Underworld's Daughter

by Molly Ringle

  Niko stared at her, then at the smoking house and the fire trucks, then at Liam huddled on the ground with Tabitha and Freya. He looked at Zoe again with sharp green eyes. “Tell me. Quickly.”

  She explained what happened.

  He gave a short, impatient sigh, and squinted a moment down the highway, where cars still slowed as they passed the destruction.

  “Right,” he said. “I’m the sneakiest. I’ll do this.” He started past Zoe, back toward the field.

  “Where are you going?” she called.

  He turned to answer as he walked backward away from her. “To see Thanatos where they can’t see me, and figure out a way to save our idiot friends.”

  “But if they do see you—”

  “They won’t.”

  “But Adrian said not to follow!”

  “As if he gives me orders. Oh, and if you can send any good luck spells our way, we’d all appreciate it, love.” He leaped the fence into the dark.

  She bit her lower lip hard. Anxiety now wracked her for Niko’s sake as well as Sophie’s and Adrian’s. But a good luck spell, protection even—which would be better—that was a useful idea.

  Who to direct it to, though? Spreading it to all three of her friends meant a weaker spell, diluted among them like that. Choosing one would be best. Adrian might be muddled with grief and self-sacrifice; she could help clear his mind. Or Niko could use her help in being extra-speedy and hard to spot.

  But no. Sophie needed her most. Sophie had no immortal strength, and was being held hostage, probably already injured. Quentin and her thugs didn’t expect any special strength or fighting ability from her; they expected despair and surrender…

  Zoe rushed toward Tab and Freya. Kiri chased after her with a worried yelp.

  Throwing herself onto the damp, cold ground on her knees in front of them, Zoe announced, “Ladies. I need you.”

  Adrian lowered the bus to a stop between the tall evergreens on the mountainside. Darkness as thick as the Underworld’s surrounded him, his horses’ glow illuminating only a small patch of the forest. He climbed down, tied them up, and murmured, “Thank you” to each horse. With cold, shaking fingers he touched the metal side of the bus one last time, then turned around.

  Sophie wasn’t far off, a hundred meters perhaps. He switched realms.

  The bonfire glared into being, piercing his eyes even at that distance and from between trees. He raised a hand to shield his eyes a moment, then examined the scene when his vision adjusted. The fire burned in a pit outside a ramshackle wood house. The house sat alone in a meadow at the end of a thin gravel road, nothing but black, steep mountains and trees surrounding it.

  Three people were stationed around the fire, their backs to it, each watching a section of the meadow: Quentin, a young woman with a ponytail, and a young man. The young man rested on his knees rather than standing like the other two. He held Sophie unconscious across his lap. And he held a gun to her head.

  Adrian entertained the briefest fantasy: he’d dive in there, snatch her away before anyone knew what was happening, maybe break the man’s arms the way he’d done to Wilkes not long ago…

  But Sophie wasn’t conscious this time. She couldn’t cooperate with a rescue. One false step on Adrian’s part, and they’d kill her as mercilessly as they’d killed Isabel and Terry.

  And more to the point, wasn’t Quentin right? Wouldn’t it be best to end all this? Look what Adrian had done to Sophie, to her life. If he loved her—which he did; it was the defining aspect of his eternal soul—then he would give her back what was left of her life by removing himself from it. The choice and the attempt at balance were tearing her apart. He had given himself as a sacrifice before. He could do it again.

  Maybe next life they’d have more luck. He could hope for that.

  He walked forward and emerged from between the trees, hands raised in surrender.

  The young man spotted him first, and shouted, “There!”

  At that moment Adrian noticed a soul-signal that his distressed mind had ignored till now. He knew one of these souls. It was a soul he rarely bothered thinking about, and had assumed to be far away, but here he was. Ares. The young woman was Ares.

  It seemed it should matter. But after a moment of consideration, Adrian realized it didn’t, in fact. This woman hadn’t eaten the pomegranate; didn’t know she’d been an immortal herself once. Adrian could tell her so, but the woman wouldn’t believe it. No, for tonight, it wouldn’t change a thing. It served only as a mirthless bit of irony, or fate. And it was also a tidbit of hope, for in future, in the Underworld, he’d tell his friends to track Ares in order to find a member of Thanatos. They’d gain a valuable lead in their fight.

