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  “I do not care for what your words imply, Dark One,” Hades warned.

  “I am merely noting that, if it were I who had had something of great value stolen while under my care and protection, I would not rest until I knew whose death to seek in retribution.”

  “Do not mistake my tact in this matter for an attempt at misdirection. I can assure you that the party responsible for this disruption is never far from my mind.”

  “Then you know who it is,” Oz pressed while he moved to stand behind me. Close behind me.

  Hades said nothing, only stared over me at Oz. When he was done silently warring with him, his eyes returned to mine.

  “We will soon know more, I am certain,” he assured me, giving my hand a light squeeze. “In the meantime, I want to know more about what happened to you. I was so worried.”

  “It has been an eventful few days,” I told him, pulling my hand away from his. “The Dark One who took me left me in Detroit, which is a city of veritable squalor filled with seedy supernaturals and copious amounts of evil. However, within minutes of my arrival, one of my brothers—a high-ranking member of the PC—found me, as I mentioned before. It was rather serendipitous, though he initially tried to kill me.” Hades’ dark eyes quickly turned to bottomless pits of rage at my words. My explanation was doing little to portray my siblings in a favorable light. “It was not his fault. He had mistaken me for something else. Once he realized both who and what I was, he took me to meet the others, and from that point on they all worked to protect me while sorting out precisely what had happened to me and why.”

  “And what did they come up with?”

  “Nothing but conjecture, though I imagine you already know the answers.”

  His eyes softened yet again.

  “There were things I could not tell you, Khara, though not because I did not wish to.”

  “The binding covenant,” I stated plainly. “It kept you from sharing certain details and information.”

  “Precisely.”

  “And now that it is broken?”

  “I can share what I know, though I fear that, in light of what you have already learned from your time above, what I am able to share will offer you little.”

  “Why was I given to Demeter?”

  “The exact reasons are not known to me. That was before my involvement with you, Khara. I never asked Demeter why you were left in her care, and she never volunteered the information.”

  “You do not know my mother, then?”

  “I know of your mother by reputation alone. That is all.”

  “You have never met her?”

  “No.”

  “What can you tell me about her?” I asked, my voice carrying the sudden frustration I felt.

  “Her name is Celia. She used to reign in the world of the Light Ones. She was fierce but merciful. Tales of her skill as a warrior have long been told. Many have come to the Underworld by her sword.”

  Celia . . . I rolled her name over in my mind. It was familiar to me. Oz had said it once on the rooftop of the Victorian. He had spoken to her as if she could hear him.

  “You use the past tense when you speak of her,” I observed. “Is she no longer these things?”

  “I have not heard her name spoken for centuries,” Father hedged, his expression faltering for a moment. “Not since the time surrounding your birth.” There was an apology in his stare, though I could not yet gather why.

  “You know what you need to about her,” Oz cut in gruffly, his body brushing against my back. My mind and body had conflicting responses to his proximity.

  “Which is little more than nothing.”

  “Precisely.”

  “Was she Dark?” I asked, addressing the room. I cared not whom the answer came from. Though I knew deep down that she must have been, I wanted the confirmation. I needed it.

  Oz became still behind me. I could no longer feel his breath in my hair.

  Father, however, exhaled heavily, preparing to speak.

  “There were rumors—speculation about how the Queen of the Light had been . . . tainted,” he started. I felt Oz’s chest rumble against my back. “Persephone alluded to Ares having courted Celia, luring her to a life she was not intended to live. After that, her name was never mentioned in connection with the Light. And only a few months after that, you would have been born.”

  “And then?”

  “I have heard no mention of her since.”

  I absorbed the weight of his unspoken words.

  “You think she is dead.”

  “That is my belief—”

  “My brother, Sean, said that Celia—our mother—had sent him a message, warning him that I was in danger.”

  “Khara,” he said in a tone meant to placate me, “you, above all others, should know that the dead can send word to the living.”

