“She hasn’t mentioned anything to me. And she would if she knew anything, because she writes me letters all the time. As if forcing me to live with her for nine months of the year on her filthy Peruvian farm weren’t bad enough,” she said with a sniff. “I’m old enough to live my own life with my husband, but a deal’s a deal, you know.” She lifted a mushy hunk of pear to Aiden’s lips and he slurped it from her fingers. Cora used her sleeve to tenderly wipe the juice from his dark beard.
“The gods’ memories are long,” Selene said, her expression carefully neutral. She was determined not to get involved in a squabble between Persephone and Demeter that had clearly persisted for centuries.
“But even gods can change,” Aiden said softly, his eyes fixed on his wife.
Cora rested her lips against his forehead. “Even gods can learn.”
Right. You learned how to be a pampered housewife with no self-respect, Selene thought, repressing a grimace. “If it’s not your mother, who else could be doing this?”
“The Sky God always envied our Mysteries, but of course, he’s probably still in his cave,” Cora mused. “The God of War’s still floating around somewhere, running a mercenary army in Africa, I think, but I doubt he’s bright enough to come up with a new cult for himself. Of course, the Smith’s awfully clever, but he’s not really the murdering type, now is he? I would say Asclepius, since he’s got a connection to our cult, but the poor man died long ago. Then again,” Cora considered, “the Wine Giver is really your best bet. When he joined the Mystery, it changed. He siphoned off some of the worship and offerings for himself. We haven’t seen him in centuries, but I wouldn’t put it past him to bring back our cult and keep it all to himself. He was always jealous of Mother and me.”
“An Athanatos can change a cult?” Selene asked eagerly. “Take it for himself?”
“The Wine Giver did. He told his own story alongside ours, then added his own attributes to the ritual. You’d have to ask him the details.” Cora turned to Aiden. “Speaking of wine, my love, did you put in that order for the Dom Pérignon?”
“You know I prefer something darker. Champagne’s a little… bubbly… for my taste.”
Cora slapped him playfully on the arm. “Oh, you. Bubbly is exactly right! Just like me! And you love me, don’t you?”
As the couple jabbered on, Selene began to form an idea: If Dionysus had taken the cult once before, perhaps Selene could seize it now. Not for herself, but for Leto. She could create a new ritual with Leto’s attributes, remove the gratuitous human sacrifice, and maybe… just maybe… bring her mother a little more strength.
“Ooh!” Cora exclaimed, interrupting Selene’s musing. “I’ve got it! Maybe the hierophant is your twin! Asclepius was his son, after all, and the Bright One was always poking around Eleusis, trying to figure out what we were doing. Oh, I do hope it’s him!” Cora clapped her hands with delight. “If he’s so worried about bringing back his powers, then he must already be fading! How wonderful!”
It’s true, Selene realized with a shiver. Paul was the perfect suspect. He still retained much of his own strength, but at the hospital, he’d made his terror of death clear. He’d flatly refused to succumb to the fading. Also, he already had a ready-made cult of thanatoi musicians following his every move. Most telling, he was the only god who might care enough about Selene to include her in the ritual. And he said he’d do anything to help Leto—maybe this was his attempt. But kill innocent women? He must know Mother would never allow that—not even to save herself.
Cora turned to Aiden. “Do you hear, dearest? The God of Music will be here soon! And to think, I was so worked up about having enough entertainment.”
“Whoever the hierophant is,” Selene said, “whether the Bright One or the Wine Giver or some other deluded relative of ours, he must be stopped. He’s turning my city into a charnel house.”
Cora giggled suddenly. “You were always so funny. A charnel house. So doom and gloom. I mean it’s in very bad taste, of course, but a few dead mortals… what’s the difference? They all die anyway.”
“These are innocent women. They’re under my protection. I will stop the hierophant—whatever it takes.” There was work to do. Make a new cult to save her mother, then destroy the murderous one terrorizing the innocents. Selene had no time to waste. She rose to go.
