“You simply apply the potion directly over the cartilage,” she explained.
I crinkled my nose. “That has a foul odor. What’s in it?”
“Virgin tears and cloud ether.”
Archer was looking on in amazement. I wasn’t sure if it was the virgin tears or the cloud ether that had him more perplexed.
“Virgin tears,” Meg said. “You best keep your distance, Hecate. Tisi might burst into flames where she stands.”
I shot her a hard look. “Who are you today, Megaera, the pot or the kettle?”
Meg said, “Need I remind you I am a mother now?”
Meg had given birth to twins a few years earlier. It was the reason she no longer looked as similar to me as Alecto did. Mothers gift their children with slices of their own attributes. Her hair, once as blue-black as mine, was now the shade of a coffee bean, with hints of pomegranate threaded throughout. Her eyes had faded to a mossy color, except when she was angry.
“Another reason I should take the mission, I suppose.” I was being sincere, not sarcastic, but she looked miffed anyway.
Archer, the lucky bastard, didn’t have to cloak himself at all. He would be returning to the mortal realm wearing a copy of the same vessel in which he had left it.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” he asked Athena. “I mean, won’t it look pretty strange if I show up and whoever murdered me sees that I’m walking around?”
She shrugged. “Whoever seems most surprised by your animated form will be the murderer. Would that not please you?”
The look on his face indicated he had not considered that possibility. Then he wrinkled his brow and asked, “So when I return, everything will be intact, correct? I mean, say I was shot in the head—it won’t show, will it?”
He didn’t know how he had died, and that was not something the Fates tracked. Carrying the negative energy of a violent death into the Underworld could lead only to chaos and heartache, especially in the case of the tragic passing of one so young. When the mortal life is shed, it is a chance for the souls to renew and move on, not cling to the old.
Artemis sighed. “For Hera’s sake, man, do you think we’re amateurs?”
“Sorry,” Archer mumbled.
“All vessels go through a cleansing process when a shade arrives in Hades. You were essentially wearing a replica of your original body when you got here. That gets stripped before you’re even aware of it. Then, once you cross the river, your new shell is prepared and perfectly adequate to wear.”
“Adequate?” he asked, glancing down.
Artemis raised an eyebrow, shot a look at Archer’s crotch, and said, “Adequate for a mere mortal, that is.”
Meg, Hecate, Athena, and Artemis all snickered.
“Ladies, stop teasing the human, will you, please? He’ll get enough grief from Tisiphone while he’s working with her.”
“I only hit him once,” I protested.
“Yes, well, don’t make a habit of it,” Hades said. Then he motioned for me to join him in the hall.
Archer was frowning at me when I passed him.
“Yes, my lord?” I said.
“Walk with me, my dark daughter.”
I wasn’t actually his daughter. My sisters and I were born from the union of Gaia and Uranus, but he thought of us as his daughters since we had served him so faithfully.
I followed him down the hallway and out the front door. He called to Cerberus, and the dog built like a teenage black-bear cub came barreling across the threshold. Hades silently approached the thick black gates and creaked them open.
The moon was still high in the sky, as always, its light reflecting off the threads of silver in Hades’s robes. He stopped to pick up a stick and tossed it for Cerberus, who couldn’t decide which head to use to retrieve it.
I would have asked him what he wanted to tell me, because there was something, I could sense it, but one did not interrupt a high god while he was deep in thought. They got distracted so easily.
We walked in silence for some distance. Finally, I heard the flow of the river.
Cerberus set his sights on a flock of crows and ran off to chase them while Hades watched.
After a moment, he turned to me. “Look at them.” He swept his arm ceremoniously across the embankment. “The Lost. Look at how they scramble for answers.”
I didn’t say, I have been looking. For ages. It’s you who is blind. Rather, I did as he asked.
We stood side by side, gazing at our subjects.
He said, “I know what you’ve been doing, of course. Paying their passage whenever you can. I know, too, how you’re getting the coins.”
