Darkness Becomes Her

Ten

I LAUGHED IN DISBELIEF, THE SHARP SOUND REBOUNDING DOWN the corridor, the echo eventually replaced by the flat, continuous drip of water against stone. First vampires, witches, and shape-shifters. And now this.

This is what Alice must have felt like when she tumbled down the rabbit hole.

No one moved or spoke, and I got the feeling that my newbie response had brought a sadness to the underground prison, as though everyone here was, for a moment, remembering their own first night, their own horror and disbelief.

“How long have you been in here?” I asked the figure across from me.

“Nothing brings the madness back faster than thinking about time,” he said softly. “Best to not ask that question. No one likes to dwell on it.”

Oh. Right. “And Athena. . you’re talking the Athena, Greek goddess, hung out on Olympus?”

“She is, unfortunately for us all, very real.”

My back slumped and my eyelids fluttered closed as a dumbfounded cackle bubbled to my throat and lodged there. What the hell was happening? Why the hell couldn’t I get out of this freaking nightmare? The gods were real. I didn’t know how to react, so I just sat there feeling blank and squeezing the bars as tightly as I could. And even more bizarre, I’d somehow pissed off one of the gods.

It figures.

I pulled my knees into my chest and hugged them, resting my head on my forearm and sighing on the words: “I can’t believe this.” The man across from me chuckled softly; his hearing had to be incredibly acute. I lifted my head. “They’re all real, then, the gods?”

“Some are, yes. The myths we all know, the gods you learn about in school, some are mere fiction, but many of them are or were once real. And there are some never mentioned in the chronicles of mankind, who even now roam the earth. The pantheons are not what they used to be. The Age of the Gods has long passed, and now they struggle for survival just like the rest of us. Entire families wiped out, gods overthrown, imprisoned. . There are only two pantheons left, made up of those who survived the wars and rivalries. And Athena would like nothing better than to wipe her enemies off the face of the planet. In the meantime, she amuses herself with plots and vindictive pleasures.”

“So, what did you do to piss her off?”

He laughed. “I was born to power.”

Another whisper drifted from down the hall. “I’m born too.”

“Me too.”

“And me.”

“And me.”

My heart thudded harder. These people, their only crime was being born. Was that my crime as well?

The bird voice came next. “Born or Made. Born or Made. We are all Born or Made.”

“Which are you?” I asked louder, pressing my face to the bars so my voice would carry down the hall.

“Made. Made. Made me, she did.” It screeched, a contained, very birdlike squawk, and chills spread up my arm.

Another voice, female, came from the darkness. “Made.”

I counted seven. Seven people were down here. And I was number eight. I could understand being born to power, but “Made”? “What does it mean to be Made, exactly?”

“Made from human into something. . else. Made into τερας.. As punishment. To fight for her. Sometimes on a simple whim. Athena is harsh, judgmental, and will not be overshadowed. Sometimes all it takes is being beautiful,” the man across from me said.

The bird voice spoke again amid a ruffling of movement. “Not all of us are here because we are Born or Made. There is one here for another reason. …”

“Go fuck yourself,” came that irritated, deep voice from before. Male. The same accent as the two hunters who had come after me. An accent I now understood to be Greek. The bird screeched in an angry response, the sound making me cover my ears as it bounced off the stone walls.

No one spoke afterward.

I rested my head back against my forearm and closed my eyes, letting my body rest. My mind, however, raced, going over the events of the last two days that had led up to this. I couldn’t be too far from New 2. This place was probably one of the many plantations that existed, or had existed, along the River Road. All I had to do was get out of this cell and back to the dock. Or to a path. I couldn’t stay here, not in this darkness, not surrounded by swamp and sludge, which could implode the walls and drown me in mud — inescapable, suffocating mud.

My blood pressure rose with the thought. My fingers flexed with the desire to cause some serious damage. Damage to myself. Damage to the cell. Didn’t matter. My foot bounced my leg with the speed of a locomotive. Small way to release the adrenaline compounding in my body. Bounce your leg or slam your fist against the bars and break your hand. Seemed an easy choice, but I was thinking the pain might feel pretty good right about now.

