by Skyler Andra
All right, that was a sore point. Stupid me had pushed him away. At the time it had felt like the natural thing. We were graduating, he was dating someone else, and we appeared to be heading in very different directions. Sure. Or maybe I was just too self-centered to keep up a friendship. This guy, who came out of nowhere to take care of me, asked for nothing in return and all that mattered to me was my own comfort, my own selfish desires. I wanted him all to myself, not content with letting him have his own relationships.
I couldn’t stand to be in his debt. There shouldn’t be anything owed between friends. What he had done for me, I would have done for him in a heartbeat. But… it wasn’t as if I had done it. Hell, I didn’t even know if Byron’s parents were alive or dead. I knew they didn’t give two hoots about him. He never went home from college not even for Christmas. Every year I dragged him to mine. From what I knew of him, he was a good man who cared about me, was connected to me. I couldn’t shake him from my heart.
Then there was the next man my heart desired. Good and noble Rane.
And how are you going to ruin him? the voice in my head asked.
I hiccupped stopping dead in my tracks. What a shitty question.
Rane was a soldier through and through. He was born to fight and that’s why Ares had chosen him. So long as Rane stood next to me, he would have to fight to protect me from the ones who had come after me. There was no retreating for Rane. It would go against everything he stood for, everything that made him who he was.
You’re going to get him killed. Each word in my head stabbed like a knife. You’re going to see him die because you couldn’t protect yourself. That’s how you’re going to ruin him.
A full body shiver shook through me so profoundly that I need to sit down on the cold stone floor for a moment. Overwhelmed and terrified at the prospect of Rane’s death, I burst into tears.
Running away was in my nature, like fighting to save me was in Rane’s. If he was lucky, it would be just one more scar on his big body. One more awful memory that kept him awake at night.
If I were unlucky, I’d get him involved in a battle that not even the powers of the god of war could get him out of. Avatars weren’t immune to death. Ares desired destruction and death and while Rane’s demise wouldn’t be particularly easy for Ares to get, I couldn’t live with that stain on my soul.
Horrified, I refused to even contemplate my relationship with Mads and how I might destroy him as well.
God, what was wrong with me? Thinking such fucked up thoughts! The problem with this voice was that it was impossible to argue with. It didn’t make sense. It didn’t need to. Instead, it took all of my fears and threw them back in my face until I choked on them. Or maybe it was just the dirty air and my brain wasn’t thinking straight because of it. What if I was about to die or something? Perhaps that was what I was experience now. My body sure felt like collapsing and never getting up again. Pity my mind wasn’t so weak.
I forced myself to my feet. For a moment, I was terrified that I might have been facing the wrong way, but I prodded with my feet to find the next step and started climbing again. The darkness was so inky that I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face, touch was the only thing guiding me as the darkness never let on how close or far I might be from the surface.
Here’s the thing about being in the dark for so long, if your eyes don’t have something to focus on they invent things, trick you and make you go a bit nuts. Maybe it was my imagination, but I started seeing brief flashes of white and odd patches of color in my peripheral vision. I closed my eyes futilely hoping to will them away, but that didn’t stop them. I was reacting to things in my head, not things that were actually there.
Then that bastard of a voice that had told me I was going to get Rane killed and that I never deserved Byron in the first place returned with a vengeance, yelling vicious things about Mads.
Really, what are you coming back for? Do you think he missed you at all? You’re just embarrassing yourself clinging to him. A man like that can have the prettiest girl at the party and you think he wants you?
God, I really was going mad. I was succumbing to these terrible fears. The nightmares the resided in the back of my mind. That rotten bit of my brain that wouldn’t let me rest. In this lonely darkness, all that I had was a cycle of nasty thoughts that played on repeat even if I screamed or cried.
