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“Yes. And you replied, I would no sooner let…”
“Let vermin live in my wardrobe.” He laughed loudly, as if he’d told a hilarious joke. “Gods, Trivia, that was ages ago. Are you still upset about that?”
“No, I’m hardly upset. But it did paint an accurate picture of the kind of person you are. And the kind of person I’d rather not associate with.”
Sol shrugged. “Unfortunately, you’re stuck with me. At least until this obscenely long list of tasks is accomplished.” He wrinkled his nose at the paper on the table. “I agree with you. We can be civil to one another, at least for a short time. But you are not my superior.”
Pandora gave him a cold smile. “And you are not mine.”
“Partners, then?” Sol extended his hand across the table.
Pandora scrutinized him, searching for the telltale glint of his eyes that indicated he was mocking her. All she saw was sincerity and a half smile quirking the corner of his mouth. He still looked smug and arrogant, but his eyes weren’t dancing with laughter. He was being earnest. Or as earnest as someone like Sol could manage.
After a moment, she took his hand in hers, and they shook. His palm was warm and smooth and dwarfed hers completely. She wanted to cling to him, to keep her skin flush against his. Far too soon, he released her hand, and she forced herself to withdraw her arm.
Sol rose to his feet and stepped around the table. “Come. I’ll show you the way to the village.”
She stared up at him. “So, we’re going with my idea?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “For now. I think it’s worth investigating. But don’t you fret. I’ll be thinking long and hard about my own exhausting list of tasks to work through.” He winked at her.
With a long-suffering sigh, Pandora stood, following Sol as he led her out of the library.
SURVIVORS
CYRUS
It was perilous work, carrying Prue’s body across the jagged rocks and boulders. His feet kept slipping on shards of rock, the movement jostling Prue as he scrambled to keep a firm grasp on her. The dirt particles in the air stung Cyrus’s eyes, and he coughed frequently from the thick dust swirling around him. He wasn’t sure which direction he was going; he couldn’t even see the sun in the sky, although the magical illusion of the Underworld had started to break, even before Pandora’s magic had been unleashed.
Without the illusion, what would the Underworld look like?
His body aching and his throat parched, he finally reached the smooth, flat ground that indicated he had emerged from the rubble. He took a moment to catch his breath, his shoulders and back straining from carrying Prue’s weight. But he refused to put her down. Her beautiful body would not touch the ground again. Not until she had been revived.
Blinking sweat from his eyes, Cyrus squinted through the fog, trying to get his bearings. But he saw nothing but murky, muddy gray.
Despair washed over him, and for a moment, he closed his eyes, unsure of how he would get through this. His chest constricted so tightly that he couldn’t breathe. The reality of his circumstances cut through him like a sharp knife. He was alone. He was wounded. And he didn’t know where he was. His magic was completely depleted. His wife was…
No, he thought angrily, his eyes flying open. Don’t think it. This isn’t over yet. Just keep moving.
He had to find the castle. Or whatever was left of it. Even if his once glorious palace was nothing more than ruins, he knew there was a powerful spell book in his vault that had what he needed to save Prue. Even with the destruction around him, the strength of the magic contained in the book would have protected it.
Obediently, his feet shuffled forward, until he caught a whiff of something familiar. A scent that tickled his nose and stirred his memories.
Demons.
His eyes grew wide. There were demons nearby. Which meant he wasn’t the only one who had survived.
His pace quickened as he darted forward, following his nose. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? When he and Prue had been in Tartarus, he had coached her on how to rely on her divine senses instead of her mortal ones.
He needed to do the same.
So he closed his eyes. His steps slowed on instinct. The last thing he needed was to trip on a tree root and injure himself further—and Prue.
But the ground remained smooth and flat. No hills. No tree roots. Not even a snapping twig or crunching leaf.
Yes, the illusion was certainly gone. There was nothing left.
Focusing on his breathing, Cyrus pressed on until he heard voices in the distance. His eyes opened again, and he stared intently at the misty surroundings, waiting for shapes or figures to appear.