I swallowed hard, hoping against hope that I was not going to be punished. Punishment was Tartarus duty, the realm that lay beneath the Underworld—the gloomy pit of nothingness where only the most depraved, vile, unconscionable sinners were locked away.
Hades glanced at me sideways. “Are you surprised, Tisiphone? Surely you don’t think that much happens in my kingdom that I am not aware of. I realize that our system is not perfect, that there is room for improvement, but these things take time. They take resources. They take strategic planning and must be in accordance with our laws. Which means they also take getting the Fates and the upper pantheon to all agree. And you know how frustrating siblings can be.”
“My Lord, I—”
He held up his hand. “I am not here to scold you, child. I am here to remind you that these are the people you will encounter on your mission. These souls—the ones you have such compassion for after they die—are the very kinds of souls in life who test your temper. Do not let their flaws cause you to lose sight of your task.” He looked at me. “Understood?”
“Yes, my lord.” I bowed my head in honor.
He was smiling, pleased. “Excellent.” Then the smile transformed into a grim line. He placed his hands firmly upon my shoulders, his jaw hardened, and said, “Now go get my Fury.”
Chapter 7
We made our way back to the war room, where Hecate was fiddling with the moonstone ring that would be my point of contact with the gods. There was a bandage on her pinky finger.
“Tisi, I’ve enchanted the ring with a receiving spell using a drop of my blood. I’ll look into the possibility of a dark-arts ritual that utilizes the mortal moon cycles. If I find one, I’ll send you a signal. It will look like this.”
Hecate licked her finger and smeared the saliva across the tattoo of her goddess symbol on her right arm—a three-pronged wheel with a star in the center—and the tattoo bubbled. After a moment, the ring lit up and a swirl of tides and clouds intermingled in its milky-white depths.
The sorceress said, “Tap the ring.”
I did, and words floated to the surface of the ring:
Stand by for a message.
Hecate looked over my shoulder and said, “Perfect. It works.”
I asked, “Will this work with other gods? Will Meg be able to send a message?”
Hecate said, “Artemis and Apollo will be able to correspond with you, since we are bound by blood, but I’m afraid that is all.”
The twins were Hecate’s cousins.
I thanked the witch. She nodded and vanished in a spray of blue smoke.
Athena said, “Are you ready, Tisiphone?”
I told her I was, and she looked at Archer, who nodded.
“Very well. Mr. Mays has a key and all the information you should need for lodging and currency. Hera often travels there with her servant Iris, so the room should be fully stocked with anything you may desire, as well as a map outlining the location of the portals around the city for transport back to Olympus. I’ve supplied Mr. Mays with a list of other gods visiting the mortal plane at this time and their contact information. His files from his investigation on Alecto’s disappearance will all be copied to the computer at the inn, so that should give you a head start on locating her. Any questions?”
I said, “Yes, I have a question. Who the hell put him i
n charge?”
It was bad enough that I had to work with a mortal. Now they wanted me to follow his orders?
Athena sighed heavily. “He isn’t in charge, Tisiphone. He simply came up with a plan while you were speaking with Hades, and we think it’s a fine idea. Now, there’s no time to discuss. Just trust that he is on our side.”
I trusted no one. Everyone knew that, but I held my tongue.
Athena escorted us to the corner, where the tall, glass cylindrical portal stood. “Once you enter the portal, you’ll experience a flash of white light, perhaps a dizzying sensation, and then, after a few moments, you’ll be transported to Las Vegas, directly in front of the city sign. You’ll need to lock hands.”
Archer and I stepped inside the chamber and he grabbed my hands. I grunted.
He said, “I’m sorry I couldn’t help your sister.”
I said, “Just stay out of my way.”
Athena slapped a large, silver button. Then a bright light nearly blinded me, accompanied by a piercing, scraping noise, before everything went black.