So, I did the best I could. All I could do. I kept walking. Counting my steps out loud to silence the voices in my head that demanded attention. They wanted me to break down and cry. They wanted me to get lost in this tunnel, wanted me to give in and go crawling back to Hades. No. Never. Over and over, I put one foot in front of the other and somehow the darkness seemed to get a bit less. Even as I continued to climb, I felt like the murk encircling me with hands around my ankles, plucking at me trying to slow me down, but it was weakening.
Outraged at being ignored, the voices in my head grew louder and more numerous. The invisible hands grasped at my ankles and my elbows. They were trying to break me, make me falter and keep me trapped here. Was this one of Hades’ tricks? Or an illusion from dehydration and delirium from walking so long?
The words in my head changed from one more step to I can’t do this.
I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I can’t…
Geez, since when had I turned into such a whiny bitch?
In the movies, when the protagonist thought about the people they cared for, the people that you loved, a surge of power lead to one desperate lunge and they finally emerged triumphant. In reality however, I realized that that my final lunge had probably occurred a while back. Under the weight of the voices surrounding me, I sank to my knees.
Hit by this soul-quenching moment, I felt the walls closing in. Everything that I’d ever hoped for and dreamed of was going to vanish from this world.
I don’t know how long I stayed like this clutching my aching legs to my chest. Somewhere in my own inner hell, I sobbed myself to sleep. In the murkiness of my dreams, I searched for Byron, wanting desperately to see him again. Seeing him last night had awakened something in me that had gone quiet in my long days in the underworld.
But instead of Byron’s cute little place in Boise, I found myself in a dark club where the music ricocheted off the concrete floor and the lights flashed purple and red. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind clubs though my patience for them ended when sleazy guys ground against me, but I couldn’t breathe amid the sweat, smoke and heat.
Cold bled into the soles of my bare feet, I cast an ironic eye at my clothing. Pajamas. Really? While everyone around me was tricked out in skimpy club gear.
Well, at least the bartender here will definitely serve me a Coke now…
Up until this point, I was content to think this was my freaky dream, but then I realized it belonged to someone else, and it was I who had invaded it. The owner sat atop the bar, surrounded by a bevy of females all vying for his attention. Jealousy jabbed at me like a bee’s stinger.
Mads was tall, slender with pale hair and complexion all reminiscent of a Scandinavian. One might call him beautiful rather than handsome with a standoffish grin. When he touched me in the hotel, he tricked me into forgetting the trouble we were in. The first time I’d laid eyes on him, I’d thought he was bad news and have come to realize he was trouble of a different kind.
Well, I guess it stands to reason that Mads would have this kind of dream…
I fought the crowd to get to the bar as I wondered how to get his attention. One guy gyrated in front of me, rubbing himself against me. I pushed him away.
Something about this dream reminded me of reality. The constant chase after Mads—and dear god—the avatar of the god of thieves and liars continued to keep me at arm’s length.
When my gaze found Mads again, the bevy of women hissed baring long fangs. His grin fell and his eyes filled with alarm. The pack of woman descended on him, ripping at him, tearing his clothes, scratching and biting. He screamed.
“Mads!” I screamed, pushing forward. A jolt in the crowd thrusted me back and held me there, no matter how much I fought it. Another scream propelled me forward in a burst of power that allowed me to break free of the crowd. I caught him by the sleeve and hung on for dear life.
Darkness cut into the club. Groans like that of a monster replaced the thumping music. The air filled with a cold dampness that chilled me to the core. Invisible hands began to choke me, as I scratched for air.
Where the hell was I? Whose dream had I entered now?
“Byron?” I shouted into the endless dark. “Rane? Mads?”
Something was going on and the longer it continued the less I liked it. By the second the setting turned into some kind of obscure nightmare. Different scenery formed around me. The dark space filled with studded and twisted statues, a strange and threatening architecture that reminded me of Hades’ palace. Faces cut into rock sneered and snarled at me. I held onto my elbows and I spun but was unable to get away from all the creepy faces. The ground shook under my feet and I stumbled cutting my hand on a razor-sharp stone edge. Down a hallway to my right came a roar, harsh and pained.
