Unseen

by Amber Lynn Natusch

  “Interesting,” he replied, tenting his fingers in front of his mouth. “And what precisely did he do after that?”

  I hesitated for only a second.

  “He threw me off the roof of our home.”

  Hades’ eyes widened before he roared with laughter. It was far from the reaction I expected. Knowing that Oz had nearly killed me should have enraged him. For some odd reason, he looked relieved by my response.

  “You cannot trust the fallen, Khara. Of this I have long warned.”

  “That you have, Father.”

  “And yet you stayed under the same roof as him. The roof that he ultimately threw you off in the end.”

  “I had few other savory options,” I countered, knowing that had been the truth only until my twin had offered me refuge with him and our other brothers on the East Coast. At the time, I had declined, not fully understanding why I had done so. There was a connection I had felt to my brothers who had taken me in. Now, reflecting upon that time, I wondered if I had not felt a connection to Oz as well. “He was not as despicable as you may have assumed, Father. Though he was the indirect cause of the battle we all found ourselves embroiled in, he was not entirely evil.”

  “No?” he asked, unable to hide the incredulity in his tone.

  “No. Not entirely.”

  “How would you have described him, then?”

  “Disgruntled. Arrogant. Loathsome at times. But not evil. He was not as he is now when I first arrived in Detroit,” I explained. “And I am afraid I may be to blame for the ultimate change in his character.”

  “You are not to blame for his actions, Khara,” Hades said, reprimanding me.

  “I am not to blame for his antics, no. But I am to blame for the darkness that overtook him and created the being he is now.”

  “You caused his darkness?” The disbelief in his expression was plain.

  “So it appears.”

  “That is preposterous. How could you have done such a thing?”

  “The exact method remains unclear. The details of what happened to Oz after he threw me from the roof remain cloudy in my mind. What I do know is that when I returned to the Victorian and found him lying on the couch, dying from the emptiness, I did something to him—gave something to him—that he accepted. Whatever it was, it made him what he now is. A Dark One.”

  “Impossible . . .” he breathed.

  “I am afraid not. My brothers were there. They witnessed the entire thing. They, alongside me, watched Oz spring to life and sprout his obsidian wings before escaping through the back window and flying off into the night.”

  “I do not understand this.”

  “Nor do I, Father. My brothers seem to have some theories, but I left before any of them could be tested. I abandoned my home in Detroit to come here. To see you.”

  “And you used him—that thing you created—as a means to return to the Underworld?” he uttered, disbelief marring his noble features.

  “Yes.”

  “Why, Khara? What would possess you to risk so much to return home? He cannot be trusted. I have seen how he stalks you like a hawk circling its prey. He could have taken you—” Hades cut himself off before disclosing something he did not mean to. “You could not have been certain that he would bring you here, Khara. You had to have known that I would send my army to find you. All those I could spare were dispatched. Deimos alone should have been enough—”

  “Oz was my best option,” I answered firmly. Now was not the time to explain what had occurred with Deimos. Perhaps there never would be such a time. I questioned whether or not my father was capable of understanding the depths of Deimos’ insanity—his depravity—given that he had not noticed it already. Was there a chance that my father could see Deimos’ plan to make me Dark and claim me as his own as a way of ensuring my safety by relegating me to the Underworld permanently, thereby insulating me from any threats from above, both known and unknown? He could view it as a strategic maneuver rather than the machinations of Deimos’ maniacal mind. Regardless, to gain confirmation that my father would rather have my soul tainted than face an unknown future was a truth I preferred to remain ignorant of.

  But Hades seemed to have a strategy of his own, and it revolved around obtaining his own answers.

  “Something is amiss with you two—you and Deimos,” he noted, his eyes narrowing. “First your brother speaks of Deimos as though he were the enemy, and now you cut me off at the first mention of his name. What is going on that I don’t know about?”

  “As I said before, my brothers and Deimos have a history of sorts.”

  “Yes, you did say that, but what I want to know is why you suddenly seem so reluctant to discuss him.”

  “I am not reluctant, Father, nor is my distaste for Deimos sudden. He is not my favorite. He never has been. His methods for accomplishing what he must are often objectionable and unscrupulous, and though you find Oz to be unsavory and untrustworthy, one could argue that Deimos is no different. But it just so happens that he is under your command,” I stated calmly. “For the sake of efficiency, I capitalized on the opportunity presented to me at the time. Deimos was not there. Oz was. It is as simple as that.”

  The finality in my tone seemed to surprise Hades. The quirk of his brow when he pulled away from me just enough to better assess my countenance was proof of that. He had not expected that response.