It was hotter than Hades’s closet in Las Vegas, and brighter than a Zeus-fueled lightning bolt.
After what seemed like days of walking, I couldn’t take it anymore. My leather pants were melting into my skin, and my skin felt like it was on fire. I liked warmth, but this was ridiculous.
“Where in the blazes is this place we’re to stay?” I said. “How much longer until we get there?”
Archer cocked an eyebrow at me, and the tiny lines etched around his eyes danced. “We’ve been walking for ten minutes. We’ve got quite a ways to go, so I suggest you suck it up.”
“And I suggest you watch how you speak to me, before I blacken your other eye.”
A nerve in Archer’s neck twitched. “That’s not funny. Athena said I can’t take any chances. I can’t bleed.”
“I won’t make you bleed. I’ll only make you wish you were dead.”
“Don’t you mean ‘wish I weren’t dead so I wouldn’t have to put up with your crap’?”
I ignored that last comment. The sun was beating so hard on my face, I could have sworn I was frying. I had never felt such immense heat. I gathered my long hair and wrapped it in a knot, waving a hand at the back of my neck. “You know this town. Is there a river or lake nearby? I have to get some water. I feel as if I’m burning.”
He laughed. “You’re in the desert, sweetheart. No water anywhere. You can wait until we get to the hotel. You’re tough. Besides, I thought you’d be used to this heat.”
“It never gets this hot in Olympus, except in Tartarus. And I avoid that like I would a snake pit, because, well, it is.”
My tone must have signaled I didn’t want to talk about the belly of the Underworld, because Archer didn’t ask about it and kept quiet for a while. Several loud, annoying cars blasted their horns at us while we trudged along the walkway. We passed the WELCOME TO LAS VEGAS sign, patches of dead grass, and a few tall lights that Archer explained directed traffic.
Then I met the first mortal I wanted to kill.
I was following Archer Mays across a paved road when I heard the motor of a noxious car engage. The vehicle made a braking sound, but before I could turn to see what was taking place behind me, I felt an intense pain on my backside. The impact was so harsh, I was certain my pants were permanently implanted in my ass.
At first I thought perhaps I had violated some pedestrian law and had been hit by the vehicle. Then I saw a middle-aged man with a potbelly and a hairy arm hanging out of a convertible, waving his hand. The driver next to him said, “Yeah! Smack that ass! Hey, baby, what’s shaking?”
I was hot and I was thirsty, and the blinding power of the sun had incapacitated all sense of logic. He was too far away to grab, so I used the power of my voice to punish him. I narrowed my eyes, zeroed in on my target, opened my mouth, and screeched.
Immediately, both men covered their ears, and the car came to a jarring halt. The glass fixtures on their automobile burst, followed by their mirrors. Then the drinks in their hands imploded, showering them with foamy amber liquid.
Somehow, they knew I had caused it all to happen.
Archer was several steps ahead of me. He wouldn’t have heard the screech—only my targets could. He turned around just in time to see the men circle back, shouting profanities at me.
He was confused, but he quickly realized what had happened when the older, fat man said, “You fucking bitch!”
Then the driver, a young man with spiky blond hair, said, “If you don’t want your ass slapped, don’t dress like a whore. You better have some money to pay for this shit, lady.”
“Gentlemen, is there a problem here?” Archer asked calmly behind me.
The driver, who I realized was a great deal younger than his companion, said, “Mind your own business, fucko.”
Archer smiled widely, reached into his back pocket, his bicep flexing just for emphasis, and pulled out something shiny. “See, fellas, Officer Hot Pants is my business. Now, if you don’t mind, she’s working undercover today. So if you don’t want to go to jail tonight, I suggest you keep your heads down and your mouths shut.”
The two men looked dumbstruck.
The younger man spit on the street, inches from Archer’s foot. “Dude, she trashed my ride. I’m not going to let that go.”
Archer craned his neck, making a show of examining the car. “Really, and how did she do that?”