Breathe, Ari. You’ve been in worse spots than this. Seven years old. Locked in a dirty dog crate for three days straight and fed dry dog food thrown through the front grate. My punishment. Foster Mom Number Two had served chicken breast for supper, completely raw in the middle. On purpose. I refused to eat it, got pinned to the floor, raw chicken shoved down my throat. Puked it right back up onto Number Two’s hand as she tried to duct tape my mouth, and the rest became just another chapter in my history. Whatever. I’d handled that small space. And I sure as hell could handle this one.

I sniffed hard and wiped at my nose, eyeing the dim light down the hall, remembering other events in my past. …

Don’t think about it.

Instead I thought of Bruce and Casey, their easygoing nature and frequent smiles; both no-nonsense and tough, but kind and loving in their own way. I thought of Crank and Violet, and the gifts that were still in my backpack, wherever that was. And Sebastian. How my stomach went weightless whenever his image popped into my head. How much I’d liked holding his hand on the way to Café Du Monde. How kissing him had erased every single thought from my mind and, for once, just allowed me to be in the moment, completely swept away.

A cough echoed from the darkness.

I lifted my head from the bars, my knee finally done bouncing. I knew I was experiencing what everyone else here had already gone through. The panic. The disbelief. The fear.

My teeth bit down gently on my lip. And they’d all probably thought of escape too.

My fingers felt along the bars, looking for the lock. It was square with a large keyhole big enough for my pinkie, which fit to the first knuckle and then could go no more. I wiggled it, feeling for the jagged ridges.

“It won’t open,” Diagonal Guy said. “Our powers don’t work down here.”

My hand stilled. “Powers?”

One syllable came out of his mouth before the door from above opened, sending a shaft of welcome light racing down the hall. It wasn’t all that bright, but when you’ve been in darkness for several hours, it seemed like the sun had come out. I shielded my eyes as footsteps proceeded down the steps.

“Good luck, girlie,” the bird voice said.

I tensed, standing and grabbing the bars, looking hard to the guy near me, for comfort, for help, for anything.

“He’ll take you to Athena,” the man said quickly. “She won’t come here. It will be over before you know it.”

The lanterns along the walls flickered to life, one by one, as the footsteps drew closer. The large black silhouette stopped in front of my cell. It was the same man who had put me here. A τερας hunter. A monster hunter. And he had my backpack slung over his shoulder. He slid the key into the lock, opened the door, and reached in.

I reacted without thinking, relying on years of instinct and a seriously strong need to get the hell out of there. I grabbed his wrist, jerking him inside with all my might, knowing he wouldn’t expect that. If anything, he’d assume I’d try to run, to get out, not get him in.

Caught off guard, he barked his surprise and stumbled inside, slipping on the grimy floor and sliding into the blackness as I snagged the bag off his shoulder.

The bird voice shrieked. Shuffling sounded. The hunter cursed loudly.

Quickly I unzipped the bag and felt for the dagger, pulling it out blade first and then flipping it so that the hilt slapped into my palm. Then I waited, heart pounding and limbs tingling with adrenaline.

My eyes were a bit more accustomed to the dark than his, so I had the advantage. My fingers flexed. Movement. I got only a one-second glimpse of him as he surged out of the blackness. I dropped to both knees, calves and feet tucked under me, as his arms reached for where I’d once been. His feet hit my knees and he fell forward as I leaned back, so far back that my head touched the grimy floor, and at the same time, thrust up with the dagger. His hands hit the bars. He groaned.

Warm drips hit my face. The scent of iron was thick and nauseating.

His blood slid down the hilt of the dagger and onto my hands, trailing over my forearms. I stayed still, breathing heavily. Not moving. The cells went quiet. My back and stomach muscles strained as he slumped his weight onto the dagger. My arms burned, but still I didn’t move. And then suddenly he twitched. Three seconds later his body transformed to smoke and disappeared into that invisible updraft. The weight was relieved from my body, and I collapsed back onto the floor.

I rolled to my side, disbelief flooding me. Quickly I wiped my bloody hands on my jeans and then shook them hard, trying to relieve myself of the trembles. It didn’t help. I shoved the dagger back into the backpack, wiggled the key out of the lock, and then eased out of the cell.

The way to freedom was lit from my cell to the stairs, but I turned away from the light to face the blackness of the corridor. Every nerve ending I had was firing, urging me to run, but I stood still, heart hammering, and said loud enough for them to hear, “I’m out.”

Lights from the cells appeared again, just bright enough to reveal the hallway. I went to the cell across from mine, but it was empty. The next held the guy who had spoken to me. He was standing at the bars, waiting, his gray eyes bright with anticipation.