  But for this battle, the identity of this soul was irrelevant. And Adrian hated even to think of the ongoing fight. Why couldn’t it end?

  At least for him it was about to.

  The young woman in her police uniform ran toward him with her handgun. He stood still in the cold meadow, hands raised, and gazed in defeat at the uniform, reckoning it was likely one of the same ones someone had worn while springing Quentin from prison in October.

  Without so much as a triumphant remark, the woman aimed the gun at him in both hands, holding it point-blank against his forehead. She fired. The bang and the explosion was the last thing he knew.

  Tabitha wiped the tears off her cheeks and stood, as ordered by Zoe, to go find a trustworthy neighbor or friend to leave Liam with.

  She jogged across the crowded driveway on trembling legs, heading for Dr. Marcy Baskin, the town veterinarian. They had all brought their pets to her for as long as Tab could remember. The woman was in her fifties now. Wearing a plaid wool hat and a pink coat, she stood speaking with other neighbors. Distress etched lines in all their faces. Dr. Baskin had seen Tab and Sophie and practically everyone in Carnation through the grief of putting cats and dogs to sleep. She could be trusted now with Liam, even in a far worse grief.

  Could it be that a couple of days ago, Tab had cared for nothing as much as her connections to celebrities and sexy goddesses? That crap didn’t matter. It was fun, but it was not the center of a person’s life. She had begun to grasp that last night after the failed car bomb. All day, all she’d been imagining, even while Freya teased her into smiles, was what would’ve happened if Zoe hadn’t caught that bomb in time. Tab a soul in the Underworld, her parents agonized, innocent bystanders also killed, like The Luigis’ drummer who was getting into the car next to her… She had been calming down these past hours by reminding herself those tragedies hadn’t happened, and she didn’t need to deal with them, and thank the gods for all that.

  But now Sophie and Liam did have to.

  A home, like this one now in smoking ruins; and loved ones, like these in tears for their loss—those were the center of your life. Not fame, not parties, not showing the world how cool you were.

  Tabitha was going to lift up Sophie and Liam from this tragedy if it killed her. This family needed a dying-and-rising god to show them there would be life after death.

  Babbling and pulling on Dr. Baskin’s arm, Tab got the message across that she needed the vet to stay with Liam and Rosie for a while, just half an hour or so, while they fetched his sister.

  “Of course, yes,” Dr. Baskin assured. She followed Tab over and knelt to pet the trembling Rosie, now back in Liam’s lap. Pumpkin, Tab had heard, was killed in the fire. Someone had found his little body. She couldn’t think of it now; she’d only fall apart crying and that wouldn’t help anyone.

  Liam sat with one hand on Rosie, his head dipped low. Curled in upon himself, he rocked slowly forward and back. Someone had draped a blanket around him. Lately he had been looking tall and defiant and adolescent, but now he seemed to have reverted to the little boy Tabitha had watched grow up.

  She wanted to crumple next to him and hug him for at least the next week. But Zoe was pulling on her arm, and telling the vet not to leave Liam’s side or let anyone else
take him anywhere, no matter who; he had to stay right here until they brought Sophie back or at least brought news of her.

  Dr. Baskin understood and promised.

  Zoe, running, led Tabitha and Freya and Kiri out into the dark field. She had them all sit in a circle, though the ground was sopping wet and muddy. Chilly water soaked through the seat and legs of Tab’s jeans, making her shiver. The brown grass reached over their heads. Its marshy smell closed around them.

  “Grab hands,” Zoe said. They linked hands. Kiri lay in the center, her back nestled against Zoe.

  “What is it you’re going to do?” Freya asked.

  “Send Sophie our strength. I could do it alone, but it wouldn’t be as strong. The three of us together—three immortals, sending her everything we’ve got—that might give her a fighting chance. A chance to survive whatever they’re doing to her.” Zoe closed her eyes, gripping Tab’s hand harder. “And a chance to stop Adrian from sacrificing himself.”

  Freya gasped, and Tab’s heart kicked against her chest.

  “Is that what he’s doing?” Freya asked.

