“I can.” Shady grabs the torch.
“Good. Let’s go.”
“Can does nnnnot mean will.” Shady crouches down and scoops me up in one arm. “You must recover. You must stay in cave. Too dangerous.”
Shady carries me through the cave back to where my bed of flowers had been. I try to tell him why he needs to help me find Charon but it’s like he has turned off his nonexistent ears. He deposits me on the ground.
“Food,” he says, pointing at a pile of what looks like black turnips. “Blanket.” He points at another red cloak he must have brought from the chariot wreckage. “Keep,” he says, and points at the fedora I’m still clutching in my hands. “Stay. Be safe.”
He leaves the torch propped against the large rock I had been planning on bashing him in the head with. He starts to roll away the boulder that blocks the entrance.
“Where are you going?” There’s no point in trying to get up and follow him. It would take me fifteen minutes in my current state.
“Find herbs. I will make salve for your wounds. Hellrat venom issss deadly.”
“Venom?” I ask, frantically. “Am I dying?”
Shady makes a strange guttural sound. At first I can’t place it. Then I realize that he’s laughing. “You’re yanking my chain, aren’t you?”
He nods, still laughing. “Hellrats do nnnnot have venom. Sorry, I could not helllp it. The look on your ffffaace . . . Mortals are quite expresssssive . . .” He trails off into laughter.
“Great. My Shade thinks he’s a comedian,” I mumble, and then glare at him. “Aren’t I supposed to be your queen or something? Can’t I give you orders? Take me to Charon,” I say, trying to sound as queenly as possible.
“No,” he says adamantly. Some manservant he’s turning out to be. “You still need herbs. If infection sets in, that could beee as deadly as venom.” He rolls away the boulder and I can see a faint light behind him. It must be morning again. He turns back. “One lassst thing,” he says, and gently tosses an object in my direction. “A gifffft for yooou. From my colleccction.”
He slips through the opening and then pushes the boulder back in place. The object he tossed has landed a few feet short, so it takes me a couple of minutes to get to it. What I find is a cracked medallion with a broken chain. Possibly the same one from the pile I’d found earlier. However, this time, in the light of the torch, I recognize it. I’ve seen something like this before. Twice before, actually.
It’s a communication talisman.
And if Haden still has his—the one he’d found of Simon’s—this means I may have a way of contacting him. That is, if this thing still works.
I run my thumb over the crack in the medallion.
chapter sixteen
tobin
I must have passed out. It seems several minutes have passed when my eyes fly open again. I cough and sputter, gasping for air. Every breath burns my lungs. Garrick looks down at me, his eyes almost betraying concern. He has removed his cloak, and his crown sits askew on his head. He lifts his hands from where they were cupped over my chest. Did he just resuscitate me?
“Too much,” he says, as if speaking to himself. “I told you it was too much. We need him.”
“Need me for what?” I ask between gasps.
“To stop her!” he snarls.
“Daphne?” I ask. “Where is she?”
“We don’t know, but you’re going to help us find her.” He stands, staring down at me from under his crooked crown. “She was supposed to take us to the Key, only she escaped. And now she’s out there, probably looking for it on her own so she can keep it for herself. We must stop her.”
“How?” I ask, not sure if he means “we” as in he and the Keres, or he and me.
“Bait—the only reason you’re still alive.”
I try to protest. Try to tell him he might as well kill me because I’d die before letting him get his hands on Daphne and the Key. I try but I can’t. I am in so much pain. Breathing aches, and I feel the blisters bubbling up on my burned skin. I can’t even move. I want nothing more than to tell him what he can go do to himself, but all that comes out of my mouth is a whimper.
Some hero I am turning out to be.
Garrick grabs his cloak and goes to the door. Opening it, he calls for the guards once more. “Take him to the healing chamber,” he commands.
The guards hesitate, standing in the doorway. “My king?” one of them says.
Garrick reels on him. “What?”
“The Court has asked us to summon you. There are other matters that need your majesty’s attention . . .”
“What other matters could possibly be more important than finding the Key?”
“Lord Lex has commanded—”
“Lord Lex commands?” Garrick seethes and points at the crown that hangs over one ear now. I find myself wondering if he has always been a little unstable, or if having a Keres attached to him is driving him into lunacy. “Does Lex wear the crown? Did the Fates choose him to be your king?”
“No, your highness,” the guard says.
“Then what Lord Lex wants is none of your concern. We commanded you to take this boy to the healing chambers. Let him stay just long enough so he can walk. He needs to be able to travel by morning.”
Garrick sends a swift kick to my ribs. I feel a burst of pain as one of them cracks. I groan from the pain, no longer strong enough to scream.
“My king, if you want the prisoner to be alive in the morning, perhaps that isn’t the best—”
“Silence! Would you have dared speak to Ren that way? Do as we command or you won’t be alive come morning.” Garrick storms from the room, pushing his way out between the two guards as he leaves.
A moment later, the guards approach. They grab me by the wrists and drag me toward the doorway. If only I could will myself to pass out again so I don’t have to feel the pain of my body sliding against the stone floor.