Fuck, I thought. Rane.
The avatar of Ares and I had a complicated history, to say the least. He’d take a bullet for me. Kill anyone who wanted to hurt me. Swap himself for me in the underworld. But at one point, I wasn’t sure if he’d sell me out to the rest of the pantheon. There was nothing quite like hearing him tell Blake that he’d handcuff me and drag me to where the other gods wanted me.
And yet complicated or not, it was impossible to forget how I felt when in Rane’s arms. To feel the vital life of him and see the scars that he’d gotten from saving others and know that underneath this man who’d fought his whole life, was someone who still had a heart.
When his pained roar sounded again, I knew I wasn’t going to stop until I knew he was safe. Spoiler alert: he was not. A grate at my feet appeared with slits of rock piercing it with stakes no wider than my hand. Bloodied fingers poked through the rock. I threw myself down onto my stomach grasping for him. I stared into the shifting lights and shadows beyond the grate.
“Rane?” I called out.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he growled as if angry with me.
Rane’s face inched into the slits of light. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, one eye swollen shut.
A heat wave washed through me. I thrust my hand heedlessly through the grate. “Rane, I’m going to get you out.”
“Don’t!” There was a genuine alarm in his voice, but he took my hand, squeezing it tightly.
“Rane, stop.” I held onto him for dear life frightened to lose him like I’d lost Mads in this awful nightmare. “I’m going to get you out of there.”
I need to be locked up.
The words came not from his mouth but from his very soul and it roared so loudly, it shook the rocks within his prison. This wasn’t his doing. Someone wanted to keep him contained. Someone wanted to hurt him.
I opened my mouth to argue but if these past few months had taught me anything, it was that gods weren’t made to be argued with. What came out instead was a scream of pain.
Steel flashed in my peripheral vision. The burning sting of metal bit into my arm, searing pain cut into my flesh. Coldness like I’d never known wracked my body as I withdrew back my arm, my hand failing to come with it.
Rane howled with something that sounded like victory.
What had he done?
I woke up with a start, covered in sweat with eyes wide enough to pierce the everlasting darkness of Hades’ tunnel. Over and over, I clenched and unclenched my right hand to make sure it was still there. Even though I ran both hands across my body, I still wasn’t convinced because the dream had felt too real. A wave of nausea settled in as I clutched my stomach.
That settled it. Whatever I needed to do—he it climb the hell out of these stairs, bribe the hell out of the ferryman or hack the hell out of the rock with a pickaxe—I was getting the hell out of here.
At that exact moment, someone’s hand tangled in my hair and tugged, hauling me back to my feet. God, not another dream. Was I now forced to suffer whatever fate met Byron?
Apparently, there was still enough indignation in me to yelp as I kicked and flailed fighting my assailant.
Chapter 7
Locke
“Titania’s tits, girl!” a man barked at me. “You didn’t have to scratch!”
What the hell? Who was that? For a moment, I thought I was going a little nuts or maybe I was having a stroke. Seconds before, I’d been lost in a world of angst and sadness, crushed under emotions too enormous to contain. Now my head hurt from where some dick had clenched my hair.
“Let me go, you creep!” I shouted, wrestling against the terrible pressure on my scalp.
Bright light hit me and I closed my eyes. What sounded like the cork on a bottle popped. Sticky fingers pulled at me as if trying to trap in the underworld forever. I kicked with my legs, propelling myself forward. One final tug from the man hauling me from the afterlife set me free with a crackle, but I still smacked at his hand for release.
“That all the thanks I get for rescuing you?” he asked, freeing me with a rough jostle.
I rubbed my aching scalp. “When someone almost plucks me bald, I’ll scratch whoever I like, thank you!”
