Page 55 of A Single Thread Of Hope

“Let’s not pretend we are old friends. Why are you here?”

Sighing, Apollo took a deep sip of his coffee, then grabbed a pastry. “Mmmm, these mortals still know how to cook.” Little flakes of pastry flew from his lips. If only the people who wrote epic poems about him could see him now. “I wanted to say how sorry I am about the loss of Wren. I might have only met her for a moment, but she made an impression.”

Nothing was more true than that. I’d wanted her as soon as I saw her, and I’d loved her as soon as I got to know her soul. Her death… I pushed away the pain again. That was for later, when we weren’t face-to-face with a potential threat.

“Thank you,” Demke said stiffly.

Apollo inclined his head. “I’m not sure if you know this—and I assume you don’t, given your jibes—but I love my children. I didn’t get to see Cydon for centuries, and now I’ve lost him before I got to truly reconnect with him.”

The stories of the things Apollo would do for his children were whispered about among Mythics. Getting Hades to goagainst Zeus for Asclepius was only the most commonly known. As a general rule, Gods didn’t make good parents, too jealous of someone coming close to them in power, but Apollo broke the mold. Even if he did have a ton of children.

“So if you need a selfish reason to attribute this to, let it be that. I want my son back after a few thousand years. I don’t want another child stuck in the Underworld forever. I’m sure you’ve talked to Hades, and he’s told you that without asking Zeus”—his scoff told me what he thought of asking the King of the Gods for anything—“getting anyone out of the Underworld is impossible.

“But, Demke, my friend, we both know that nothing is impossible. We are old Mythics with an abundance of long-standing feuds and favors. I may have whispered in a few ears, suggested a few things, to helpmaybeget your girl back to you. I can’t tell you what, in case I change the weave, but I don’t want you to lose hope yet. He stood, grabbing another sweet pastry. “And don’t bury your dead just yet. A long mourning period would be best for all, if you want my opinion.” Smiling, he downed the last of his coffee. “I’ll leave you to it. I know you’re probably busy, and I have a date with a warrior Goddess who hates my guts.”

I tried not to let the hope that fluttered in my chest take root. Not yet, not until I knew that Apollo wasn’t just fucking with us, rubbing salt in our wounds. Demke watched Apollo leave, his face pensive.

“Do you think he’s speaking the truth?”

He shrugged. “We both know the word of other Mythics is worse than shit, and the ancient Greeks are the worst of all.” My heart sank a little, the hope fleeing as melancholy returned. “But still, what does he have to gain from us not burying Wren? Nothing.”

We sat in silence and ate the remaining pastries, lost in thoughts and memories, and clutching tightly to the single thread of hope our mortal enemy had just offered.

Chapter 30

WREN

There was no doubt in my mind that the being in front of me was the God of Death. Well,aGod of Death. I was learning there was more than one of those.

Fea bowed lightly, and because I wasn’t an idiot, I followed her lead. “Sir, this is Wren Mahone, of the human realm. My very first soul to guide. Wren, this is Donn. Welcome to Tech Duinn.”

Donn was huge. He stood at least eight feet tall, with shoulders probably as wide as a compact car. His bare chest was covered in runes, which were like big black scars, and his robe hung to the ground, pooling at his feet. He had a short black beard and thick eyebrows.

Looking down at Fea, his face was impassive, but was that warmth in his expression? “And an important first soul at that, Fea.”

She looked over at me, like it hadn’t occurred to her that I could be anything but some average Joe from the mortal realm.

Donn, however, was already ushering us inside. “Come, stay and rest for a moment. There is a feast in the banquet hall; there’s quite an influx of souls at the moment. Full moon.”

Fea’s eyes lit up, and she moved through the darkened halls. Donn’s eyes followed her like she was the single source of light in the darkness of his days, though Fea seemed oblivious.

Shaking his head lightly, the Death God looked back down at me. “Come, Wren Mahone. We have much to talk about.”

I shot a quick look at Cy, who shrugged and ushered me along. It was disconcerting when a God of Death knew your name. He wasn’t exactly the Grim Reaper, but he was certainly terrifying in his own way.

The hallways were indeed bustling with people and servants. Some were souls, that much was obvious. They looked confused and lost, walking from room to room, asking other souls for directions. But some were Mythics, and the longer I was down here, the easier I saw the difference. Dead people looked like a faded picture exposed to too much light—lots of detail, but somehow less. Dim and chipped, even. But Mythics like Fea and Cy? They still glowed like the day they were painted, a technicolor rainbow.

It felt like we were walking forever, but finally, we followed Fea into a cavernous room filled with long tables of food and wine. A huge fireplace, easily the size of a Manhattan apartment building, took up one whole wall, and there were wiry-looking dogs sleeping in front of it. People were everywhere, some standing and talking, drinking mead and laughing, others staring at nothing, their faces a mask of confusion. Still more sat at the long tables of food, gorging themselves on the platters of meats, vegetables, and breads.

Donn indicated an empty table right at the back of the room that was currently unoccupied. It was obviously a table for important people; they’d be able to see the whole room and have their back against a wall. “This way. Fea, you’ll be joining us, of course?”

Fea gave us a bright, happy smile. “Of course, my lord. First, I just want to see Caoimhe in the kitchen and see if she has any of her special sugar cakes for my very first guided soul.”

Donn nodded, and I swear, I saw his lip twitch. Did the Celtic God of Death have a crush on the little warrior Goddess? They were like polar opposites, but somehow, they were perfect. Maybe they were already a couple, but she seemed more reverent than lovestruck.

Leading us to the table, Donn took a seat right in the middle chair, which was slightly raised above the others. There would be no doubt to anyone in the room that he was the God here. He indicated the seats on his left. “Please, sit, eat.”

Cy gave him a sharp look. “This food is given freely and comes without expectation or agreement of any kind, and won’t anchor us to Tech Duinn or Annwn?” Donn glared back at Cy, and I thought maybe he’d pissed off the God of Death.

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