“Perhaps Lex is right,” one guard says to the other.
The other one grunts as if not ready to commit either way to his comment.
“The king had better hope he can bring back that Key or he won’t be holding on to that crown much longer.”
“Or should he be more worried about what the Court will do to him once he does hand over the Key?” the second guard says.
The first guard lets out a small chuckle and then clears his throat as if catching himself.
“Either way, no mere boy is going to hold on to that crown for very long.”
Mere boy? I think. So the guards haven’t seen it? They don’t know that Garrick has two shadows—they don’t know he’s working with the Keres? For the Keres. Garrick wants me to think he’s some kind of mastermind, but really he’s just a pawn. He’s being used by the Keres—they’re the ones pulling the strings. They’re the ones really wearing the crown.
The guards and the Court are the ones who should be afraid of what will happen when Garrick gets his hands on the Key.
I try to will my mouth to open to say something—to warn them. Of what, I am not exactly sure. But I can’t find the strength. My body won’t respond to my mind. The two guards drag me up a set of stone stairs, my broken rib slamming against each step. My head feels too heavy to hold up anymore. I let it lull between my arms and pray the pain will stop soon.
chapter seventeen
haden
Brim follows me into the servants’ wing of the house. I can’t tell if she thinks I need protection or moral support. We find my father asleep in the bedroom that had once belonged to Joe’s assistant. It strikes me that slumber does not make him appear softer, as it does with some men. He reminds me of a hibernating hydra in its cave—one I do not wish to wake. I approach with caution even though I know he is unconscious. Visions of his wrath—his lightning-laced hands wrapped around my throat—run through my mind. My father tried to electrify my soul once. I would not put murdering me past him now.
I grab a small bottle that sits on the n
ightstand, assuming it to be the sleeping draught that Ethan dosed him with, and then I heft my father’s limp, heavy body over my shoulder. I listen for a moment before entering the foyer, to make sure Daphne’s mother is still in the kitchen, and then I carry my father to the driveway where Ethan and Jonathan wait. I buckle my father into the backseat, more with the intention of keeping him upright than with concern for his safety. Brim hops up on Ren’s knee and sits like a tiny sentinel, staring at our captive, ready to alert me if he makes the slightest move.
“I guess I should go home,” Lexie says after escorting Terresa to the car. “I don’t feel like sticking around for the fireworks show,” she says, hitching her thumb in the direction of the house. I can faintly hear Demi’s voice rising in anger.
“I imagine your own parents are as concerned about your well-being after the storm,” I say.
“Ha!” she laughs—but there’s a hint of sadness behind it. “My parents probably don’t even know about the storm. They didn’t even stay for the last act of the play. Their flight to Paris just happened to be at the same time.”
“That’s . . . awful,” I say, even though I cannot imagine my own father ever coming to see me in a musical production. He would have all sorts of choice words if I even suggested it—considering that music is forbidden in my world, and the fact that he hates me with a passion born of fire.
Lexie shrugs as if it’s no big deal, but I can see in her eyes that it is. “Eh, it means I get to binge-watch Real Starlets of LA and wear my mom’s Manolos around the house.” She takes off down the driveway and then turns back and calls, “Have fun storming the Skyrealm without me!”
I am surprised at how reluctant I am to see Lexie go, though I know it’s neither feasible nor safe to take her into the Skyrealm. Lexie has her various irritating qualities, but she has proven herself to be a true ally in the last three months, and a true friend in the last few days. I know her better than three of my traveling companions, and trust her more than all of them. Except for perhaps Jonathan. Even though I’ve known him for the least amount of time, he’s won me over for the simple fact that he loves Daphne as if she really were his niece. Ethan, on the other hand, I know I can only trust as long as my interests intersect with his goals. My father is a threat—but only if he wakes, and I intend to leave him in the Skyrealm before that happens. But Terresa is the real wild card, I think, knowing her allegiance will turn the moment the passion spell has run its course.
Based on the rather filthy suggestion she whispers in my ear once we’ve all piled into Ethan’s car, I gather the spell is still well in effect.
“Excuse me, lieutenant,” I say, removing her hand from my thigh, “I am not that kind of Underlord.”
“I bet you wouldn’t object if Daphne suggested the same,” she says, folding her arms in front of her chest. “Daphne, Daphne, Daphne. That’s all you care about.”
Heat rushes into my face as I let myself imagine for a moment that Daphne would even suggest such a thing, and then push the thought away, letting it be replaced by more disconcerting ones. Terresa is jealous of Daphne—so what might she do if the spell doesn’t wear off anytime soon? What if, when we get Daphne back, Terresa sees her as a threat?
And more pressingly, what will Terresa do when she doesn’t get her promised kiss?
“You’re the most beautiful Skylord I’ve ever met.” I give her a small smile that softens her glower, knowing I need to play along with just the right amount of feigned interest. I feel like a piece of kopros even though what I said isn’t a lie, considering she’s the only female Skylord I’ve ever met. Why does this feel so different than when I tried to convince Daphne to fall in love with me?
Duh, you addled idiot, because you were in love with Daphne to begin with.
