by Karey Brown
Hades’ cannon laughter boomed. Abruptly, the god threw up his hand and sobered. “We’re about to have company.” No sooner had the forewarning been issued than a toga draped spirit seemingly zip-lined towards the two gods.
“Five hundred fourteen just arrived, Your Deadliness.”
“I’ve told you not to call me that. What’s wrong with you? You’re fidgeting.”
“Nothing, Oh Evil One.”
Hades sighed. “You fidget when something is terribly wrong. So what if our numbers are down. Is that what smokes your ass?” He waved his hand. “We’ve a cruise liner in the Atlantic and permission to start hurricane season.” Gleefully, he rubbed his hands. “I so love hurricane season. Every couple of years, I’m granted a clean sweep. It’s almost as much fun as bowling.” Hades turned to his son. “Have you tried bowling?”
“Negative.”
Hades sobered. “It’ll give you something to do with those skulls you collect. I swear, you’re as drab as sunshine during a picnic.”
“I aim to please.”
“I don’t think I like your attitude.”
“You never encouraged me to be a well behaved son.”
“And you exceeded even my expectations. Tell me, have you slaughtered—“
“Uh, Your Awfulness?”
Hades swung around so ferociously, the hovering servant rocketed high above their heads. “Get down here! Don’t make me come up there. I have an aversion to heights. You know it gives me vertigo!”
“Don’t yell.”
“I won’t yell,” Hades agreed.
“Promise?”
“You bargain like Aurelia.”
“She was sweet. Will she be returning soon?”
“NO!” Dezenial roared.
“Sssshhhh. Whatever you do,” Hades whispered to his son, “don’t yell at it. Last time, I had to do all my own accounting for two weeks before it came back. I like this one. Okay, except for the stupid titles it keeps calling me but, hey, good help is hard to find.”
“What happened to Orin?”
“I couldn’t take the smell of his burnt flesh one minute more. A tax attorney for the mafia, I had no choice but to throw him into the pits a few times, but whew! What a stench! That lard ass sizzled and popped until demons arrived with forks and bibs. Zeus awful mess. You know one of those ghouls even thought to be funny by supplying potato salad? They’ve gone mum on me. None will spill who the comedian is amongst them. Oh, Orin, I get distracted, threw him in Styx. Let him gargle river water for a thousand years. Good thing I did burn him. He’d still be floating. Don’t they realize gluttony is a sin for a reason? They float when you try to drown them.” Irritated, Hades waved his hand again. “This one just liked setting buildings on fire.”
Dezenial’s gaze narrowed against his father’s nonchalance. “Seems unworthy of eternity damned for burning down buildings.”
“Okay, so there were a handful of politicians inside the building. Hero, in my book, but you know your uncle. Zeus refused him peaceful eternity, something about in past lives, he wasn’t much better, were you?”
“I can’t help that I enjoy fire. It was my intention to imitate the master.”
“Yeah, yeah, butt shark someone else. Just make sure you stay away from the pits. First time you burn to a crisp, I’m replacing you. Took me forever to get that Orin-stench out of my office.” Hades stared at his newly acquired servant for several long moments until the spirit swallowed his fear and spiraled downward, clipboard clutched tightly like a shield.
“You’re still fidgeting.”
“Four of our new arrivals are lawyers.”
Hades’ hand cradled his forehead. “Screaming rights?”
“Rallying the others that they have the right to a jury’s decision whether or not they belong here.”
“I’m leaning towards the ‘not’. Douse ‘em with fire. That’ll distract them for a while.”
“Oh, Your Meanness, I will carry out your orders immediately.”
“Just make sure you have Arsyn show you how to work—“
“Can we use the lava hose?”
“No, no, no!” Hades turned to his son. “See what I have to deal with? No. No lava. It melts even the bone. Then I have to toss them in the river for millennia before they can serve the demons. No. My brother comes down here, swearing I’m not making the scourge of his world suffer enough for their vile acts during their living years. No, hell no. Oh, look, I made a pun.” Hades snapped his fingers, the spirit vanishing from their presence. “See what you’re missing?”
“Removal of tongues ceases my headaches.”