“Silly Huntress! You can’t leave!” Cora pushed Selene insistently on the shoulder until she reluctantly sat back on the chair. “And why would you want to? See how cozy it is here?” She crossed to the fireplace, warming her hands over the flames despite the uncomfortable heat in the room. “You can just stay here beside the fire, we’ll drink a little wine, have a little chat, and you can just wait for your Athanatoi hierophant to show up on his own. He’ll be here soon for the Great Gathering, along with everyone else. You can confront him then. It will add such drama to our little party!”
Selene cleared her throat, beginning to wonder if Cora and Aiden were more deluded than truly dangerous. “There hasn’t been a Gathering of the gods since my father summoned us to announce the Diaspora from Mount Olympus.”
“But now the gods are dying,” Aiden intoned, “and when they do, they will come here, to our realm in the Underworld, just as all the dead do.”
Surely there is no real Underworld anymore, Selene thought. We die and we disappear into nothingness. And there’s definitely no way dead gods wind up in the waiting room of a defunct pneumatic subway. Then again… she had a sudden image of all the nymphs and long-forgotten minor gods, whiling away their days among the flowers and the music. If there was any chance, however unlikely, of seeing her companions once more…
“So those who have died already,” she couldn’t help asking, “they’re here somewhere?”
“They pass through for a while,” said Aiden with a grave nod, “then disappear into Elysium, or Tartarus, or Khaos.”
She was almost afraid to ask her next question. “And… Orion?”
“He was denied an afterlife among his own kind.”
Her heart sank. “Then where is he?”
“Where you put him. In the stars. At least to begin with. Who knows where his spirit resides now? I have no control over the fate of those you give to the heavens,” he said with a touch of pique. “But the rest, as soon as they die, will arrive in my realm. And when they do, they will be under my power. I will become the King of the Gods,” Aiden continued. He spoke with the confidence of one either very wise or completely delusional. “Your father stole the crown long ago when he divided the universe among his brothers. He made me Lord of the Underworld and seized the Sky for himself. Now, finally, I can rule over him, over his children, over all the Athanatoi.”
“And I’ll be your queen.” Cora batted her eyelashes. “You, Huntress, can be my first handmaiden,” she added, as if granting a great boon.
Selene scowled, more sure than ever that she needed to get out of Aiden’s lair, and soon. The Gathering might just be a figment of his imagination, but she didn’t want to stick around to find out. “Sorry, but I have things to do on Earth before I’m ready to consign myself to the Underworld.”
“Consign yourself? She speaks as if our home were a prison,” Cora said. “And I worked so hard to make it beautiful. Tell her she can’t leave.”
“Oh no, I have to,” Selene said, thinking quickly. “If the cult is actually working, and the hierophant tells the other Athanatoi, then the fading will stop. We’ll all remain in the world above. You don’t want that to happen, do you? Who will come to your party? It’ll be just the three of us for eternity.”
Cora wrinkled her nose. “How awful.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” Selene stood up and slung her backpack onto her shoulder.
She’d nearly made it to the open door when she heard Cora humming thoughtfully. “Oh bother, I’ve changed my mind. You can at least help me pick out the new drapes. Sit back down, Huntress.”
“Sorry, Cousin.” Selene smiled p
olitely and kept walking. “Next time you want me to come to a party, send me an invitation.”
Cora gasped. “What’s she doing? Make her stay!”
“You will not leave.” Aiden pressed a button on his desk. The iron-studded door slammed shut in Selene’s face. She whirled toward her uncle. He rose once more from his desk. “Will you obey your elder, Artemis?”
“Not unless you make me, Hades,” she seethed.
“Make her! Make her!” Cora shrieked, tugging on her husband’s arm.
The Lord of the Dead smiled faintly, the red sparks now unmistakable in his eyes. Selene wondered if the flames might leap forth, charring her to a husk. He raised his hand in a gesture of command. “Come, Cerberus!”
Uh-oh. Selene spun toward the sound of clattering nails on the floorboards, expecting to see the enormous three-headed hound who had guarded the exit from the Underworld in days of old. Instead, she faced something far more monstrous. Racing through a small hatch in the wall were a wolfhound, a pit bull, and a Doberman, their collars lashed together. The tangled, scarred, slavering trio lurched toward her, their eyes rolling with pain and terror. Before she could free her bow, the pit bull lunged, snapping razor-sharp teeth inches from her thigh.