  “He said she came to someone he trusted implicitly in a dream. That is not how the dead communicate.”

  “That is not how the damned communicate, my princess. You know not of how the saved return to those they once loved.”

  “But if she had been Dark and she was eliminated, she would be here,” I contested, the slightest hint of anger polluting my tone.

  “Perhaps,” Hades replied with a shrug. “Dark Ones cannot be slain easily, for I have none residing with me. And since they are far from being saved, they would not go elsewhere.” His piteous eyes bore through mine, willing me to see the truth he was convinced of. “I do not believe that your mother ever was Dark, Khara. I believe that unfounded story was used to cover up her disappearance from the Light while Ares held her captive. And, once finished with her, Ares did what he does so elegantly.”

  “Which is?”

  “Tie up loose ends.”

  Again he reached for me, taking my hand in his to draw me closer. The moment my weight shifted toward him, Oz’s hand clamped down on my shoulder, holding me where I stood. Hades’ eyes flashed with rage when they locked with Oz’s, but then calmed when they fell back to mine.

  “Your mother has returned to her home, though in a different form. She is in the care of her kind now. You should find peace in that.”

  “You should not attest to things you cannot possibly know,” Oz warned, pushing himself in front of me to stand defiantly before my father. “Celia is not dead. She is far from it. And there are other places to go upon death, Soul Keeper. Places far more dire than even here. I am confident you know this.”

  Hades’ whole body tensed. The name with which Oz addressed him had insulted him.

  “How could you possibly know where she is, fallen one? They do not allow your kind in the realm of the Light. Especially not when you are what you have allowed yourself to become. You are a disgrace to the Light. A stain on their pristine wings.”

  I did not need to see the look on Oz’s face to know the satisfaction he felt when he delivered his rebuttal.

  “Luckily, I do not need to return to my former home to confirm she is not there. Your daughter is living proof that she is not yet dead.” Without further ado, Oz turned me around abruptly, tearing the back of my shirt open with his hands. “These,” he said, harshly outlining my markings, “contain some very surprising and damning evidence that contradicts your contention. I have seen what they contain—what lies beneath is far from a shade of pure white.”

  “He speaks the truth, Father,” I said, still facing away from him.

  “No,” Hades stated defiantly. “If you have indeed taken after your mother and have been gifted with wings, they are wings of the Light. They have to be.”

  “Show him, Khara,” Oz demanded while his eyes remained fixed on my father’s. “Show him he’s wrong.”

  I looked over my shoulder, my eyes darting between the two imposing figures. It was clear that neither would be content until I showed them what my mother had bestowed upon me, blessing or curse that they might prove to be. With no further hesitation, I did as Oz had instructed me. Focusing on the extension of my st
ill-unfamiliar appendages, just as he had taught me, I forced them through my raw and healing wounds. He said it would take time for the openings in my back to scar over, which would make the emergence less painful. I looked forward to that occurrence.

  The burning that I had felt when they had initially sprung forth returned, unwelcome though it was. I masked my pain with a placid expression while my wings spread fully behind me, their collective breadth spanning more than ten feet. I glanced behind me to confirm their shade. My gaze took in the mottled-gray color I expected. The black was gone. It had been ever since I saved Oz.

  Saved him or condemned him.

  Carefully, I turned to face Hades, whose facial expression conveyed his disbelief. His hand drifted up to trace a feather of one of my wings. Judging by his reaction when he saw me observing his gentle act, he had been unaware that his hand had risen to do so.

  “What are these?” he whispered to himself.

  “Aside from the obvious, no clue,” Oz answered. “She is an enigma. I have never seen anything like her.”

  “The Light have not claimed you?” Hades asked, his eyebrows drawing together. He looked utterly befuddled.

  “No one has come for me,” I answered plainly.

  My reply was met with a low rumbling from Oz.

  “I came for you.”