  Zoe nodded. “So we aren’t letting him, yeah? Quiet. Close your eyes and concentrate. Focus on Sophie.”

  Tabitha obeyed. Sophie. Her awesome best friend, the only one who had stood by her steadfastly when the rest of the world was heartless jerks…Sophie, whose life had just been torn apart and who might be on the verge of having her boyfriend turned into an intangible soul as well…

  The blaze of power felt like a blast of heat from the hottest of summer days. Tab opened her mouth in a breath of wonder, but managed to keep her eyes closed, sensing it was important to do so. Heat and love and strength flowed through Zoe and Tab and Freya—and Kiri too, she guessed—swirling in a circle, faster and faster. Tab held on, wanting to sob in humility or laugh in joy.

  Then the flow converged into one column, and shot upward and away from them like a meteor.

  Tab went limp, as did the other two. Her hands fell out of their grasp. She toppled over backward and opened her eyes, and blinked at the cloudy night sky, barely conscious. But still she focused on Sophie, to the degree she could focus at all.

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Betty Quentin hoped her old heart would survive the supreme thrill of tonight. At last, she watched as a bullet shot through Adrian Watts’ skull and dropped him to the ground in a spray of blood. The fire awaited, leaping high in the fire pit. At last this fiend would be removed from the world, like that Rhea woman before him.

  Krystal holstered her gun and grabbed Adrian by the legs. She grunted as she began to drag him the fifty feet or so to the fire pit. “Little help here?” she called.

  “Here, Grandma,” Landon said. “You cover Sophie. I’ll help carry him.”

  Betty limped to where Landon sat. He put the unconscious Sophie on the ground, handed his gun to Betty, and jogged over to Krystal. Betty glanced down at Sophie, and nudged the girl’s leg with one foot, but she stayed out cold. Oh, well. Betty did feel it was kinder not to make Sophie watch as Adrian’s body was burned, whatever harsher ideas Krystal might have. Sophie would have a rough enough life after this already. Even when they let her go, they’d keep watching and warning her. She had her parents’ loss to contend with now, and her friend Tabitha was likely to be removed next. Sophie was a smart girl; she would learn to turn against the immortals. What would teach her if these tragedies didn’t?

  After checking that the gun was ready to fire, Betty held it pointed downward at Sophie, just in case. But she gazed primarily upon the pivotal moment unfolding in front of her: Landon picked up Adrian by the arms, and Krystal by the legs, and they carried him toward the fire. Landon’s face was pale and gleamed with sweat. The poor boy had a sensitive nature. He didn’t love the task the way Krystal did. It spoke well for him, Betty felt. A nuanced mind was best for directing Thanatos. Brute force was handy for these jobs, but it couldn’t run the whole operation.

  Sudden movement writhed below her. She looked down, and in that second, Sophie grabbed the gun and ripped it away from her. Betty gaped. Anger blazed in Sophie’s wide-awake eyes, and the girl was already climbing to her feet, pointing the gun at Betty.

  “What—” Betty said.

  Krystal dropped Adrian’s body, leaving Landon to fall to his knees, struggling with his half of the burden. Krystal pointed her gun at Sophie. “Drop it!”

  Sophie looked at them, and her fury only intensified. Sophie’s arm whipped around Betty and yanked her up close, unbelievably tight. The gun’s cold barrel dug into Betty’s temple. How could anyone be so strong after being repeatedly electrocuted? Was Sophie one of the immortals after all?

  “I’ll shoot you from here,” Krystal shouted. “I am an excellent shot.”

  “No!” Landon begged, as his panicked gaze took in the hostage situation. “Wait.”

  “For what?” Krystal kept her aim upon Sophie. “Throw him in the fire! Now!”

  Sophie flung Betty away from her, sending her ten or twenty feet through the air before she crashed in the grass. The ground was squishy, thankfully, but the landing still bruised her bones and knocked the wind out of her.

  Sophie paced forward toward Adrian.

  A bang assaulted Betty’s ears: Krystal had fired. But either Sophie somehow dodged, or Krystal missed, for Sophie kept stalking straight at them. Then she raised the gun she’d stolen from Betty and fired at Krystal.