“I’ve been meaning to speak with you about your curious penchant.”
Dezenial arched a luminous brow at his sire.
“Do you know what it’s like to try and terrify someone, and the entire time they’re screaming with their mouth wide open, I’m forced to gaze upon your ghastly handiwork? Not to mention suffering the great inconvenience of having to send for my translator when your baggage tries speaking, minus their tongue. Could you at least sew it to their arm or something where we can attach it and understand the pathetic fool?” Hades shook his head. “As if I don’t have enough to contend with. Just yesterday, Charon decided he was increasing his rates or no more rowing any souls across Styx. Then he threatens—you need something to drink? I know it’s a bit warm down here for you.”
“I’m fine. Do continue.” He’d humor his father for a time while his Emily plotted her escape and sought her precious coffee. And hot bath. He swallowed painfully. Seeing her more often rubbed raw his denial of her embrace. A paramount reason he preferred her to remain in her own realm. Now, he was laced within her mind more than he cared to be. If Drakar found her . . .
“You aren’t listening to me. See? I’m invisible. No one—“
“Just yesterday, what?”
“Where was I? Oh, Charon. He’s threatening strike!” Hades punched his fist into his other hand. “There’s no striking in Underworld! Next, I’ll have freshman demons demanding wings!” Hades paced. “I love my job, I love my job,” he muttered. “I love my job.”
“I have wings.” Dezenial fought damn hard not to grin.
“You’re my son,” Hades threw up his hands, a sign, Dezenial noted, of serious stress. “Of course you have wings.” This time, Hades swept his hands to encompass all. “I gave you everything!”
“This isn’t the part where you start your barrage of how you had nothing in your day, is it?”
“See? That right there!” Bells loudly gonged. Hades changed form until he was red, forked tail, his skin steaming. “No one appreciates me. How do I look?”
Dezenial tapped his own forehead. “Forgot your horns.”
“Causes migraines. I save those for last.” The god sighed. “Let me go scare the newbies. I tell you, ever since you and Inzyr decided it a lark to torment those Crusaders, I’ve been forced to don this ridiculous costume. The tail alone, I should have you sawed in half repeatedly for millennia.”
“You’re being dramatic. They were too full of hope. I needed to remind them some things remain dark.”
“Okay, but a tail?”
“We could have dressed up as tribal shamans.”
Hades’ face contorted. “I’ll take the tail over the loincloth and painted face. Got me there. Last time I had one of those creatures show up down here, we needed Zeus to free us of woo-hoo magicks. Nothing worse than a bunch of demons with their heads now shrunken.”
Dezenial couldn’t refrain from laughing.
“Funny, until you need your demons to scare faith back into a few folks. Kinda hard to be terrorized by something with a head no bigger than a doorknob.” He joined his son’s laughter. “Still haven’t lived down my humiliation over having to call upon He Who Must Forever Be Obeyed. I digress. Say something to thoroughly piss me off so I can go rip these lawyers a new one.”
“I witnessed Persephone sunning herself in the nude on the shores of white sands last su
mmer after leaving here. She has a remarkable body. Very sleek, that one, and might I add I especially enjoyed the cute little tattoo you finally talked her into—“
Flames erupted, surrounding Hades, his roaring and screeching making even the deadly Lumynari prince flinch. Just as suddenly, the enraged god vanished, though burning sulfur remained. Hades’ face, minus his body, materialized within inches of Dezenial’s. “You were kidding, right?”
“Of course. I would never spy on your wife.”
His father disappeared again. “You’re lying,” the gods voice bellowed. Dezenial roared with laughter.
Until, through Emily’s mind, he overheard cruel disclosures the mortal woman wasn’t ready for.
* * * * *
The mitigated joy of struggling with soaked jeans—which usually required a body to roll about quite a bit on the floor while cursing and threatening to slice and dice said jeans while yanking off one pant leg, then, blessedly, the other—could wait. Hot java to take up and enjoy with scalding hot bath—and maybe a really sharp knife to just cut jeans off and be done with it—was the optimal choice right now. Besides, Maeve’s coffee rocks! She puts just the perfect blend of cinnamon, and—
“I say he’ll kill her before much longer. She’s the blame of his wife’s death and their curse.”
