tip of the outside blade into the wall, tensing in case he needed to add his weight to increase the force. But the blade slid into the stone like butter, and when he pulled the handles closed, he heard the fabric shred.