I gasped when I saw his face. “Oh my God.”

He frowned. “What?”

“Nothing,” I said, hands shaking and going to work on the lock. “You just remind me of someone.”

The door popped open. He stepped out. Tall, like Sebastian, those gray eyes boring into mine. His face was covered with a shaggy black beard and his hair was long and tangled, but there was no doubt in my mind. It was like looking at Sebastian, only aged by thirty years. He urged me down the hall.

I went to each cell, unlocking and not really looking too closely at the occupants. They all looked the same. Dirty, with wild, tangled hair and ratty clothing. Only their eyes burned. With fear. Fright. With a taste of freedom, but too scared to hope just yet.

I came to the next cell, and this time stumbled back, my heart in my throat.

“Hurry!” the bird voice hissed.

I gulped and moved to the lock, hands shaking worse than before. Its claws wrapped around the bars and its sharp, curved beak was inches from my face as I worked the key. The lock popped. I glanced up into round black eyes, ringed in yellow, but in some small part I saw humanity there. Sadness. It blinked. “Made,” it said quietly, almost ashamed.

I pulled the door, stumbling back as the six-and-a-half-foot-tall harpy walked out. There was no other word in my vocabulary to describe it. Humanoid, bird, and scary as hell.

Two more cells left.

I opened another cell, this one completely black. A woman with the body of a black spider from the waist down scurried out. All the blood drained from my face. “Thank you,” the creature said, and gave me a nod that spoke volumes.

Holy shit.

The last cell. I kept going. I had to. It was the only thing preventing me from hysterics. Keep going. Deal with it later. My hands were shaking so badly now that I nearly dropped the keys. But the Sebastian look-alike placed his big hand over mine. “No. He stays.”

I did a double take. “What?” The person inside had not even come to the bars. His silhouette showed him sitting back against the wall, one leg drawn up. “We can’t just leave him.”

“He is a τερας hunter. Like the one you just killed. He put some of us in here. He does not leave.”

A slow, icy feeling sank into the pit of my stomach. I glanced from the figure to the bearded guy, an unexplainable dread mixed with something very similar to sorrow. He was a τερας hunter. One of Athena’s grunts. Who knew what he’d done to displease her, but it felt wrong to leave him. Wrong, wrong, wrong. I shook my head.

“Hurry!” the harpy’s urgent voice came from the steps.

Older Sebastian grabbed the keys from my hand and walked away. My feet seemed to grow roots. I couldn’t move. I looked to the shadowed figure in the cell, feeling as though my heart was shrinking. “I—”

“Just go,” came his gruff voice. It was the same voice that had told the harpy to “shut the fuck up.” “I belong here.”

“Girl! Come on!” came Older Sebastian’s voice again.

I swallowed as hot tears cut through the dirt and grime on my face. “No one belongs in here,” I said.

“Killers do. Just go. Take the trail behind the old slave quarters. It will lead to the road back to New 2. You might have enough time to hide. But it won’t stop Her. She’s already broken the compact with the Novem by sending her hunter into the city. And she’ll send more. Don’t give up your dagger. It’s the reason you just gained your freedom. That blade is the only thing capable of killing a hunter. Keep it safe and secret.”

I hit the bars, wanting to scream for the keys back.

“Hurry. You’ve little time left.”

“Thank you.” It sounded totally inadequate, but I said it anyway, my voice breaking. The hunter didn’t respond.

I ran, feeling like I had just done something wrong, something I knew I’d always regret. I flew passed Older Sebastian and took the steps two at a time.

No one was in the house as we raced out the front door.

I took the lead, heading across the large yard and underneath the canopy of oaks to the buildings behind the main house, the three-quarters moon lighting our way.

When we rounded the corner to the restored slave quarters, I stopped, my lungs straining and chest heaving. My eyes scanned for the trail and found a small footpath that led into the swamp, a jumble of vines and palms and cypress trees.

A low, anguished cry brought my attention back to the group.

The spider woman was on her knees, all woman now, completely naked, her face thrown back to the light of the moon and her arms limp at her sides. Tears of relief and joy streamed down her face as some of the others helped her to stand.

“I have been unable to shift for two hundred years. Thank you.”

I met the woman’s dark eyes. She was gorgeous in a Queen of the Night kind of way, with long dark hair and sharp, seductive features. “You’re welcome,” I said, trying to sound normal, but it came out broken and high.