The older man swallowed hard and looked at his friend.
The driver was either too stupid or too stubborn to back down. “I don’t know, man—she screamed or used a whistle or something.”
Archer pretended to consider this. He rubbed his chin, then turned to me. “You must have quite a set of lungs on you to cause that kind of damage.”
I knew the ploy. My sisters and I had played Good Fury, Bad Fury many a time.
“Sure do,” I said. “After all, this is Vegas. Couldn’t have been a machine making all that racket.”
Archer said, “Or missile testing in the desert.” He looked pointedly at the older man, who licked his lips nervously. “Or other kinds of activity that may take place in a desert. That may involve, oh, I don’t know… flying objects?”
I had a feeling I knew where Archer was going with this. The stories of little green men were as ancient as civilization itself.
I fired up the flames in my eyes, just for a moment, and both men looked at each other, jumped in their broken car, and sped off. I thought I heard the younger guy say, “Man, I told you aliens exist!”
Archer looked at me after the car was out of sight. “Well, hell’s bells, is that a smile I see on your face?”
I had rather enjoyed toying with a human who misbehaved, but I wasn’t about to let Archer Mays know that. I set my mouth into a grim line.
Archer said several minutes later, when I was certain my skin had cooked right into my flesh, “Admit it: we make a good team.”
I stole a sideways glance at his stubbly chin and sturdy shoulders. “Don’t push it.”
“You want to tell me what you did back there? It’s probably not a good idea to attract too much attention to ourselves, you know.”
“He needed to be punished. I used my wail.”
“Your wail?”
“My voice.”
“How?”
I clenched my fists, growing irritated with all the questions. Just because we were a team didn’t make us friends.
“Can we not talk? I’d like to keep all the saliva in my mouth until we get near a watering hole,” I said.
“Suit yourself,” he said stiffly.
I knew we needed to share information eventually, and that I was being spiteful, but I didn’t care. I needed to reserve all my strength. The force of my screech had drained me. I could feel my energy slipping with each step. What was it about this city that so instantly infuriated and exhausted me? Why did I feel as if my power was fading?
Is this what had
happened to Alex? Had my sister been so immersed in having fun that she hadn’t realized this town was stealing her force? Was that why she had been taken? Because she simply hadn’t had the strength to fight?
Or was it something else entirely that was siphoning my power? Something darker and more deadly?
Because, after all, the gods are immortal only in Olympus. Here, we are vulnerable. Just like humans.
Chapter 8
He was aching to kill again. It had been so long since he had felt the soft flesh of life being snuffed out beneath his fingers. The ones who were so surprised, they couldn’t even scream. Those were his favorite. Sometimes, after he cut them, he would dip a finger into their open wounds and taste the blood. It was like sweet wine to him. And the thrill! Once, when he had been drunk, he had told a friend there was no greater pleasure in life than death. Of course, he’d had to cover up, had to pretend as if he was only joking, but he had meant it. The satisfaction of watching an innocent human being die at his hand aroused him. It was the only way he could achieve that kind of pleasure anymore. And a man had needs. It wasn’t his fault he was wired this way.
He felt as if he had been under a trance, a spell of some kind, for far too long. Going through the motions of acting normal. But who among us was truly “normal”? Show him a man without sin, and he’d show you a man with a secret. All the great ones—Jack the Ripper, Ted Bundy, Jeffrey Dahmer—all led perfectly socially acceptable lives until they got caught. Then the judgments came. The punishments. Now, he would dole out his own punishments.
He looked around the darkened room, feeling alive again. His playmates were all fast asleep. None of them had seen his face. None of them knew what he was planning. Their cries, their pleas, their tears wouldn’t save them. Women were more emotional than men, sure, but what he hadn’t expected was the way they smelled when they were afraid. Like feral cats emitting an odor of protection. They smelled metallic, earthy, sweet, and tart all at once.
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