by Jenna Black
I put in several hours in front of the computer, trying to force my subconscious to cough up another lead, but I had no success. It’s hard to overstate how much I wanted to find a solution that didn’t involve me traveling to the Underworld in search of Anderson, but I was also painfully aware that finding a fertility goddess willing to renew Jasmine’s abandoned altar would barely scratch the surface of the trouble mankind was in. I don’t think doubts of that level are conducive to making my power flow, so my lack of success may very well have been my own fault.
I kept searching, even after I’d already called Cyrus to set up a meeting for the next day. I could always cancel if a better idea popped up.
Instead of eating a proper dinner, I munched on the junk food stash I kept in my mostly empty filing cabinet. A word to the wise: sleep deprivation, end-of-the-world stress, and a dinner of Ding Dongs and potato chips do not go well together. My head was aching from staring at the screen for so long, my stomach rumbled unhappily, and I was too tired to yawn.
About the last thing I needed to face under the circumstances was more drama, but apparently the universe had it in for me, because as I was wallowing in frustration, there came a knock on my door. Instinct told me that knock did not portend good news, and I was halfway tempted not to answer.
Then again, it wasn’t as if I were being productive.
“Come in,” I said wearily.
My exhaustion evaporated when the door opened and I saw my sister standing there with tear-reddened eyes. I shoved my chair back and jumped to my feet.
“Steph!” I cried in alarm. “Oh, my God, what’s wrong?”
I went to hug her and she practically collapsed in my arms, sobbing for all she was worth. I stuck out my foot to kick the door shut without letting go of Steph, terrified that we’d just had a death in the family. Our parents—well, Steph’s parents, my adoptive parents—had recently moved to California to take care of our ailing grandmother. I’d been trying with limited success to fully embrace the Glasses as my own parents, but I’d never come close to forming that kind of bond with extended family. Maybe it was selfish and mean-spirited of me, but I couldn’t help hoping the bad news related to extended family rather than the Glasses themselves. I wasn’t sure I could bear a loss on top of everything else I was dealing with.
Unfortunately, Steph was crying too hard to form words, and I knew from long experience that I’d have to wait until the worst of the storm passed before I’d be able to get an explanation. All I could do in the meantime was hold her and murmur nonsense about how it was all going to be all right. I wished Steph would hurry up and get it together so she could tell me what was wrong. I’d never been much of a crier myself, and it always took effort on my part to tolerate and understand people who were more open with their emotions.
When Steph’s sobs slowed to heavy sniffles, she pushed away from me and scrubbed at her eyes. I grabbed the box of tissues from my desk, and wordlessly she snatched a handful and blew her nose.
“What is it?” I asked. “Did something happen to Mom or Dad?” I still wasn’t comfortable calling them “Mom and Dad”—I’d always called them “Mr. and Mrs. Glass”—but I was trying to change that long habit.
Steph’s swollen red eyes widened. “No!” she exclaimed hurriedly. “It’s nothing like that.” Her lower lip quivered dangerously, and she swallowed hard. “Blake and I broke up.”
The tears started flowing freely once more, and she grabbed more tissues while I tried to deal with my own welter of confused emotions. I had made no secret of the fact that I disapproved of Blake and Steph’s relationship from the beginning. Things might go great between them now, but what would happen in twenty years, when Steph was middle-aged and—physically at least—Blake remained unchanged? Blake might not be as young as he looked, but would he still want Steph when she was a little old lady?
If Blake were just some mortal boyfriend I didn’t like, I wouldn’t be so torn up about the potential future of their relationship, but thanks to Eros, Blake’s divine ancestor, no woman who slept with him more than once would ever be satisfied with another lover. Which meant that if Steph fell in love with him and then later changed her mind, she would end up alone for the rest of her life. He wasn’t someone she could try on for size, and that made him dangerous to her emotional well-being.