Her eyes narrowed as she took in my white hair and teal eyes. “You are τερας” she asked.

I opened my mouth to say no, but then hesitated. I wasn’t sure how to answer, or what the hell I was doing out here in the middle of nowhere. “I don’t know what I am,” I finally answered.

Older Sebastian placed a soft hand on my shoulder. “You’d know if you were Made. Some who are Made, like Arachne here, have the power to shift back to human form.”

“This is where I leave you all.” Arachne turned back to me. “If you ever have need of me, just call my name. I will hear.”

She nodded once to the others and then darted into the blackness of the swamp.

“This is where I leave you as well,” the harpy said.

Its large head leaned close to me, eyes intense, beak almost touching my nose. A claw reached out, the point touching the small crescent tattoo on my cheekbone and then poking at my hair. It laughed. “Freed by a Beauty. Figures. I was like you once. Don’t let Her get to you, girlie. I take my chances in the swamp.” Closer, the beak grazed my cheek, sending a cold shudder down my spine. Then it whispered in a voice only for me, “Say my name out loud, and I will hear no matter the distance.” It paused and whispered a name.

The magic in that word made goose bumps erupt on my skin.

The harpy unfurled her massive, leathery wings and took flight. The force blew the leaves around my feet and stirred my hair.

She was gone.

“Let’s go,” Older Sebastian said, heading with quick strides to the trail.

We stayed in a pack, moving fast through the swamp. No one spoke, but the sounds of our panting and our passage through the undergrowth seemed unnaturally loud in my ears.

It felt like we traveled for hours before we came to a dirt road. Finally — no more leaves swatting at my face, no more stumbling over roots and stepping in calf-deep mud and water. We jogged down the center of the track, careful not to fall into the tire treads on either side.

Instead of getting tired like I was, the others seemed to increase speed, to get a second wind. I remembered Older Sebastian’s mention of power: Our powers don’t work down here, and I wondered if their powers — whatever those were — were returning, if that was what gave them this extra burst of energy while I was about to sit down in the dirt, call it quits, and pass the hell out.

But still I went on, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other until my entire body was numb and hot, and my nostrils dry to the point of pain.

Dawn hadn’t made it to the horizon as we got our first sight of the city lights from Uptown, making our way down Leake Avenue, to St. Charles and past Audubon Zoo.

A few of the ex-prisoners stopped. Thank God! I didn’t question the decision, just bent down, both hands on my knees, and tried to catch my breath. The strain in my lungs, the dry burn in my throat; it was unlike anything I’d ever felt before. Then I put my hands on my hips and paced in a small circle, trying to walk it out, to calm my overworked heart.

One of the prisoners drew in a giant inhale and then shook his body like a dog shaking off water. Some of the dirt flew off him, but not much. He grabbed my hand and kissed it. “I am Hunter Deschanel. I owe you my life. Call on me, and I will return the favor if ever the need arises.”

Hunter stood back. The two women in our group and another guy stepped forward, thanking me. All I could do was nod. I didn’t feel like they owed me anything. The fact that I’d escaped that cell was a fluke, and I knew it. If that blade hadn’t been in my backpack, we’d all still be underground.

Hunter and the rest of the group, except for Older Sebastian, fled into the predawn light, fading as they broke apart and went their separate ways.

I turned to the Sebastian look-alike, his gaze on one of the retreating shadows. Just the two of us now. In the dark, empty street.

He tipped his head back and slowly closed his eyes. His chest rose as he drew in a deep, cleansing breath. The air stirred, blowing at his clothes and hair as it wrapped around him — a gentle tornado that obscured him from view for a moment. It wiped away the dirt and replaced his rags with jeans, a crisp white shirt, and a thin black coat that reached his hips. His black hair was tied back from a clean-shaven face, just the faintest hint of stubble left on his jaw. A black tattoo swirled from somewhere beneath the left collar of his shirt, up the side of his neck and jaw to wind around his ear and temple.

Blood pounded through my veins. I swallowed and forced myself not to take a step back, my body going completely still as he turned his head in my direction. Shock stole my voice. A tremor went through me. I nodded, trying to catalog this latest scene into all the other supernatural wonders I’d witnessed in the last two days. It shouldn’t surprise me, really, not after what I’d learned in Athena’s prison or seen outside of it.

“I take it you have met my son.”