“I sense darkness. I’m attracted to it. Something I can thank my mother and her wretched husband for, I guess.” She twisted her hands in her lap. “I wish mine would go away. I’d relish the emptiness.”
The anger left him as swiftly as it had hit. And in the silence he realized, yeah, they were more alike than she knew.
That emptiness in his chest that had consumed him the instant Gryphon’s soul was lost opened up like a chasm between worlds, the pain as stark and fresh as the minute it had hit. Before he thought better of it, he crossed to the bed. She looked up in surprise when he reached for her hand, pushed the sleeve of her gown up, and turned her wrist over, revealing the thin white scars all over her inner forearms. “Something tells me you can’t handle any more emptiness.”
She jerked her arm back, cradled it against her body, and glared at him. “What do you know?”
A lot, female. More than I should.
He sank onto the side of the bed, leaned forward to brace his arms on his knees. Three hundred years wandering this world and the next alone, and the one person he understood more than any other was the forgotten ghoul-like soul who’d been trapped between worlds. Trapped just like him, only in a different way.
Gods, life was one big fucking ironic twist of fate, wasn’t it?
“I know pain reminds you that you’re alive,” he said, surprised his voice didn’t catch in his throat. “Trust me, I’m not judging you. I’ve caused enough pain—mostly to others—for the very same reason. But scars aren’t always on the outside.”
She was silent beside him. He turned to look at her. Saw the way she was watching him with wary eyes. Recognized it was the same way he regarded others. Yeah, they were the same. And because of that, she of all people would be the one to understand. If he was going to find the Orb, he had to take a chance.
“Being alone isn’t the worst thing that can happen to a person, Maelea. Yeah, loneliness sucks, but it won’t kill you. But being forgotten…” He looked down at his forearms and the Argonaut markings that should be on his brother’s arms, not his. “That’s the death sentence, isn’t it? My brother’s soul was sent to Tartarus because of me. I’m not going to let him be forgotten. Not when I can do something to save him.”
They stared at each other long seconds, and that emptiness in his chest grew because he sensed even though he’d gone out on a limb here, she wasn’t going to help him. If she didn’t tell him where to find the Orb, he didn’t know where he’d go next.
“I didn’t intend to bring you here,” he said, hoping to make her understand. “I just needed to know where the Orb is. When those hellhounds showed up at your house, I knew you wouldn’t be safe there anymore. That’s why I brought you here. Not because I wanted to hurt you. No one can find you unless you let them. Not Hades, not Zeus, not any of the gods.”
“Do you think his soul can really be saved?” she asked in a quiet voice. “You and I both know what the darkness can do. What if you find him, only he’s not the brother you remember?”
That emptiness opened so wide that for a second Orpheus feared it would swallow him whole. He’d already thought of that but dismissed it. His brother was the real hero, not him. It had only been three months. Gryphon was strong enough to survive in the Underworld for three months. He had to be.
“True heroism can’t be turned. Not by any darkness.”
“I hope you remember that.”
His brow lowered. She looked back down at her hands and took a deep breath before he could ask what that meant. “The warlock is in Greece. Gathering witches to bring into his fold. He channeled the power of the Orb in an induction ceremony. I felt it as late as yesterday. I’m not sure what he has planned, but from what I know about warlocks, they draw strength from—”
“From the witches they suck into their coven.” Orpheus pushed off the bed. Of course, it made sense. Apophis needed new witches to regain his strength. Which meant right now he would be at his weakest, before he’d had time to train and mold and draw from their growing powers. “Where in Greece?”
“In the hills outside the city of Corinth.” She rattled off coordinates.
Excitement and the first inkling of hope filtered through his chest. “Corinth was where Medea fled after she killed Jason’s children. It makes sense the warlock would go there in the hopes of harnessing that evil energy. Thank you.”
“Orpheus. Wait.”
With one hand on the doorknob, he paused. She climbed off the massive bed, a slight, frail creature who seemed nothing like her mother or father. But he sensed there was strength in her yet untapped. And he wondered when she’d see it for herself.
She crossed to the bureau, pulled open the top drawer. She extracted the skirt she’d worn earlier and reached into the pocket. Then she crossed to stand in front of him and held out her open palm. “You might need these.”
Two golden coins lay cradled in her palm. “Oboloi. How do you—?”
“My mother. Just in case Hades ever tried to pull me down to Tartarus. Take them. You’ll need them to get past Charon.”
The ferryman who carried souls across the River Styx to the Fields of Asphodel, where they would await judgment. Yeah, he would need them if he had any chance of getting past the first obstacle in the Underworld. Surprise mixed with gratitude. He took the coins, slid them into his pocket. “I can’t thank you enough.”
“Prove me wrong. Knowing a soul can survive the darkness of the Underworld will be thanks enough.”
“I won’t forget you,” he said as he left the room.
“Then you’d be the first,” she whispered.
Chapter 18
Isadora covered her mouth and yawned as she approached the bedroom Nick had directed her toward. She and the others had stayed up late into the night discussing not only Orpheus and this situation with the Sirens, but war strategy with Nick and what the Argonauts could do for the colony now that it had been relocated here to Montana. Atalanta’s daemons had recently struck a village high in the Rockies—both human and Misos residents decimated—and there were increasing reports all over the Pacific Northwest about strange killings and even stranger creature sightings. The Argonauts, along with Nick and his men, were trying to track down what daemons they could and destroy them before more lives were lost. And they all agreed they needed to get a handle on the violence before a new otherworldly power decided to take advantage of Atalanta’s absence and make the daemons their own. Or before Atalanta returned herself.
That last thought was foremost in Isadora’s mind. She didn’t for a second doubt that Atalanta was plotting her way out of the Underworld right this minute.
“You shouldn’t be up this late.”
Demetrius’s concerned voice cut through Isadora’s thoughts and she smiled at her mate as he pushed the bedroom door open and let her pass, careful, she noticed, not to touch her. He was always careful not to touch her. At least when others could see. “I’m fine. Besides, you know as well as I do that Nick won’t come to Argolea. That means I have to catch him when I can. And at least tonight he seemed agreeable.”
Most days he wasn’t. Though she and Nick had formed an alliance and were sharing their knowledge and manpower in this fight, she knew how hard it was for Nick to be around her. Especially when Demetrius was in the room.
“He can’t stand to see us together,” Demetrius said at her back, closing the door behind them. “I know how he feels and I can’t blame him. Sometimes I wonder if you’d be better off with—”
“Don’t say it.” She turned to face him, knowing this fear came from the very bottom of his soul. The soul he still didn’t think would ever be good enough for her, even after she’d bound her life to his. “Don’t even think it. He is not the one I want, Demetrius. He’s not the ándras I’m in love with. He’s not the one—”