The two of them had been together for a couple of months now, and I knew they had somehow resisted the temptation to have sex—possibly because Steph wasn’t ready yet. But as her psyche healed and her relationship with Blake deepened, things were bound to change. In my opinion, ending it now while Steph still had choices was a terrific idea, but that didn’t mean I liked seeing my sister heartbroken. Her misery sparked an almost physical pain deep in my chest.
“I’m so sorry, Steph,” I said. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”
I’d been through enough breakups myself to know that sometimes you wanted to talk and sometimes you just wanted silent support, and I was fully prepared to provide whatever Steph preferred.
Taking the whole box of tissues with her, Steph flopped down on my sitting room sofa and kicked her shoes off with an almost angry motion. I took that as an indication that she wanted to talk, so I joined her on the sofa and told myself in no uncertain terms that I would not let any indication that I thought the breakup was a good thing leave my lips. Steph knew I wanted the best for her, but she’d never appreciated my sisterly advice on the topic of Blake.
Steph started shredding the wad of tissues in her hand, and I quietly reached for the trash can beside my desk and plopped it down on the floor between us. The gesture prompted a ghost of a smile, and Steph tossed her first few shreds in while continuing to work on the rest.
“Blake told me what he suggested,” she said, her voice hoarse from all that crying. “At your meeting this afternoon,” she clarified when she saw my puzzled look.
My jaw dropped, and I was momentarily at a loss for words. Steph had been forcefully dragged into the world of the Liberi, so it was no surprise that she knew all about the current situation. But I couldn’t imagine a reason why Blake would tell a rape victim—the woman he supposedly loved, no less—that he had suggested kidnapping and raping a goddess.
“What the fuck was he thinking?” I asked out loud.
Typical of my softhearted sister, Steph immediately rose to Blake’s defense. “He was all quiet and broody this evening, and I kept bugging him to tell me what was wrong.” She gave the tissues in her hand a vicious tear, sending a flurry of shredded tissue bits into the air. “Eventually, he gave me what I asked for.” She frowned at the tissue-snow that now covered the seat of the couch and the floor at her feet. “Sorry,” she said sheepishly, and began picking up the pieces and tossing them into the trash can.
“You don’t have to do that,” I told her, but she ignored me. Maybe it made her feel better to focus on a task.
I’d been on the receiving end of any number of Steph’s inquisitions in the past, so I knew just how persistent and annoyingly persuasive she can be. But even knowing that, I couldn’t imagine how Blake could be so stupid. Okay, yeah, he was a guy, and sometimes guys can be awfully dense about women’s feelings, but still . . .
“I know you think he shouldn’t have told me,” Steph said. “But I think I deserved to know just what kind of a man I was involved with.”
I found myself in the unfamiliar position of defending Blake. “To be fair, we are talking about the potential end of all human life, so the situation is as extreme as it’s possible to get.”
Steph slammed her handful of tissue pieces into the trash can, then pulled another from the box so forcefully she tore it in half. “So you think it’s a good idea, too?”
“No! It’s a terrible idea, and it’s not going to happen.”
Which was an easy thing to say, but it was a little tricky to find the moral high ground on the issue. If that was the only way to keep the human race going, was it really morally superior to
not do it?
My deepest, most fervent wish was that I not have to answer that particular question, because I was guaranteed to hate myself no matter which answer I chose.
My quick and emphatic denial seemed to satisfy Steph, so apparently I was doing a good job of hiding my own doubts. Her lips started quivering again. “I can’t believe the man I thought I loved would do that. Not after what happened to me.”
I gathered Steph into my arms so she could sob some more, realizing her distress had less to do with Blake than it did with her own terrible experience. She never talked about it, and though logic told me that not nearly enough time had passed for her to take more than a couple of baby steps toward healing, she’d done a good job of pretending to be her normal, cheerful self. I like to think that if my own life hadn’t been in constant danger and turmoil, I’d have had the wits to realize she still needed help and done a better job of supporting her.