Emily’s hand halted midair like a crossing guard stopping traffic. Just about to push her way into the kitchen, she stilled. Kill? As in throttle? Metaphorically speaking, right?
“She wasn’t truly his wife, and you know it. Na’Dryn was his mistress.”
“Mistress that was human. Mi’ da hopes the laird ends this one’s miserable life, and soon. Just last night, flames from candles and hearth mysteriously extinguished, yet no open windows or doors for Sister Wind to travel through.” Female voice lowered. Emily moved closer to the door. “Their shadows passed by, silhouetted through our curtains.” Collective gasps reminded Emily of leaky air ducts back home in Chase’s office. “Da said tonight we close the shutters and bed down in the same room. He’s been buffing and readying mi’ grand da’s sword most of the morn.” Chopping resumed for several long seconds before the speaker continued, onions suddenly pungent.
“Tha’ Yank is going ta’ bring about another massacre. Three thousand years, the laird has kept our ancestors, and now us, safe.”
Three-thousand years, Emily mouthed.
“We all hoped she would stay dead.”
“Pratty! Blasphemy.”
“Ye’ ken it ta’ be true. And returnin’ as a Yank, knowin’ nothin’ of our ways.”
I’m the Yank. What the hell?
“Allysyn worked here the other day, side by side wi’ her. Said she’s funny, kind and a hard worker, Pratty. Said for a princess she doesn’t put on airs.”
Princess? Another local slur for Americans?
“Give her a chance. Maeve approves of her and that’s good enough fer’ me. Ye’ can’t expect her ta’ wear blame when she doosna’ even know who she really is.”
“Allysyn and you would find the good in Satan. Good thing, being he’s on his way. Those were his minions passing our window last night, and ye’ ken it!”
Satan? On his way? Had this bitch stolen into Broc’s scotch? Because she definitely spoke as one having lost their mind.
“Did Allysyn also tell ye’ the woman’s too daft ta’ realize Aunsgar be Elf? That he’s a prince, once upon a time, her uncle? Or ta’ realize our immortals never don the clothing of moderns? They look ridiculous in those trews likened to her own. Just yesterday, I caught Colin hiding when he heard her stomping towards the gatehouse, the mohn terrified she’d spy him wi’out the ridiculous shirt he wears ta’ hide his body art.” A snort sounded through the door. “Like she would even realize she breaks bread with ancient Picts.”
Emily backed away from the door. Picts? As in Celts, Romans, Saxons—bullshit! Immortals? Like on television? Great. Decapitation. A real treat. Perhaps they’ll follow up with boil removals, and bloodletting leeches.
“Pratty, yer vicious. Maeve has warned yer’ tongue is going ta’ be the end our jobs. I for one canna afford ta’ not be employed.” Angry chopping resumed.
“Tha’ old witch thinks ta’ fire me, I’ll sing like the bird she is and tell everyone she can change into falcon. She doosna’ want me to send for animal control to confiscate that precious feline of hers, or herself.”
O’Shay? Now Emily was livid. If this Pratty bitch touches one flea on—
“Hush, Pratty. What ye’ threaten is ta’ bring moderns through the door. Ye’ speak evil. Ears are everywhere in this castle. Allysyn said one minute the laird was in his library, and while she polished the door, when she glanced over her shoulder, he was gone. He hadn’t closed the panel all the way. There are secret tunnels throughout this castle.”
“Better hope the Lumynari don’t figure that out.”
Lumynari? No sooner had Emily mentally muttered that word than a cold shiver descended.
“Have ye’ seen the resemblance to his painting?” a new voice asked. Water turned on for a moment, then off, drowning their words. A pot clanged and thudded against what Emily pictured to be the worktable.
“Might I remind you her image no longer hangs in his library? Too terrified Ms. Snoop would nose around and find it.”