With a growl, Selene aimed a knee squarely in the pit bull’s chest, cracking its rib and knocking the dog loose. The instant she was free, she lifted her arms above her head, leaned forward, and hollered, “I am the Lady of Hounds!” Then she snarled, low and long, until she could feel the foam frothing at the corners of her mouth. The three dogs cowered before her, whimpering as they lowered their heads. She placed one booted foot firmly on the pit bull’s head, pressing it into the ground. Reaching into her backpack, she pulled out her bow, assembled it in an instant, and nocked an arrow. The other dogs tried to get away, their legs scrambling for purchase, but the rope around their necks held them tight. The sight of their drooling mouths enraged her. No hound could attack its Mistress and live. She raised her bow for a killing shot.
The Doberman let loose a long, piteous howl. Selene shot the arrow.
The point sliced neatly through the rope. Whining, the three dogs struggled free and skittered back through their hatch and out of the room. She wheeled toward Aiden’s desk. “How dare you—” she began, her bow at the ready.
But he wasn’t there. Selene’s gaze flew to the glass case that held his helm and scepter. Empty. Oh, Styx.
Chapter 25
THE HIDDEN ONE
Searching the room in vain for any trace of her uncle or his bird-tipped staff, Selene backed up until she could feel the heat of the hearth on the backs of her legs.
Cora skipped to the corner of the room, where she could watch the proceedings from safety. She giggled maniacally. “Oh, this is just thrilling! Get her, my love!”
Selene ignored her and sniffed deeply, trying to catch the Hidden One’s scent, but the stench of dead flowers and moldering fruit overwhelmed her senses. She aimed at the center of the room and hoped for the best. “Not another step, Uncle. My arrows might not kill you, but they’ll hurt like hell.”
“Like hell!” Cora squealed. “Do you hear? As if the Lord of the Underworld is scared of that!”
“If I can’t see you, I can’t aim,” Selene warned. “No guarantee I won’t take out an eye.”
Aiden’s voice came from somewhere ahead of her, thrumming with the power only a son of Kronos could command. “Sit down. You may not leave until I allow it.” With only the slightest movement of air as a warning, something sharp and hard struck Selene on her arm just as she loosed an arrow. The shaft flew wide, clattering harmlessly against the stone wall.
With a curse, she snatched another arrow from her bag and held it behind her back, dipping the tip into the fireplace.
“She’s going to set us on fire!” Cora screeched.
“Not quite,” Selene muttered. Without bothering to use her bow, she flung the flaming arrow toward the ceiling, where it struck one of the sprinkler heads. A fine mist of water filled the room—revealing an Aiden-shaped outline of raindrops. Howling with rage, he swung at her, but she noticed the gap in the water move toward her and raised her bow to block his staff. She parried another blow, and another, her gaze fixed on the twisting path of the droplets.
“My dress! It’s silk!” Cora whined, patting at the dark stains spreading across her gown.
If I’m here another second, I’m going to throttle her, Selene thought as she blocked one more strike, then swung for Aiden’s head with all her strength. Her gold bow clanged against the invisible bronze helm, sending a numbing shock through her bruised arm. Aiden’s watery outline swayed before her—then collapsed to the ground with an unmistakable thud. Seizing her chance, Selene shot an arrow at the button on Aiden’s desk, and the iron-studded door swung open. She dashed out of the stone chamber, into the gaslit waiting room, and past the ghostly piano—now playing a mournful dirge. Then she heard the squish of wet footsteps fast approaching. Aiden was back.
She sped toward the exit, slipped into the airlock, and slammed the heavy door closed behind her.
Dash, leaning casually against the wall of the tunnel, jerked upright when he saw her.
“Don’t say a word,” she warned him. “Just run.”
Dash didn’t need to be told twice. “Hope you’re still the Swiftly Bounding One!” he called over his shoulder as he sprinted ahead.
As they tore down the tunnel, Selene could hear the pneumatic door swing open behind them. Dash glanced backward. “I don’t see anyone!”
