Chapter 5
The wave swells in me so fast, I struggle for air.
My fingers ball into tight fists. Salty tears threaten to slip past my eyelashes. Anger and sadness clash inside my chest. The full weight of my grief tugs on me, hard. It promises to drag me below.
Memories splash violently in my head.
The red stoplight. A quiet neighborhood. My hands on the steering wheel. Tom Petty’s gritty voice flowing through the speakers. London’s familiar, weird smile in my periphery.
Then green light. My foot on the gas. The sudden impact shattering the windshield into a million tiny stars. Sirens in the distance, not coming fast enough. London, in my arms, eyes closed, blood trailing from his temple.
Me, the only survivor.
My lungs burn as Milos’s words echo in my head.
The boy who has defied death.
I slip into another memory: High school. Weeks after the accident. All the eyes still following me in the halls. Whispers chasing me from class to class. Every empty, dark room I hid in to escape.
Troy Ackerman laughing with his friends. “August must be a superhero,” he sneered, “because the grim reaper can’t touch him.”
Now it’s hard to stay upright, on my feet. I dig my blunt fingernails into my palms until the tide calms. I can’t afford to have a panic attack. Not while I’m in this strange, unreal place.
When my vision clears, Milos is watching me. His eyes are the color of honey in a jar. A warm, playful smile sits on his lips.
“I’m not— I haven’t…” Words dry up in my throat. “I haven’t defied anything.”
Milos looks at Henri, then Cary.
“You have not told him?”
“I was going to, but someone”—Henri elbows Cary—“stopped me.”
Cary’s dark eyes lock on me.
Quickly, I avert my gaze. There’s something unsettling about how intense his stare is. How it takes everything inside me to forget it.
Milos waits until we’re focused on each other again. “My apologies for their rudeness.” His smile creeps higher. “You are the first mortal to cross over to our realm in a very, very long time.”
“Cross over?”
He nods with an unreadable expression. “How did you get here?”
“I don’t know,” I say.
Milos rubs his chin. His fingers are long, elegant. Everything about him is regal. “A mortal boy who can simply walk right into Aides—”
“His name is August.”
The sharp interruption comes from Cary. Suddenly, he’s right by my side, shoulders squared. The way he says my name—strong like a bass note, yet soft like a chime. Every syllable pronounced. My stomach dips.
“August,” Milos repeats. It sounds different coming from him. Sweeter, wrapped in fascination. His gaze skims over me, slow and steady. “As in great. Magnificent. A beautiful name to match its owner.”
Heat buzzes up my neck.
Cary says, flatly, “He is just a mortal.”
I bristle. What was I thinking a second ago? There’s nothing soft about Cary. If he had it his way, he probably would’ve let Cerby chew on me like a dog treat. No remorse.
He ignores my glare to say to Milos, “He is nothing to worry about.”
Milos looks less convinced. “How did he get here, then?”
“That’s a fun story!” Henri says with a smirk. “He saw Cary. In the mortal world. With a new shade.”
“Saw him?” Milos’s lips quirk. “Is that so?”
The edges of Cary’s mouth twist, but he doesn’t reply.
“August followed him here,” Henri answers for him.
“Incredible!” Milos’s eyes barely leave me as he turns to Cary. “Out of practice, sweet brother? After all this time, your powers are finally starting to fail you?”
Brother?
I suck down a gasp and look between them. The similarities are slight. Equally tall. Thick eyebrows and delicate cheekbones. Their unnerving beauty.
Cary clears his throat. “I have no issues.”
Milos lets out a small derisive laugh. “Of course not. The ferrier never fails.” He concentrates on me again. “But he is not ‘just a mortal.’ ”
“I’m…not?”
I blink, still confused on what the hell they’re talking about.
Milos licks his lips. “No. You’re our guest!”
He takes my hand in his. Silky skin kisses my palm. With a smooth smile, Milos says, “Welcome to Aides, August. I am Milos. Prince of the Deathless.”
“And final judge of souls,” Henri adds, chest puffed.
Milos looks a mix of sheepish and irritated. He’s difficult to read. “That too,” he admits. “I am happy you are here.”
“You are?” I say slowly, cautious.
He nods.
“It is a shame he cannot stay longer” comes from somewhere else in the room.
Sighing, Milos releases my hand.
Heels click on the marble floor. Someone approaches from a far corner. Shafts of sunlight halo a girl who’s all perfectly drawn lines. She’s short, her hair as green as ivy and chopped into a pixie cut. She has creamy white skin, her red lips bolder than a freshly bloomed poinsettia.
She stops next to Milos. “The rules, my prince.”
He exhales with a flippant expression. “Thank you for the unnecessary reminder, Aminta.”
I glance around. “What rules?”