  “Fine,” he said, still sounding somewhat dissatisfied. “What is done is done. However, that does not mean that I will allow this tarnished angel to linger in my kingdom uninvited to do as he wishes with my daughter.” He hovered before me, his large frame looming ominously. “As for Deimos, know that he is a necessary evil in my world. I do not find all of his antics palatable, but he gets me the results I need. I cannot argue with that.” He was right. I could not either. My father’s realm was one that required a tyrannical rule. Employing one who thrived in such conditions was a crucial part of maintaining order in the Underworld. The fact that he was diabolical and fixated on me was subsidiary to my father’s needs to have one such as Deimos serving under him. “But if he has done something to you directly—”

  “He has not,” I interrupted emphatically. My words were not entirely a lie. Deimos himself had done nothing to me in my time above. It was his legion of Stealers that had attacked both my brothers and me, not him. Bringing up Deimos’ thwarted plan would serve only to disturb and distract my father. He needed order, not dissonance and doubt. I would deal with Deimos, just as I always had in the past—without the aid of my father.

  “All right, then. Now, about your Dark One,” he started, heading toward the door to exit the room he had claimed for us. “I think it’s time we rid ourselves of him, don’t you, my princess?”

  “You have no power over him,” I said plainly. It was not meant as a slight. It was a gentle reminder of the truth he had so militantly ingrained in me—that the Dark could not be controlled. It was also a reflexive answer that had escaped me before I put any thought into it.

  “I have plenty of power,” Hades growled, standing in the doorway.

  “But you hold none over him.”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps not. But there are ways to deal with the likes of him, Khara.”

  With that, he stormed off down the hall; I followed closely behind him.

  “What are you going to do?”

  He looked back at me over his shoulder.

  “Whatever needs to be done.”

  8

  Hades had appeared far too determined for my liking, and his words left much room for interpretation. If his initial plan had been to distract Oz, it seemed as though his intentions had escalated to something far more sinister. The distress I felt at the thought was unnerving. The only solace I found was the knowledge that Hades himself could not kill a Dark One. Had he possessed that ability, I never would have been abducted from my home.

  For the second time that day, I found myself standing in the middle of the hallway, alone with my tho
ughts. But it was not time to think. It was time to act. I needed to find Oz—though I was still unsure what I would tell him once I did.

  But I also had a pressing desire to find Persephone to see if she did in fact hold more information than Hades had revealed to me. Or more than she had even revealed to him. She was a resource I needed to consult either way, and I found myself uncertain who exactly I should locate first.

  The labyrinth that was the Underworld could be challenging to navigate, even for those familiar with it. It seemed to have a way of changing over time—evolving. So as I made my way toward the epicenter of it, the Great Hall, I was not surprised to round a corner only to find a rather perplexed Kierson wandering aimlessly.

  “Hey!” he called out. His relief was nearly palpable in his tone.

  “Kierson,” I replied with a slight smile.

  “I thought I was on my way to the kitchen, but now I have no clue where I’m going.” He looked around, surveying the various tunnels that branched outward from where we stood. “And I’m so hungry . . .”

  “The kitchen is this way. I will take you to it.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To find Oz. Or Persephone. I am not yet sure which.”

  “How do you know where either of them is? This place is a bitch to find your way around in.”

  I stopped for a moment to ponder his question.

  “I am hoping to serendipitously encounter one or the other. Perhaps both, though not simultaneously.”

  “Oh,” he replied, scrunching his features up in confusion. “Whatever. As long as you can take me somewhere to eat, I’m happy. We need some time to talk, anyway.”

  “About?”

  “Leaving.” His demeanor took on a seriousness that had been absent only seconds before. “I know Casey already talked to you about it, but I’m going to throw my two cents in, too. This place is a real blast and all, but we need to get back. You don’t seem to be getting the answers you came for very quickly. Can’t we just say fuck it and go?”

  “You are not enjoying your time with Aery?” I asked, unable to keep my eyebrow from rising quizzically.

  Kierson blushed, a reaction I had never before witnessed.

  “Don’t get me wrong, she’s . . .”

  “Fun?”

  “Yes. Fun. But I know that Drew is probably going postal by now, and with Deimos back . . .”

  “He is no more a threat to me here than he is in the world above. Most likely, the opposite is true.”

  He looked over at me as we continued to walk. I could feel the weight of his stare on the profile of my face.

  “You’re really not going to give up on this, are you?”

  “Can I afford to, Kierson? We know nothing of what I am. What I can do. If there is a chance that we can find answers to my questions here, is it not sensible that we get them before returning to Detroit?”

  “Yeah . . . that makes sense,” he grudgingly agreed. “But you have no guarantees that you’re going to find the answers that you’re looking for here. It seems like a risk.”

  “Perhaps. But today I learned that, though my father may not have much to offer me in the way of information about my mother, Persephone is a far more promising source. One that I need to consult with soon.”

  He sucked in a breath through clenched teeth.

  “About that,” he started, sounding concerned about my plan. “Sean is not a big fan of hers. I haven’t heard good things.”

  “This changes nothing.”

  “Fine. But be careful, okay? Sean isn’t one to overreact about things, and he’s been known to flip the fuck out about her.”

  “They have history. Histories are not always pleasant.”

  “Right, but in this case, I think that might be an understatement.”

  “I will take your warning under advisement, brother.”

  “Good,” he said with a nod. “Now do me one more favor. Take Oz with you when you go to talk to her.”