“That’s because he’s wearing his Helm of Invisibility!”
“What? It still works? My winged sandals are about as useful as a pair of heels!”
Selene could hear Cora faintly whining and then, so loud it sounded like he was only steps behind them, Aiden’s sudden roar: “This is your home, now, Huntress! You must return!”
“This is not good,” Selene called up to Dash.
“Don’t sweat it!” He spun around to talk to her, running backward all the while. “We’ve just got to get aboveground. Father’s old curse still works—Aiden’s powers fade when he leaves the Underworld.” His smile dissolved as he looked past her. “Oops. Wet footprints. He’s gaining on us.”
“Then turn around and run like a normal person!” she snapped. Dash obeyed, picking up speed as they neared the spiral staircase. Together, they clattered up the five stories and back into the abandoned City Hall subway station. They shoved the secret door closed behind them, knowing it would only delay Aiden for a moment. Selene pointed up to the faint light trickling through the foggy, century-old skylights.
“We’re not exactly aboveground, but will sunlight do the trick?”
Dash gave her a pained smile. “Maybe?”
Selene drew her bow and shot a single arrow high overhead, knocking one small pane from the intricately leaded skylight.
“Hey, watch it!” Dash cried, shielding his head from the tumbling glass shards.
“Watch the door instead!”
She shot out a second pane right beside the first. The thin stream of sunlight grew an inch thicker. Dash threw himself against the tiles, but his boyish frame was no match for Aiden’s strength. An instant later, he tumbled aside when the wall burst open—just as Selene shot out a third pane of glass.
For a moment, the sunbeam streamed directly into the doorway, illuminating only the empty passageway beyond. Then, with a strangled cry, Aiden materialized. He raised his staff as if to ward off the light and glared at Selene, his eyes still fiery beneath his helm. But even as she watched, his strength ebbed. His posture grew stooped; the flesh of his hands withered. He lowered the staff, as if it had suddenly grown too heavy for him to wield. Then, as the sparks faded from his eyes, he pulled off his helm as if it crushed his skull. Beneath it, locks of gray now streaked his black hair.
Even in his weakened state, Selene stood firm, a single arrow aimed directly at her uncle’s throat. He squinted in the light, hi
s eyes flicking from the skylight to her. “I’ll see you before long,” he hissed, stumbling backward into the tunnel. As he stepped out of the sunlight, he donned the helm once more—and disappeared completely.
Dash struggled to his feet and slammed the door shut.
Only then did Selene lower her bow.
Dash grinned at her. “So not a heartwarming family reunion, I take it?”
“You think?” she flared, breaking down her bow and stowing it in her pack.
“Do I want to know why you’re soaking wet?”
“No.”
“And is that blood on your coat?”
She looked down at the hole in the arm of her leather jacket. “Just a scratch from that stupid bird scepter.”
“But a scratch from a divine weapon. Doesn’t heal like other wounds do.”
“Great. I’m so glad I came down here. Super productive.”
“Come on, sourpuss. You didn’t learn anything useful?”
“Only that I can cross Uncle Aiden off the list. He’s too weak aboveground to be the hierophant. He’s also gone completely mad. He and Cora think we’re all going to wind up joining them in the Underworld for some huge party when the fading kills us. They wanted me to stay and become a guest.”
Dash rolled his eyes. “He never did learn to take the whole ‘Lord of the Dead’ thing less literally. Don’t worry, I’ll sort it all out next time I visit,” he went on, as cheerful as always. “They like me. You, on the other hand…”
“The feeling’s mutual, trust me.” She leaped down onto the subway tracks and started walking back toward the Brooklyn Bridge station. “I’ve got no reason to ever speak to them again—they don’t know anything about the cult. Too obsessed with their party preparations. I need to find the Wine Giver and the Bright One instead. You’ll need to take me to them.”
Dash trotted along beside her. “Sorry sweetpea, the Wine Giver’s the one brother who’s managed to slip past me. I don’t even know what he’s called these days, much less where he lives.”
“Maybe he’s just been too drunk to bother reaching out?”
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