“I went to Hades,” I say bluntly.
“Really?” Grace gasps.
Gretchen asks, “What was it like?”
“It was . . .” I close my eyes, remembering, but the memory is too raw, too real, and I have to open them again. “Awful. It smelled like a garbage dump.”
“Oh.” Grace sounds disappointed. Like I was going to say it was full of puppies and smelled like cotton candy. Not quite.
“I was in more of an antechamber,” I explain, hoping to make her feel better. “I didn’t see Hades proper or anything.”
She visibly relaxes.
“Were you alone?” Cassandra asks.
I flick my gray gaze to hers. “No, I wasn’t.”
I take a deep breath. Despite all the crazy, unbelievable things we’ve all seen, this is one step beyond. My visit to the underworld and advice from the human-looking personifications of destiny is another level of mythology.
“I saw the Fates.”
“The Fates?” Gretchen echoes.
Grace’s eyes get as wide as saucers.
“They were sent to give me advice.”
“Sent?” Gretchen scowls. “By who?”
I shake my head. “They didn’t say.”
“What was the advice?” Grace asks.
“They said, ‘Fight not alone.’ ”
Grace’s mouth falls open, her brows furrowed like she’s completely confused. Gretchen, just as puzzled, twists her head to the side.
“Fight not alone?” Cassandra repeats.
“That’s it.” I shrug. I don’t have a better explanation for it than anyone else. “Kind of disappointing, right? I expect more from a trip to the underworld.”
We sit in silence for a minute. As simple and anticlimactic as it seems, I have a feeling that their advice will become really important before this war is over. It just seems kind of silly now.
I hope it’s more valuable than that. I would hate to have died for no reason.
A very important reason, the woman’s voice in my mind says.
Well, good to know that hasn’t changed. Still losing my mind. I mentally roll my eyes.
Finally, Cassandra breaks the silence. “I’ll bet you could use some water.”
She stands and walks out of the room, heading for the kitchen.
“I suppose I should thank you,” I say to Gretchen.
She scowls. “I suppose you should.”
Grace smacks her on the shoulder. “No,” she says to me, “I should thank you. If you hadn’t shown up just in time to jump in front of that knife, it would have been me bleeding out in the alley.”
“And it would have been you being brought back from the dead,” I reply.
“Why did you come, anyway?” Grace asks. “You were supposed to stay at the safe house.”
“You saw it, didn’t you?” Gretchen asks, though it’s more of a statement. “You had a vision of, what, Grace dying?”
I look at her. She’s too perceptive by half.
I love my sisters—apparently more than I love myself—but I can’t bring myself to tell them that. I don’t want Grace burdened by any guilt over the situation. I saw something about to happen, and I reacted; end of story. No regrets.
“No,” I say, feigning boredom. “I couldn’t stand to stare at these hideous beige walls a minute longer.”
Grace laughs at me, but Gretchen glares. She studies me, probably looking for some sign that I’m lying. If she looks too closely, she’ll find one. I meet her glare head on.
Cassandra returns with a glass of water, and Gretchen finally breaks eye contact. I’m not sure if she got her answers or if she’s decided to give me a little breathing room. Either way, I’ll take it.
As the group around me falls silent, my mind quiets. For the first time in days, my head feels normal and there is no pain—no ache or throbbing. In that instant, I realize one very important thing.
“Well, at least there’s one good thing about my demise.”
Gretchen frowns. As if any good can come from my death—other than saving my sister’s life, of course. But I feel the truth.
“What’s that?” Grace asks.
“The bond to Apollo has been severed.”
“It has?” Grace looks hopeful.
“How can you be sure?” Gretchen asks.
“I . . .”
I don’t know how to describe the feeling. It’s not as if anything has changed—I still feel like myself—but there is an underlying sense of . . . emptiness. Of loneliness. I may not have been consciously aware of Apollo’s presence, but I can certainly feel his absence.
It’s like the difference between wearing a pair of genuine Louboutins and an extremely well-done knock-off. They might look identical, but there are subtle differences to the feel. You just know.
Good girl, the woman says. Your powers are indeed great.
Thank you, I answer.
I’m shocked when she replies, You will soon have the opportunity to do so.
I shake off the imaginary conversation. My brain might be Apollo free, but that clearly hasn’t affected my schizophrenia.
“Trust me,” I say. “He’s gone.”
I keep my voice neutral, not betraying my sense of loss.
“Life will be easier now.” I try to sound cheerful. “No more running through the city streets and hiding in bookshops.”
Although some parts of running weren’t so bad. The parts with Thane, for example, were quite nice—especially the parts where he kissed me. I could do with more of those.
I scan the group around me, suddenly realizing that Thane hasn’t spoken since my return. Probably because he’s no longer here.
“Where’s Thane?” I ask.
I thought it was a simple question. But when I see the look of fury on Gretchen’s face and the pain on Grace’s, I worry.
“Oh, Greer,” Grace says. “There is something we have to tell you.”
CHAPTER 22
GRETCHEN
Greer surprises me. The look on her face is not what I expected. As Grace tells her about Thane’s confession, the truth about him and his involvement in this big ugly war, about why he is a part of our lives in the first place, I expect to see confusion, doubt, betrayal even.
Instead, she looks thoughtful.
I’ll never understand her.
I can hear the emotion in Grace’s voice. A whole rainbow of feelings is running through her, I’m sure. She just found out her brother was sent to kill her. That’ll mess up a girl’s mind.
But Greer . . . she just tilts her head to the side and says, “He is not responsible for this.”
“I know,” Grace says, swiping at her tears. “But he lied. His whole life has been a lie. He’s a liar.”
Greer gives her a half smile, a gentle and peaceful look on her face. “Aren’t we all?”
She looks so serene, relaxing back on the bed with a handful of pillows propping her up and Sillus curled at her side.
Normally, I would call her out for being stupid and naïve—something I didn’t think her capable of—but after everything she’s been through, I’ll cut her some slack. She just came back from the dead to find out the boy she’s getting involved with is an assassin sent to kill her sister. She might still be in shock.
Besides, I know all about boys who walk that fine line between devotion and betrayal.
“Do you have any Hestian serum?” Cassandra calls out from the bathroom.