A few inches taller than me, he glared at me with eyes as golden as maple syrup. His lips, a dark pink that contrasted with his darker skin, smirked at me. By the look of him, he heralded from Middle Eastern descent, but that differed significantly from his clothing. Dressed in a green leather jerkin, boots over his leggings, and belt around his waist, he reminded me of someone from the medieval era. He dusted himself of the soot from the underworld’s tunnel.
I rubbed my eyes three times, thinking I’d emerged back in time. Who the hell was this guy? Robin Hood or something? An outlaw with a feathered cap? I didn’t know anything about the medieval era. History really was Byron’s territory. Trust my luck to come out in the wrong time period. Hades had screwed me again.
A car honked behind me, and I swung around, breathing a sigh as I spotted a car park full of them. God, I’d exited the underworld right into some weird medieval fair or something.
Women in gowns huddled in groups. Men wearing armor parried with fake swords. A jester juggled balls and flaming sticks. Stalls sold swords, crystals, costumes, jewelry and ales. A great big sign sprawled above read ‘Renn Faire.’
Thank Eros, I’d made it back to civilization.
“Thanks for your help,” I muttered to the man, leaving him behind as I advanced through the stalls.
“What the ever-loving fuck do you think you’re doing?” my rescuer demanded, seizing me by the arm and yanking me back.
“Look, I don’t know who you are, but I’m out of here, capeesh?” I asked, jerking my arm free, refusing to stick around someone who physically assaulted me.
The man in green stared at me pensively, and then with a cocky grin, pointed at my soiled robes. “You need to change first.”
Dammit. He was right. Filth didn’t begin to explain it. That’d teach me for stopping for all the rest breaks, sobbing on the stairs, and for the catnap.
“Think you could shout me a replacement gown into existence?” Heck, it was worth the question.
“How ‘bout you wait another half hour until my shift is over,” he shot back, crossing his arms and testing the fabric of his jerkin, which pulled taut over his muscles arms. “Then I’ll take you to town for the only decent burger for miles, and we’ll talk about how fucking Mads managed to rope me into all of this, yeah?”
Hearing the combination of Mads’ name and food perked me up. “You know Mads? Where is he?”
“Same shit,” he said with a shrug. “Different pantheon.”
My mouth fell open. More pantheons
existed. That still didn’t answer my question.
“The name’s Robin Goodfellow,” he greeted with a wink.
I wasn’t ready to trust this guy—he had dragged me by the hair after all, and what kind of creep did that? But reluctantly, I nodded. What choice did I have if I wanted to find out where Mads was hiding?
***
During Robin’s last half hour on shift, I rested against a tree, recouping my strength. Despite wearing a toga soiled by black dust, robes from the completely wrong era, no one batted an eyelid. A few even offered their compliments on my incredible costume. Well, kudos to the spirits like Melody whom I’m assumed sewed my gown.
Apparently, summer had stretched into autumn, and the leaves commenced their change from green to orange. A cooler breeze wrapped around me, and I rubbed my upper arms. Come late afternoon I was going to need a change of clothes and a warm jacket.
Meanwhile, Robin spent his time up a tree, pitching acorns at people. And even if the job paid minimum wage, I understood the appeal. Back when I’d been working phone sex, there had probably been a few clients I wouldn’t have minded chucking acorns at myself.
Once his shift ended, he jumped down and led me around to the trailers at the rear of the lot, going into one and coming out with a pile of clothes and towels, which he handed to me.
“You’re filthy,” he started. “And you look like you dragged those clothes off of a dead Greek harlot. Come on. Shower, then change.”
Geez. Talk about a charmer.
“Say it like it is, won’t you,” I muttered.
I followed Robin to a row of solar-powered showers set close to the trees. Before we even reached it, he started stripping, revealing a body that was muscular and strong, but more like an acrobat’s than a weightlifter. When he caught me staring, he grinned in a manner that reminded me of Mads, minus his charisma.
“Like what you see, dead girl?” he asked.