  A sound in the hall snapped my father from his disbelief and Oz from his growing anger at my oversight. Panic overtook Hades instantly.

  “Put them away!” Hades ordered, pointing at my wings while he reached for the lock on the door. “Put them away immediately and do not release them again while you are here. Do you understand me?”

  I tried to do as he bade me, but withdrawing the vast gray wings back inside me was challenging at best. At worst, it was an exercise in futility. While I struggled to put them back from whence they came, Oz stormed the door and my father, defiantly spreading his own dark appendages. He had not bothered to hide them upon entering the Underworld, and why would he? He was both feared and respected because of them. To discard such an advantage would have been lunacy.

  “Make them go,” Oz growled, his voice low while he leaned his ear to the door, his dominating form crowding Hades. Father looked as if he were going to tear Oz apart, piece by piece. Feather by feather.

  By the time the great door buckled under the weight of the one trying to open it, I had almost succeeded in withdrawing the wings that would so clearly give me away. Focusing on the task before me, I pushed through the excruciating pain and retracted the last of them through the openings along my shoulder blades, leaving no trace of my newfound appendages, except for the healing scars. Oz’s lessons in how to do so had paid off. With a gasp, I stood up straight, swallowing what remained of the burning pain in my back.

  “Hades?” a woman’s voice called. I turned to face the door, doing my best to situate the remnants of my tattered shirt behind me as I did. My wings would have certainly given me away, but my markings could have easily aroused suspicion in anyone curious enough to notice. And the Underworld was full of darkly curious creatures. “What is the meaning of this door being locked? And please do explain why things have suddenly gone so silent around here.”

  When I nodded to Hades that it was safe to open the door, he did so in a flash while Oz made his way back to my side.

  “My love, I am so sorry. We were just discussing private matters. You surely understand,” he gushed, sweeping the door wide open for the one I still could not see. A moment later, in walked a stunning woman, her dark hair intricately woven far down her back and adorned with gold. She wore lengths of red silk, wrapped about her in the ways of old. Whoever she was, she had not modernized over the centuries. She was a vision of the greater times, when Mount Olympus still reigned. Her dark, heavily rimmed eyes fell on Oz as she looked about the room, and a wicked smile marred her otherwise studied expression. Then they landed on me.

  Her smile fell instantly.

  “You,” she said softly, though there was little warmth in her tone. “Who are you?”

  “Persephone,” Hades called, rushing to her side. With a calming hand on the small of her back, he introduced me. “This is your adopted sister, Khara.”

  At the mention of my name, her expression softened slightly.

  “And here I thought you had finally decided to become a bit more adventurous in the bedroom. . . . I would have never forgiven you if you had done so without me.”

  Again, her eyes fell heavily on Oz, who stood stoically under a gaze that promised more than it should have, especially in my father’s presence. I had long heard rumors that his wife was unfaithful, taking up with whomever she could whenever possible, but I assumed they were false. My father adored Persephone. I could not imagine him being so in love with someone who was allegedly a flagrant whore.

  “So, sister,” she said, reaffixing her gaze upon me and stepping toward me elegantly. There was a sense of grandeur about her, a regal quality that was befitting of her position. “Let me look at you.” She swept her arms wide, and I turned for her slowly. “She is stunning. Her eyes—so green. I have only once seen a pair so vibrant.”

  “She is special,” Hades added, a hint of a proud smile tugging at his lips.

  “Indeed,” Persephone purred. “But what on Earth has happened to her clothing? You allow her to dress like a human, and a poor one at that? Tattered clothing? Really, Hades. I think you could provide better for her, could you not?”

  “She dresses as she chooses. And as for the state of her shirt,” he began cautiously, “the Dark One is to blame for that.”

  Persephone’s eyes widened with pleasure, taking in every inch of Oz. She seemed delighted by his alleged deviant nature.

