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Leo slammed into me and I fell, unable to keep my equilibrium long enough to get my bearings. I landed hard, losing my breath momentarily. As I got up onto my elbows, Leo came forward to offer me his hand.
The street below me split, cracking like a dropped egg. Heat flooded upwards as the asphalt crumbled.
I swatted Leo’s hand away. “Go.” Everything in my brain was screaming at me to hold on to him, but the part of me that knew his life mattered more than mine wouldn’t let me reach out.
He grabbed me anyway, bracing his feet on the edge of the hole just as the chasm opened up beneath me. For a moment I felt weightless, like I could fly. Leo’s fingers trembled, trying to maintain his grip on my wrist. He had almost pulled me free when something got hold of me from below.
“Fu—” was all I managed to say before both Leo and I plummeted headlong into the open mouth of hell itself.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Oh hell.
We landed standing, more like we’d been transported somewhere instead of falling through realms. For the first time that evening I wasn’t the wooziest person in the room, as Leo bobbed and weaved and I had to offer him a supportive arm to keep him from toppling over.
And we were in a room. One incredible, breathtaking room that reminded me of beautiful old libraries with grand domed ceilings.
Only this room was built entirely of bones.
The glass ceiling was over fifty feet up, framed by femurs and tibias. Outside, a storm of fire raged, billowing clouds of smoke and flame as far as the eye could see. Inside, the orange glow was almost romantic in contrast, giving everything a warm feeling.
Beneath us bones were crafted in broad mandala flower patterns inset into the floor and finished with a lacquer to keep everything smooth and shiny.
I stooped low, running my hand over the slick surface where six skulls in a perfect circle stared up at me with their hollow eye sockets. Between each was a hand, fanned wide, and then petals of ribs bloomed outward from there, with clusters of hand and foot bones creating the spotted texture of lilies.
Every inch of the floor was crammed with bones of all sizes and shapes, each part of the human body—and some I didn’t think were human at all—was represented.
My gaze traveled upward to where seven chandeliers hung from the ceiling at even intervals, each built of more bones. Lights burned from inside the eye sockets, giving them an unnerving live feeling. The number of bodies that had gone into the manufacture of this site was uncountable. Thousands of generations of bones had built a temple to worship the land of the dead.
What had we gotten ourselves into?
At the far end of the room, perched between two long black banners that ran floor to ceiling and bore the white outline of the mark of Hades—the three-headed dog Cerberus—was a throne.
No shocker here, it was also built entirely of bones.
I was starting to sense a theme and would not be asking the god for interior-decorating tips before I left.
The throne itself was empty, which offered a temporary sense of relief.
Of course, nothing good could last. A moment later Hades swept into the hall in all his glory, followed closely by Manea. The
y were holding hands as if he were escorting her onto the floor of a high school dance.
Never had two deities been so perfectly matched to one another as Hades and Manea were right then.
Of course their paths brought them in contact on a regular basis, since she was the master of death and he was the master of the dead. But seeing them together now, it occurred to me for the first time there was something more than professional interest between the two.
Gods loved to get it on with each other, but typically those relationships were too volatile to last long. Yet the connection between Manea and Hades, even at a quick glimpse, was so full of respect and passion I had to wonder why I hadn’t heard anything about it before now.
Another new arrival to the hall distracted me from my overly romanticized feelings about the gods. Mormo slunk in and lowered himself next to Hades’s throne, looking ready to roll over and have his belly scratched at the slightest indication.
“You asshole,” I snarled, stopping myself just shy of running down the length of the temple and strangling him with my bare hands.
“Sssso we meet again, Rain Chasssser.” He grinned at me like he had no idea why I was upset, but the truth was I knew his glee was rooted in what we both knew he’d done.
“I hope Hecate slits you open and fills your corpse with the ashes of the newly dead.” I glared at him, no longer caring that I was speaking to a god. Mormo had done nothing to earn my worship or respect, and he’d get neither.
“Now that would be a ssssight to behold. Too bad you’ll be sssstuck here forever and won’t get to ssssee it.” Mormo gave me a smile so slimy it made my skin crawl.
