Chapter 3
At Least Act Like A Goddess
LYRA
Wrangling my crashing heart as best I can, I force myself to close my eyes—not that it makes a difference in the dark, but so far, it’s the only way I’ve managed to teleport the few times it’s worked.
The memory of Hades’ smooth voice rings in my head.
Focus.
Harder to do when a large part of me is bracing to splat when I hit bottom.
Draw on your power until you feel a tingling under your skin, like energy.
It takes longer this time, fear ripping the sensation away before I can get a good hold of it. My stomach is churning. But eventually, I feel it.
Then pull it inward until you feel pressure in your chest.
It never works that way for me.
The tingling gathers at the base of my spine, the same way pleasure does when Hades makes me…
Picture where you are going.
The memory of his voice in my head sounds more urgent now.
Because you’re still falling, Lyra. Focus.
But where do I try to go? If teleporting worked to get out of Tartarus, the Titans wouldn’t still be here. Instead, I picture Boone’s limp form heaped on the bridge in a tangle of limbs. I’ll try to get back to him and then get us both away from Cronos and whatever that bell meant.
Release the power.
An act that tends to blip out on me. Like the electricity turns off right when I need it most.
I let the tingling burst through me, trying to hold the image of where Boone is in my head. The wind in my ears stops, and I jerk my eyes open, heart tripping because I think, for a second, that I managed to do it on the first try for once. Without the side effects.
Disappointment might as well be a slap in the face.
No bridge. No Boone. No Cronos.
But I’m also not falling anymore. I’m standing…
Wait. When did I land? How?
Actually, the more important question is, where did I land this time? I frown, spinning in a circle to take it in. A cramped room with rock walls that is achingly, horribly familiar.
My room in the Order of Thieves’ den in San Francisco.
It looks the same. My cheap metal desk is set up with my computer—only allowed for the clerks.
My bed is a neatly made mattress tucked into a rounded recess carved out of the rock of our underground lair.
Piles of loot from recent scores that I have to catalog are stacked as orderly as they can be.
It even smells the same—cave, rock, and laundry detergent.
I have a thing about mold, which can be an issue when living underground near the ocean.
Keeping everything frequently washed is how I deal with it.
“What in the name of Tartarus?” I ask aloud, voice hushed. Is this even possible? Did I truly escape Tartarus? I’m still tingling like I haven’t teleported yet, though.
I look down and stare at the jeans and my favorite long-sleeve shirt from my days in the den.
Nothing special. Just gray, but soft, dry-fit material that was always comfortable.
It’s consistently cool underground, even in the summer.
I wore this often. But I wasn’t wearing it when I came into Tartarus.
Did I start over in my life, back at… Well, not the beginning, exactly. But out of that cursed place?
My shoulders slam back. Hades. Does he know I’m in San Francisco? I bolt for the door.
“You have entered the Lock of Hestia.”
I screech to a stop and whirl into a defensive crouch at the sound of the voice behind me, only to jolt at the sight of a woman dressed in flowing traditional Grecian clothing. A golden laurel is woven into her crimson hair, which falls in waves down to her waist.
It can’t be.
I stare at her hard as I come out of my crouch slowly.
I’ve only ever seen carvings and paintings of this goddess, who is said to have died during the Anaxian Wars, when the gods and goddesses of the Greek pantheon knocked Zeus off his throne, then battled each other for the position.
Scholars theorize that it was her death, not the destruction of Olympus, that finally ended the war.
“Hestia?” I ask, uncertain.
Goddess of home and hearth. Oldest child of Cronos and Rhea. What is she doing in my room?
Her smile is so full of natural warmth, I actually feel myself relaxing enough to smile back, a second sliver of hope wedging into my panic and fear, even if I’m still as confused as if I waded into the River of Oblivion.
It’s a good sign she’s here, isn’t it? It has to mean I made it out of Tartarus somehow. “Can you… Can you help me?”
“I am a reflection of the goddess who created this Lock,” Hestia says.
Lock? She said that word already. Hestia’s Lock. I frown, glancing around. How is my room a lock? “I don’t understand.”
Hestia flickers, like a signal got interrupted, and yet she still looks so…real. Would she feel solid if I touched her?
I don’t try it.
She holds out her hands, indicating the room we’re in. “Welcome to the Labyrinth.”