Anderson had forbidden me to tell her that he had killed Alexis, the man who raped her, but in spite of his dire threats, I hadn’t been able to resist telling Steph that Alexis was dead, though I shared no details. Now that Anderson was AWOL, I figured the gag order no longer applied, and I could give her all the details she deserved.
“Let me tell you how Alexis died,” I murmured as I rocked her back and forth like a child.
I doubted hearing how long and how loud Alexis had screamed when Anderson killed him would do anything to heal the wounds the bastard had left on my sister’s soul, but at least she would know he’d paid for what he’d done. None of which would make things better between her and Blake, who I was tempted to go shoot in the nuts.
Why the hell had he told Steph any of this? What good could he possibly have thought it would do?
Right now, the only thing I could do was hold her and show her every scrap of the love I felt for her. But I was already making plans to show Blake just how big a mistake he’d made by breaking my sister’s heart.
TWELVE
I was getting mighty sick of the damn coffee bar Cyrus always insisted upon as our meeting place. It was far from the “neutral site” he’d once claimed it to be. However, there was no way I was inviting Cyrus to the house, nor was I willing to set foot in his, and we couldn’t have this conversation in public.
I’d decided to make a show of good faith by bringing only Maggie with me, leaving Logan back at the mansion, but Cyrus hadn’t done me the similar courtesy. The coffee bar was packed to the gills with glyph-marked, scowling Olympians, and I wondered if I’d made a tactical error. Maggie was strong enough to crush bricks with her pinkies, but I didn’t know if that made her any good in a fight.
“Was it really necessary to bring a platoon with you?” I asked Cyrus as I pulled up a chair and sat at his table without waiting for an invitation.
He gave me an unrepentant grin. “You can never be too careful.”
I shook my head. I had absolutely zero desire to play games, and I was going to have to work hard to hold on to my patience. There was no point in letting Cyrus get under my skin so easily, but somehow I couldn’t stop myself from snapping at him.
“Look, I’ve had a really lousy week trying to save the world, so is there any chance we can skip the posturing and other bullshit and just talk like grown-ups?”
His eyebrows arched comically high. “My, someone got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. Should I offer you an espresso, or will that only make things worse?”
“I guess expecting you to care about saving the world was asking too much.”
Cyrus’s perma-smile lost a little of its wattage. “If I didn’t care, one of your people would already be dead by now and we wouldn’t be having this meeting. I care my way, you care yours. It’ll work out better for both of us if we just accept our differences, don’t you think?”
Cyrus was a total prick, but unfortunately, he was also right. I closed my eyes and took a quick, deep breath, doing my best to push aside my somewhat frayed state of mind. I was here once again to ask the enemy for help, so coming in with virtual guns blazing was a bad idea. It was time for me to dial it down a notch.
“You’re right,” I said. “Sorry I was so pissy, but I’m just too stressed out to be a model of self-control at all times.”
He cocked his head, now looking more curious than amused. “Why are you so convinced it’s your job to save the world, as you put it? Shouldn’t that be up to Anderson, seeing as he got the world into this mess himself?”
“I would love nothing more than to make this all be Anderson’s problem,” I said fervently. “Actually, that’s what I’m here to talk to you about. I’ve been doing everything I can to locate Anderson, and it’s just not working.”
“And you think I can help?” Cyrus asked.
“Sort of. I think maybe Anderson’s hanging out in the Underworld because he knows it’s somewhere I can’t find him. Not without help, at least.”
The metaphorical light bulb went on over Cyrus’s head. “Ah. Please, do go on.”
I didn’t like the calculating gleam that lit his eyes, but it wasn’t like I could back down now. I swallowed my foreboding and met his gaze. “I don’t know all of your people, but I’m hoping that you have a descendant of Hades you can lend me, one who can create a gateway to the Underworld.”