  “I think he will prove only to be a distraction. Persephone stares at him as though he is food and she is starving. I wish to interrogate her, not watch her drool.”

  “Speaking of starving,” Kierson muttered as we made our way down another corridor.

  “So, brother, what do you think of my home thus far? Is it all you had thought it would be?”

  Kierson and I passed some of Father’s men, all of whom nodded brusquely in acknowledgment of me.

  “Hell?”

  “I find that name so crass,” I replied, running my hand along the rocky wall. “But, yes. This is your so-called hell. Is it not what you expected?”

  I looked up at him while we continued on; his face displayed his consideration of my question.

  “No. Not really.”

  “Interesting. In what manner does it fall short, precisely?”

  “I guess I thought it would be, you know, hotter. More fiery and flamey.” The befuddled expression he wore reminded me just how entertaining he could be at times.

  “Flamey?” I asked, quirking my brow as Oz often did.

  “I couldn’t think of a better word.”

  “So it would seem.”

  He shot me a sideward glance. My face sought to contain the smile that begged to be displayed.

  “Traitor,” he mumbled.

  “Is there not some human idiom about loving the ones we tease the most?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well then.”

  “Fine, but I did think there would be more roaring fires and flames and . . .”

  “Tortured souls?”

  “Well, yeah. You did kinda sell that vision.”

  “There are copious tortured souls here, Kierson. It is just that not all of them are permitted to roam the common areas.” My explanation left him with a dubious expression, so I continued on in hopes of clarifying the issue. “There is a caste system in the Underworld, Kierson. Not all dead are relegated to the same existence here.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning that there are specified areas for certain souls. Others are granted more privileges, as it were. They are condemned, but less so.”

  “Varying degrees of damned?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Didn’t see that coming.”

  “I saw no reason to mention it during my time with you in Detroit. It is not a widely known fact outside this realm. I felt a sense of duty to Hades not to shed light on information he endeavors to keep largely secret.”

  “Loyalty,” he said softly. “I guess that’s one of those traits we share.” He took my hand in his, a gesture that still made me moderately uncomfortable, but he found solace in touch, so I allowed him that. For whatever reason, I made concessions for my brother that I never would have for others apart from Hades. My heart seemed inexplicably softer when it came to Kierson.

  “It would seem,” I replied, smiling faintly at him.

  The light at the end of the stony corridor grew brighter as we approached the kitchen. I had hoped to encounter Persephone on our way there. She and I had much to discuss, and I wished to get our conversation underway. Instead of my father’s wife, Kierson and I came upon a room full of the dead. Dead that I had seen before, but did not know. Only Hades possessed the capacity to know all whom he housed in his domain.

  Those present were souls of the highest caste—those who occupied the Elysian Fields. The ones who were subject to virtually no torture or torment, unlike the rest. But they were still in the Underworld. That in and of itself spoke volumes.

  I entered the vast room, scanning it quickly for any sign of Oz or Persephone. Seeing that neither was there, I departed, hoping to find either in one of the hallways that branched out from the kitchen area.

  Before I made much progress, Kierson grabbed my arm, forcing me to halt. When I turned to ask him why he had stopped me, I was met with a look of sadness that pierced my heart like nothing ever had. I did not like seeing the pain of loss in his eyes.

  “Kierson,�
� a male voice called from behind me. “It has been a long time.”

  I looked over my shoulder at the one who spoke. He was tall and formidable in appearance, and handsome. Had it not been for the chalky paleness of his skin, one would never have known he was dead. But he was.

  “Cassius,” Kierson exhaled, his voice barely audible. He then scanned the many faces that stared at us, absorbing every one of them. He appeared to know them all, that was clear. Why and how were less so, but I had my suspicions. And they were quickly confirmed.

  “It’s good to see you, brother. Though I wish it were under different circumstances,” Cassius continued, walking toward us. “Have you come to be with us?”

  “He is a guest here,” I said, seeing that Kierson was, for once, at a loss for words. “He has come for me.”

  Cassius stopped a pace or two behind me, and I turned to face him, a silent Kierson by my side. His arm slowly drifted up past me, reaching toward his fallen brother. Our fallen brother.

  “Can I . . . ?”

  “Touch me?” Cassius replied with a grin. “Of course you can, but keep it above the waist, if you would, please.”

  Without further ado, Kierson snatched him up in an embrace that told me all I needed to know. Cassius had been dear to him at one time. His loss had wounded Kierson deeply.

  When they separated, Kierson’s gaze drifted to me for a moment, and a look of realization settled in.

  “Do you know Khara?” he asked Cassius.

  “Yes. We all know of the princess of the Underworld.”

  “Touch her,” Kierson said, coaxing Cassius toward me.

  “I do not wish to offend Hades,” he replied cautiously, a look of concern on his ghostly face. He had a sense of honor. It made sense that he was placed in the caste he was.

  “It’s okay,” Kierson pressed. “Just touch her arm. I need to see something.”

  Cassius’ eyes met mine, a look of reservation plaguing them. To abate it, I lifted my hand slowly and placed it on his arm. Nothing happened.