  “And who, pray tell, is this Dark One, sister? A friend of yours?” Her hooded eyes remained fixed on Oz, his bare chest accentuated by the dancing firelight in the room. While she took him in, his wings twitched. He appeared irritated by her. One look at his face confirmed that suspicion in an instant.

  “He is unimportant, and he is also leaving,” Hades cut in, not allowing Oz or me the opportunity to answer Persephone.

  She smiled widely at his interruption.

  “Now, now, dear. No need to be so testy,” she drawled, turning her body to press against him. Taking his hand in hers, she continued to stare at Oz in all his winged glory. “He is Khara’s friend, no? We should be a tad more hospitable, do you not agree?”

  Hades looked down at her, and she turned her chin up toward him, wearing a pleading look on her face. Hades’ emotions played out in his countenance. He did not agree, that was plain, but he seemed unwilling to go against his wife’s wishes, however ill-conceived they might be.

  “He is still here. Is that not hospitality in and of itself?” he countered. Her amusement with his reply was evidenced by the sparkle in her dark eyes.

  “So generous,” she purred, slowly pulling away from him to look back to Oz and me. “Now, I came looking for Hades because I was ever so curious about the Great Hall, which is now full of unmoving souls. I could not help but wonder how that came to be.” Her eyes fell heavily on me. “Might you two have something to do with that?”

  “That was my doing, love,” Hades cut in. “I had called forth various souls whom I thought could be of use in the search for Khara—souls that might have had an understanding of where the Dark One would have taken her. I left them unsupervised for only minutes, wanting to get Deimos to question them with me; then I heard the ruckus brewing and Khara calling for me once it was silenced.”

  “Silenced? How curious. Tell me, will you leave them to stand there paralyzed for eternity?” Persephone gently pressed.

  “No. I shall get Deimos to dispatch them to their rightful fields now.”

  Persephone turned to face my father, pulling lightly on his arm to force his face closer to hers. She kissed him lightly on the cheek, then whispered in his ear.

  “Where has he gone?” he asked her, pulling away from h
er with surprise. Her eyes fell on me heavily, and Hades’ followed.

  “Back above to find her.”

  Hades pressed his lips together in a look of utter frustration.

  “That complicates things,” he began. Persephone pulled him close again, speaking softly into his ear. He nodded once in agreement with whatever she had said and then headed toward the door. “I shall go and address the situation in the Great Hall,” he said, stopping by the exit to address me. “I will dine with you later, my princess. We have much to talk about.”

  I inclined my head in a show of respect to my father. Oz did not move. Once the door closed behind him, Persephone turned back toward us, a wicked smile on her face.

  “Now,” she said, clasping her hands in front of her. “Shall we get to know one another better? I have heard so much about you, sister. But I would like to observe you myself and draw my own conclusions. I do so hate to be misinformed.”

  She approached me, keeping her eyes focused intently on me. Their depth was mesmerizing. It was only when Oz stepped in front of me, blocking her from my view, that I came back to myself.

  “I think Khara is otherwise engaged for the night,” Oz rumbled, his tone a warning.

  “Aw, pity that,” Persephone replied. I could hear the pout she feigned in her voice. She bent down so that she could peek beneath Oz’s outstretched wings. “I will come find you later then, sister.”

  Without awaiting my response, she disappeared behind the ominous veil of Oz’s black wings and walked out of the room, the sound of her soft footfalls accompanying her departure. Once they faded, Oz turned and faced me, his deep brown eyes searching mine.

  “I think it’s time for you to give me a tour of this place, starting with your room.”

  A rush of blood surged through me at his words. I quickly stifled it.

  “You do not trust her?” I questioned.

  “No,” he replied firmly. “Persephone is many things, but trustworthy is hardly one of them.”

  “Do you trust anyone?” I countered, knowing that during the time I had originally become familiar with him—when he was simply fallen, not Dark—he was wary of virtually everyone surrounding him. Everyone but me. I seemed to provide him with an unending source of amusement and intrigue.