Cyrus nodded sagely. “You want one of my Olympians to come into the Underworld with you and help you search for Anderson, is that what you’re telling me?”
What part of that wasn’t clear? I wondered, but thankfully I was able to keep the thought to myself. “Yes.”
“And what do I get in return?”
I blinked at him for a moment. I’d had enough dealings with Cyrus to know he was self-interest incarnate, but I’d halfway convinced myself that the stakes were high enough that he couldn’t possibly be selfish enough to ask what was in it for him. Even though Blake had warned me he would be.
“You do realize we’re talking about saving the world here, right?”
He shrugged. “I’d say that’s up for debate. Sounds to me more like we’re talking about finding Anderson, which isn’t the same thing.”
“But I want to find him because I think he’s the only one who can fix this mess!”
“And you think he’s just sitting in the Underworld with his thumb up his ass sulking about his big secret getting out?”
I opened and shut my mouth, but no words came out.
“I’m not sure I can say I really know a guy who I only recently found out was actually a god in disguise,” Cyrus continued, “but I’m pretty sure Anderson is doing more than just sulking. He’s not the kind of person to sit on the sidelines and eat popcorn while the world goes to hell.”
Like you are, I thought, but again refrained from saying out loud.
“Maybe if you and Anderson put your heads together, you’ll have a better chance of solving the problem, but that doesn’t mean finding him is the same thing as saving the world. So if you’re going to lead one of my Olympians into danger, into the unknown country of the Underworld, then you’re going to have to give me something in return.”
I sputtered. “I’m not planning to lead anyone into danger! I just need someone to open a gate!”
“And go in with you, because if you don’t find Anderson you’re going to need someone to get you back out. I don’t know much about the Underworld, and when I’ve heard it described to me, it doesn’t sound like a very nice place to be. It’s the kind of place a death god would go to hide out, and there’s no way you can convince me a trip there would be safe.”
I swallowed a few choice responses. The only bad things that had happened to me during my one trip to the Underworld had all been caused by the death-god descendant I’d been chasing, but even so the place had given me a major case of the creeps. The very air I’d breathed had been thick with the scent of you-don’t-belong-here, and I had no idea who or what aside from Anderson might be lurking there.
“You owe me,” I said. �
��You lured me into a trap, hit me over the head, and handed me over to your father when you knew exactly what he was going to do to me.” When I flashed back to the image of Cyrus walking away, leaving me tied up and helpless at his father’s mercy, I broke out in a cold sweat.
Cyrus chuckled. “Nice try. But if you want to borrow one of my Olympians, then you’re going to have to pay for the privilege. I hold all the cards right now, and I’m perfectly happy to walk out of here without an agreement. Can you say the same?”
I wanted to kill the bastard, but unfortunately that wasn’t an option. I knew he was telling the truth. He could walk out of that coffee bar without helping me and not feel even a twinge of remorse over it.
It was a game of chicken, and we both knew I would swerve first.
“I’ll never get used to the idea that people can be as selfishly mercenary as you’re being right now,” I said.
“Sticks and stones, yadda yadda yadda. I’ll never get used to the idea that some people are so worried about everyone else that they never even try to get what they want. I think that’s kind of sad.”
What can you do with someone who thinks being selfish is a good thing?
Nothing. There was no point in appealing to Cyrus’s better nature. He didn’t have one. Which meant I had to accept the bitter reality that if I wanted his help, I had to bribe him.
“What is it you want?” I asked, the words forced out through gritted teeth.
Cyrus gave me a triumphant smile. “What I’ve always wanted, of course.” He looked at me expectantly.
Cyrus was not on speaking terms with subtlety, so it was no secret what he wanted. No, who he wanted. “You want me to give you Blake,” I said. I was pissed as hell at Blake for breaking Steph’s heart, and I fully intended to find some time to let him know just what I thought of him, but that didn’t mean I was prepared to hand him over like a slab of meat.
“Of course.”