“I can’t wait to walk in the clouds with you,” Terresa says, snuggling up against my side and wrapping her hands around one of my biceps. I feel trapped with my too-long legs practically pulled up to my chest in the middle seat between Terresa and my unconscious father.
“Who is carrying Ren?” I ask Ethan, realizing he’ll have his hands full with Jonathan. “How are we getting him to the Skyrealm?”
“One of my most trusted comrades will meet us at the rendezvous point,” Ethan says, meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror. I must look concerned because he adds, “Don’t worry. No one else knows of our plans.”
Ethan starts up the car with a jolt of electricity from his hand. It must run on a battery, like mine.
“Hang a right at the roundabout and take us to the other side of the lake,” I say, pointing the way for Ethan. “I need to stop at my place first.”
I don’t realize that I’ve been holding my breath until I walk into the deserted kitchen of the mansion that I have called home for the last six months. Part of me—all right, most of me—had been hoping to Hades to find Dax here, sitting at the kitchen table, eating tacos for dinner and checking the daily news on his iPad.
I let out a long breath when I realize no one is home, and then regret the deep breath I take afterward. The air in the kitchen is tainted by the smell of sour milk from a crusted-over cereal bowl in the sink. Probably Garrick’s. Which means no one has been here for days, besides the cursory search I made when I first returned from the grove.
The others have followed me inside. “I’ll be a few minutes,” I say as I head upstairs. They wait in the living room.
Brim follows me up to my room. She settles herself in her usual spot at the foot of the bed while I duck into my bathroom. I drop my clothes on the tile floor and take a quick shower, finally getting to wash off the grime that’s clung to me since my visit to the Underrealm. I change into a pair of black jeans, a shirt, and a light jacket that are far more comfortable than Joe’s too-tight clothes. I grab a backpack and stuff it full of what supplies I think I might need—what does one take to the Skyrealm, anyway? I’m about to leave when Brim stops me with a protesting meow.
“Of course you’re coming with me,” I say, but then realize what she’s trying to alert me to. She prances in front of the air vent next to my bed, giving prodding little yowls.
“It’s of no use,” I say, patting her on the head.
She nips at my hand, yowling louder.
“Fine,” I say. Brim always gets what she wants.
I pull a Leatherman—one of the tools Dax had insisted was essential to my human experience—from my dresser and use it to unscrew the face of the vent. From it, I take the communication talisman and tuck it into my jacket pocket.
“Happy now?”
The talisman is a device the Underlords created for between-realm communication, and normally it might be useful if the group were to get separated unexpectedly, like what happened during my last journey. The only problem is, who would I call for help if I needed it? The only other talisman I know of in the mortal world was destroyed three months ago.
That was the same reason none of us had taken it with us to the Underrealm. Regret grips me, and I wish now that I hadn’t destroyed the other one in order to break the connection between myself and my father before he could electrocute my soul. Then again, I would be dead if I hadn’t . . .
And maybe Daphne would have been spared all this in the first place if I were . . .
I shake off the dark thought and inspect the veins in my arm. They’re a deep navy blue rather than the pale bluish gray they had been when we left Joe’s house. My latest dose is wearing off even faster than the last.
Another thought hits me, and I am glad for the distraction. I hadn’t taken the time to inspect my father before putting him in the car, so I do not know if he still had his own communication talisman when he was forced through the gate. Or perhaps it had been stripped from him along with his crown?
Did Garrick have it now? Or more likely someone like Lex, who would never take a call a from me . . .
I run down the stairs with Brim close at my heels and find my father propped up on the couch in the living r
oom. I pat down his tunic, hoping to find a talisman in a secret pocket, but it’s not there.
“What are you doing?” Ethan asks from the kitchen, where he’s rooting through the refrigerator.
“Did my father have anything on him when you brought him from the grove?”
“Not that I noticed,” Ethan says. He pulls a carton of orange juice from the fridge and then balks at the smell when he opens the lid.
I contemplate running back to Joe’s to search the bed where my father had been sleeping, to see if something may have slipped from his pockets into the sheets. It would be helpful to have two communication devices for our mission, perhaps use them like walkie-talkies in those old spy movies Dax likes. But the ache that pulses through my veins reminds me that time is of the essence. We need to get on the road.
And besides, I do not want to walk in on Joe’s confession to Demi. If he was following my advice, that is. I would never get out of there again if she knew the truth.
“I wouldn’t eat anything in there,” I say as Ethan makes to open another carton. “Neither Dax nor I were the best housekeepers over the last few months. That has probably been in there since before Simon died three months ago.”
Ethan thrusts the carton back in the fridge and shuts the door. “That explains the smell.”
The action reminds me of Daphne. Of when she taught me how to cook French toast so I wouldn’t wither away from a steady diet of Dax’s fast-food tacos. How she insisted I make the meal myself instead of doing it for me. I remember the way our hands touched and I accidentally dropped an entire bottle of cinnamon on one of the pieces of bread—and how she thought it would be funny to conspire to feed that one to Garrick. But then she still saved him a good piece too.