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My hands fumble a little as I hold out the black chess piece. I’m not sure what it’s made of, maybe onyx. That’s possible. Hades is pretty extra that way. The pressure of Ares’s approach makes my skin prickle, like the air before a lightning strike, but I don’t let myself falter.
A little bit of magic, just enough to make it believable—that’s all I need. I spin out my illusion, and the chess piece shimmers slightly. Using Hades’ gift is the only way I’ll be able to pull this off. In a fight, maybe Ares would win. But not in the Underworld. Here, Hades rules supreme.
I coax the power out, fast but steady. It might have been harder for someone else, but I’ve spent a lot of time staring at my own face in the mirror. Not for fun or anything; I’m not that vain. But when people dress you up like a doll, or spend hours getting your hair and make-up just right, there isn’t a lot else to do. I tried to read once while a make-up artist was doing my mascara, and she threatened to put my eye out with the wand.
The point is, I know what I look like.
So when the illusion of a double forms around the black knight, it’s a really, really convincing one.
Just a little brush of magic to make it seem like a demi-goddess in over her head. Another to make her eyes wide, panicked almost. I have to admit, it’s a pretty good decoy.
Of course, it won’t do any good if I’m still standing beside it when Ares gets here.
I send my decoy sprinting off into the craggy plains and hills of the Fifth Gate, running flat out as if fleeing for her life.
And then I find the closest thing to cover I can, wrap the horrible bloody light of the Underworld around myself and vanish from view.
I do some deep breathing, drawing my magic back into myself, dimming my glow so as to not give myself away. I’ve been practicing that a lot since I arrived in this awful place. Aphrodite told me to hide, to stay small, and try to sneak through. Someone else pointed out how stupid that advice was. All of my power comes from Aphrodite herself, and nothing about my mother equates to blending into the background.
But then, she never expected me to succeed. She expected me to get scared and beg her to rescue me, and then she expected me to return to Olympus and forget all about Janie.
Hell, she even gave me a get out of jail free card. At the thought, I touch the diamond on the choker that sits at the hollow of my throat. I just have to activate it, and I’ll be brought home, right to my mother’s own garden.
And I’ll never see Janie again.
I can feel Ares coming, closer and closer. Is he doing that on purpose? Does he want me to know, to be afraid? Or is he just used to announcing his presence? I guess if you’re the God of War, you don’t really get the title by slinking around and trying to go unnoticed.
Within a split-second, his presence is all but on top of me, like a thunderstorm touching down. The air is alive with power, pulsing around me, and I don’t even dare to breathe in case he notices me.
A second goes by. Another. My heart is slamming against the inside of my ribs like a bird desperate to escape a cage.
And then the thunder and blood threat of a presence moves away, and I realize he’s taken the bait. He’s following my decoy out into the wilds of the Fifth Gate. I almost don’t dare to believe it. What if it’s a trick to get me to reveal myself?
But the power moves away, and fades, and my knees sag, turning to water with sheer relief.
There’s no time to waste. Janie’s soul is here, somewhere, and I need to find it and fast.
Four days left.
Plus, I have no idea how long my decoy spell is going to last. If Ares actually catches it, he’ll figure it out pretty freaking fast.
I poke my head out of my cover, but there’s nothing but craggy hills and slowly flowing lava. I need a vantage point, somewhere that I can actually get my bearings.
Scrambling up the side of one of the hills is super fun. At least the porous, bubble holes in the stone make it easier for me to get a grip. I take an almost perverse pleasure in what the climb is doing to my manicure, though. If I ever make it back home, my agent, Renfield, is going to have a stroke. Assuming he hasn’t already dropped me for buggering off for a solid month.
Fuck ‘em. But not literally, because, blech.
Of course, that’s assuming I don’t get myself killed by a vengeful god, which I’m really trying not to think about too much, because if I actually do the math and accept that there is a very good chance I’m going to get murdered in the next, say, half hour, then I’ll probably curl up into a snotty little ball and never move again.
I mean, who am I kidding? Even my own mother doesn’t think I can pull this off. She was terrified to send me, not because she was worried about my wellbeing or anything, but because if I got myself ganked, then she’d look bad, and that would get really inconvenient for her.
I’m not built for fighting. I’m not the heroic kind of demi-deity like Hercules, and even he had a rough go of it. I’m just me, Penelope. People pay me to literally stand around and look pretty while they drape clothes on me. My own Agent doesn’t even see me as a person, just a set of boobs and dollar signs.
I clutch the side of the crag and squeeze my eyes shut, fighting to get control of my breathing. The air is coming out in ragged bursts, and if I don’t actually fill my lungs, I’m going to hyperventilate and pass out.
No. No, screw this.
I’m not going to let them make me doubt myself now. I’ve crawled through four levels of the Underworld already. I’ve gone toe to toe with Fallen Daemons who thought they were gods, and I killed them all to restore the rightful rulers of the Gardens. Sure, I had help, but the point is that I still did it. And Janie is waiting for me, someone who deserves to have her life back—to marry her fiancé who loves her so, so much. To change the world, to have kids, to grow old.
