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CHAPTERTWENTY-NINE
PERSEPHONE
It’s late at night when we fly in over the icy black sea to the northeastern tip of Scotland. The sun vanished when Hades bustled me into the backseat of a waiting car. Ever since, I have stared out the window at the blur of light sand and dark waves that makes up the shore as we pass it by. There is nothing out here on the lonely highway Hades drives down. No other light but our headlights, illuminating this winding, twisting rut of a road as we climb steep hills and plummet down narrow, claustrophobic valleys.
I yawn and stretch my legs, watching Hades as he navigates, seeming almost unthinking though I know that he is the opposite. He whips our little black Porsche around sharp turns and yet he seems…
Well, not peaceful. But I can no longer tell that he’s planning murder and mayhem from his expression alone. I shift in my seat, thinking that I would feel much more comforted if Hades weren’t currently driving a bat out of hell.
He looks at me, his brief glance making his expression tighten. “What?”
His voice is a wire stretched too thin and then strummed. Taut, as if all the tension I could read in his face is still very much inside him.
I scrunch my face to the side and shrug.
“I didn’t say anything.”
Hades smiles humorlessly, his expression cruel. “I can hear ye thinking from over here. Yer thinking that I’m a madman for bringing ye here. Yer wondering how to tell me that ye want to leave me and get the fuck out of here.”
I glance out the window, my brow hunching.
“Stop guessing at what I’m thinking. You’re almost always wrong.”
He snorts, his big hands gripping the wheel so tightly that his knuckles are growing white. “I didn’t hear a no anywhere in there, Persephone.”
I clear my throat, skipping over his questions. “I was thinking that we don’t have to go to this place. If you want to avoid it so badly—"
“We’re ten minutes away.” He studies me out of the corner of his eye. “If ye don’t want to go—"
“Hades!” I raise my voice, irked. “I have never been to this place. Just like I’ve never been any of the places that you’ve taken me to. I trust your judgement. I trust your gut telling me that we are going to be safe. The question is, do you trust yourself?”
He grimaces, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “Nae, I can’t say that I do. This place makes me feel like a sheep separated from his flock by a rainstorm. I have no idea what’s happening or where I am. I just have to seek higher ground and wait until the skies lighten again.”
I shoot him a perplexed glance. “I’ve got no idea what that is supposed to mean.”
He lifts a single shoulder. “Just that I hope that I am not the only man who is thrown off the scent by Whitewraithe.”
I don’t quite know what to say to that, so I just nod slowly. As I’m pondering what exactly he meant, I look out the windshield, glancing away from the inky pool of black water just over my shoulder. I see the same brittle yellow grass and scattered large rocks here and there that have been whizzing by my window since we started this drive.
But then, I see it.Whitewraithe.
It begins creeping up, the neat limestone walls of a castle rising against the darkened night sky. I reach out, my fingers digging into Hades’ forearm as we crest a hill. There, silhouetted like a ghost, are the shuttered gates of W.
Massive smooth white walls are forbidding. The immense wrought-iron gate is obviously padlocked. In the distance beyond that lies a huge compound made of limestone, though smudges of brown dirt running down the side give me pause. And now that we drive closer, there are vines growing wild all over the outer wall and ivy scaling the castle proper.
I’m not all together convinced that this isn’t some sort of abandoned fortress.
“Uhhh…” I say, unable to take my eyes off the ghostly castle. “Are you sure that people live here?”
It might be called a manor, but it’s definitely a castle. All it is missing are the flying red buttresses and it could be plucked out of a fairytale.
I look over at Hades, who is glowering up at W. He slows as we approach, the tires crunching against the fresh white gravel of the road. Jerking his head, he nods toward where a clunky old SUV is parked a few hundred yards away from the gate.
When he pulls the car over on the other side of the gates, he frowns as he fishes something out of his jacket pocket. Plastic crinkles as he produces a square of photo paper, covered by a see-through protective envelope.
He hands it over casually, not making eye contact as he straightens his cuffs. I take the photo curiously, seeing that it is actually an old-fashioned souvenir photo. In the heart shaped inset, the castle looks crisp set against lush green grass, clumps of little white flowers, and two lovers sprawled on a blanket, nearly kissing. If I had to guess the date of this picture, I’d say 1970s, purely from how the young couple look in their bell-bottomed jeans and tight, ratty band t-shirts.
“Look at the back,” Hades rumbles, getting out of the car.