  Krystal went down with an enraged scream. Betty struggled up to her elbow to look, and saw Krystal clutching at her hip, pain contorting her face.

  Krystal aimed at Sophie again, though her arm shook. But before she could fire, someone dived in from the darkness and knocked Krystal back to the ground. Soon something went flying—probably Krystal’s gun. With a strangled grunt, Krystal curled up on the ground, gasping and still.

  The stranger rose: a tall, slender young man with a merry smile. “Hello, dear,” he said to Sophie. “You take Adrian while I chat with our friends?” He glanced at Adrian’s body. “Don’t worry, he’s still in there.”

  Sophie nodded, strangely straight and poised. She swung to point the gun at Landon, who, unarmed himself, immediately let go of Adrian and scrambled backward on his knees with his hands raised.

  “Hmm,” the stranger said. He gazed at Krystal and then at Landon. “Now that’s interesting.”

  “Please,” Landon begged. It seemed to be all he could say.

  Betty, struggling to regain her breath, hauled herself painfully upright in the grass.

  “Know what?” the stranger told Landon. “You can go. For now. I think it’ll be fun to leave you wondering when we’ll find you again. Which we will, I assure you.”

  Landon got to his feet, hands still in the air. He glanced at Betty.

  “No, you can’t take her,” the stranger said. “I’ve got business with her. But the redhead, fine. Shoo now.” He fluttered his fingers at Landon.

  Landon hurried to Krystal’s side and picked her up while she gasped in pain. He rushed to the van with her. “Grandma!” he called desperately across the field.

  “Go, Landon,” Betty called back. “Drive fast. Don’t wait for me.”

  Sophie had sunk to her knees beside Adrian, and laid her hand upon his chest. Betty couldn’t observe more, because now the smiling stranger strolled to her, grabbed her by both arms, and picked her up like she was a rag doll.

  Goodbye, Landon, she thought with tenderness. No one but he had loved her in such a long time. He would likely grieve.

  The world darkened as the fire disappeared. Across the meadow stood a glowing horse. The stranger threw her over his shoulder and walked toward it. “Know where we are?” he asked.

  “The dead world,” she said. “Where you’ll leave me for the animals.”

  “The spirit realm,” he corrected, “and that’s what Adrian said he’d do. But I’m not as patient.” He vaulted onto the horse with Betty, jostling her further, and commanded, “Up!”

&n
bsp; The ground dropped dizzyingly away. A weightlessness both terrifying and delightful swooped through Betty’s stomach. From her awkward position upside-down against his back, she watched the dark ground spread wider. The mountains dwindled, changing from peaks towering over them to an undulation of land below them. Looking sideways, she found a few stars floating between the clouds.

  “It’s an even nicer view in daylight,” the man remarked. “No moon tonight. Bad luck. Oh well, you’ll see more of the realm when you fly.”

  “Fly?”

  He hauled her forward so she slid back down his shoulder in front of him.

  Instinctively she clutched at him, not wanting to fall—though she began to understand that was exactly her fate.

  “It’s rare a person can say this literally,” he said, still sounding pleasant and conversational. “But in your case I can.” He tore her away from him, holding her at arm’s length out in the air. Her kicking legs swept through the glowing horse without making contact. “See you in hell,” the stranger said, and flung her out into space.

  Betty fixed her terrified eyes on the stars as she fell and fell. Then there was a lightning-fast pummeling—branches, rocks, ground—then total blackness.

  She rose, pain-free, and beheld her own body in the spirit realm. Her soul illuminated it. But she couldn’t stand long in contemplation, for invisible forces were pulling her away, fast and inexorable like rapids going over a waterfall. She succumbed, and flew.

  The burning, numbing, glorious power in Sophie’s body began to ebb. She remained immobile on her knees, her hand on Adrian’s chest. He had begun to breathe again, faintly, and twitched once in a while as the gunshot wounds in his head, front and back, started to heal. Niko had vanished with Quentin, probably to abandon her in the other realm. The two younger Thanatos killers had driven away a few minutes ago in a rapid crunch of gravel. It was just Sophie and Adrian, the silent and wounded, in the field. She dropped Quentin’s gun beside her with a shudder, hating the slick metal feel of it.