Once more, Henri swoops in with an answer: “Though it is rare, any mortal who successfully travels to Aides is only permitted to stay a short time.” His brow pinches. “Technically, not at all. But—”
“You are welcome to visit anytime, August,” Milos chimes in. He brushes his thumb over my knuckles. “As often as you like.”
His grin lingers a second too long.
Face warm, I say, “Thank you?”
Aminta scrolls through a tablet in her hand. “We need to go, my prince. You have…appointments.”
“Can they not wait?”
Aminta’s eyes cut in my direction. They’re a deep green like her hair, narrowed. “Unfortunately, no.”
Funny, there’s not a drop of remorse in her tone.
A thin smile stretches Milos’s mouth. “Fine. I suppose we all have our roles.” Briefly, his gaze shifts over to Cary. “I trust you know how to see him back?”
Henri steps up. “What? Our resident historian?” He pats Cary’s shoulder. “Of course he does!”
Milos’s eyes don’t stray from his brother. Tension rolls through Cary’s jaw before he nods.
“Good. Do so.”
It’s a command, not a request from Milos.
Cary doesn’t argue.
Milos gives me a final smile. “I look forward to getting to know you more, August.”
My eyes widen. Foolishly, I say, “Um, me too.”
Henri doesn’t bother hiding his chuckle.
I stare at Milos’s back as he leads Aminta and the guards to the other side of the room. They exit through a door I can’t see but hear as it clicks shut.
When my lungs finally remember how to breathe, I twist toward Henri. “Why can’t you take me back?”
Smiling apologetically, Henri says, “That is beyond my abilities.”
Great. Here I am, in a strange place that shouldn’t exist. With people who are all frighteningly gorgeous and apparently have powers. And the one boy who can take me home looks like he’d rather eat his own face.
“Cheer up!” Henri points at Cary. “At least if he kills you, you can hang out here permanently.”
His laughter echoes in the room long after he’s gone.
Silence fills the air. For a beat, I keep my back to Cary, thinking. Counting the exasperated breaths he lets out. After the fourth one, I spin on my heel to face him. His detached expression is unbearable.
I bite my lip. “How do we do this?”
Instead of answering, Cary walks to the elevator. His eyes say, I will leave without you, when I don’t immediately follow.
I don’t risk calling his bluff.
He doesn’t bother holding the doors for me, so I leap inside. “Thanks!” I grunt. Throwing myself against a wall, I cross my arms. “Are we going back to the beach?”
“No.”
“The bridge?”
Cary stares straight ahead, silent.
“Are you always this chatty?” I huff.
“Obviously you are.”
My eyes narrow into a pointed glare. His body rests peacefully against the opposite wall. Still as ice. “At least tell me where we’re going,” I demand.
Expectedly, he doesn’t.
The elevator pauses. Its doors part and two people in black suits blink owlishly at us. Their bodies appear shimmery due to the blinding white light from the floor we’ve paused on.
One of them gasps, bowing. The other stammers, “Oh. Lord Cary. Sorry. We will wait for the next one!”
Cautiously, they back away. Their eyes never leave Cary. Like he’s a viper whose fangs might show at any second.
The doors shut again.
I laugh, the noise caught in my throat. “So, Henri was right.”
Cary pins me with a menacing stare. “What?”
“You are a lord.”
His cheeks suck inward, eyebrows sloped with clear frustration. Good. At least he looks how I feel now.
The elevator descends—or ascends?—into the belly of the building. I have no idea. We exit into a room that’s not the lobby from earlier, but just as extravagant.
Everything is either a deep wine or smoky charcoal. From the walls to the carpet. It doesn’t seem much like a room either. More of an in-between. A wide passageway that leads from the elevator to a stream of golden light at the other end.
The walls are lined with stone statues. A sugary floral scent tickles my nose. Colorful blooms spill from open mouths and cupped hands, circling heads like the crown Milos wore. I recognize some of the flowers: roses and orchids and hyacinths. As we walk by, their petals unfold and flutter.
I marvel at them. “Do they always do that?”
Cary studies the dancing blossoms. Then his eyes land on me again. “This way.”
I fight to keep up with his pace. He’s only an inch or two taller, but his strides are longer, purposeful. Like he’s desperate to get rid of me.
The feeling is mutual.
He guides me toward the growing light. I remember what Henri said earlier, on the bridge.
He is the ferrier. A guide, if you will.
Out of the blue, I say, “You didn’t really kill Hal.”
His shoulders tense, but he doesn’t slow down.
“I mean,” I clarify, “you’re not a murderer.” As if that sounds any better.
“I am not Death,” he replies.
“That’s…good to know.”
I stare at my feet. Golden beams greet the tops of my sneakers, climbing up my legs. The floral fragrance intensifies as we step outside into a garden with trees that have greenish-white bark. Blooms of various shapes and sizes burst through waxy leaves. It’s as beautiful as my mom’s greenhouse.
How is this the underworld?