Bored, wandering aimlessly down a corridor, Emily had spied several men carrying a cloth-covered painting from Broc’s sanctuary yesterday. Then he’d stepped out, and spying her, had opened the door wide, offering her free reign to all his books. Who had the painting been of? His deceased wife? Apparently, there was more male manipulations occurring than I realized. Broc being kind to me should have been my first clue. Bastard intentionally distracted me, providing a clean getaway for his cohorts. I have to find that painting! But first, I need details. There are hundreds of painting adorning hundreds of corridors. ‘Ye can explore, but mi’ library is off limits, he’d said. Then, all of the sudden, he throws down the Welcome mat, and encourages her to come on in. Have a look around. Yep. Road kill stench. I’ve been hit and run over by the You’re a Dumb Shit truck.
“They found Reager’s body by the river. Not a mark on him.”
Emily leaned closer.
“But the look of fright on his face told all. And those shadows passing by our window last night . . . they’re here. Because of that Yank. We’re as good as dead.”
“Pratty, if you speak of evil doing’s, you call them upon yer’self. Chances are Reager was drunk again and fell.”
“Really? Huh. What do you supposed happened to his tongue? Fell off in the bottle, or bit it off all the way back near his throat?”
“He was missing his tongue?”
“Cut from the root.”
“Pratty!”
“Those who eavesdrop never hear good of themselves.”
Emily squealed, jerked and spun with arm raised in defense. “Garreck! Cripes! You have the stealth of a serial killer.” Her hand splayed over her heart, the age-old motion doing little to quiet the pounding muscle. “Who was Reager?”
“He was the lower bailey—“
“What are Lumynari?”
“Now, Lady Emily—“
“Why would I be the cause of another massacre? What massacre happened in the first place?”
“Over three-thousand years ago—“
“That’s another thing. How old are you, Garreck?” Amber eyes gored him.
“I think the laird—“
“I think you either swill too much scotch, the lot of you, or I’ve stepped into the Twilight Zone.” Swiftly, she moved past him and powerwalked until exiting the winding corridor into the great hall. If the stairs weren’t so wide, she’d have taken them two and three at a time. I’ve gotta get away from this madhouse! Her nape prickled. Skin puckered. Her scalp tingled.
Just like those late nights when her aunt used to stay away, and Emily could swear she wasn’t alone. She’d learned long ago to hone in on her sixth senses wh
en situations felt off kilter. And right now, her senses were pinging!
Nearly reaching the top of the stairs, a flurry of footsteps rushed the Great hall.
“Lady Emily, we’re so—“
“I said, not a word!” Garreck roared. Emily’s eyes rounded. Bitter women marched, one of them quite venomously darting glances up at her before dashing out the front doors, Garreck’s sword to their backs. One false move, and he’d have made good his obvious threat.
“Garreck, what are you doing?”
“I listened longer. ‘Tis good ye’ did not remain.” He slammed the door. Large stained glass windows high along the cathedral ceilings rattled. Both watched for a moment, wondering if colored shards would rain down.
“Allysyn came ta’ warn me of their sharp tongues. I’d hoped ta’ spare ye’.”
Emily studied him for lengthy moments. “You know what, Garreck? I think you rushed back here, fearing I’d learn something.” She turned to vacate his presence, then thought of something. “Be sure Allysyn doesn’t suffer for having warned you. It would seem Pratty is the only one deserving to be put out of a job—she threatened some falcon you have on these premises and the cat. Never mind what she had to say about me, I won’t have her snaring animals just so she can make a point. She said something about animal control. Those people can be real nasty. Women are more treacherous than men when it comes to getting even. Pratty needs to be watched. She’s trouble.”
“Aye, a good idea, that.”
Once again, she was on the outside looking in. But then, hadn’t her aunt reminded her daily that no one appreciated an unexpected guest? Devil’s Child, she’d been called, a Holy water dousing her Sunday ritual until old enough to seek employment. She’d intentionally volunteered and accepted weekend shifts. Then Peter waltzed into my life. And wasn’t he just swell, playing up to my needing to fit in; to be loved? Gah, I’m a therapist’s wet dream.
“Mi’ lady?”
“They didn’t even give me a chance,” Emily whispered, no longer really talking to Garreck, but rather, musing aloud, mesmerized by the stained glass windows and their lying depiction of medieval romance between a lady and her knight. Love? What crap!
