Page 16 of The Prince of Hidden Shadows
Unruffled, he slides the rounded object back into his pocket. My interest is piqued.
The elevator doesn’t stop until we arrive at my floor. Safe and sound. About to step out, it gives a sudden jolt as he opens the twisting wrought-iron vines gate. I wish him a good day.
How can I resist?
On impulse, I bump my shoulder into his on my way out and pretend it’s due to the commotion. My true nature takes the forefront, and I expertly slip my hands into his jacket pocket. I’m too gifted for him to have fathomed what my fisted hand is holding. Could it be a gold coin? If so, it’ll be worth a lot.
Within my next breath, the ground is swept from my feet. Falling. My vision struggles to adapt due to overwhelmingdarkness. Falling. The tumult of zillion people’s voices overwhelms me. Falling… as if sucked into nothingness.
My heart is about to explode from the myriad of terrifying sensations. Gasping, I eventually land, or rather softly bump in a heap, with Zagreus standing by my side. His gaze morphs into a mix of shock and anger. My lungs ache as I catch my breath, touching my body and face to make sure that there’s no missing parts, then avoid him to process what just happened. I blankly stare at the ocean before me that looks nothing like Princedelphia’s boardwalk.
Eyes bulging out of their sockets, I blurt out in a strangled voice, “What’s this place?” My astonishment rises with his answer.
“My home.”
Chapter Seven
PERFUME OF THE TIMELESS
Zagreus
Catching Charon’s gaze from afar, I don’t dare intervene. My heart tightens at the fucked-up situation I find myself in. He shakes his head in disbelief and mouths a silent, “Again?” to which I shrug. My thoughts exactly.
Standing on his boat, my friend’s hands are clenched on his oar. Too bad he’s about to leave the shores with a group of the deceased; I would have preferred dealing with this human together.
Granted, Charon’s appearance can unsettle humans. He claims it gives the newly dead a taste of what might await them. A somber nod is his usual greeting—quiet disapproval, as if their lives spoke for themselves and the destination was sealed. His words are scarce, and he never mentions the gentler corners of the Underworld—not that he’s judging, of course; that part’s above his pay grade. His role is to collect the obol and ferry them across. The rest—what they assume, what they fear—he leaves hanging.
But I see him for what he is: a hard-working, dedicated, and honest god. We share the same values—only he thrives on this part of it. Me? I picked a look and stuck with it. Don’t care how humans read me. I don’t intend to scare them off, nor do I wish for them to glimpse my godly face. Sure, it wouldn’t matter—they’re already dead. Still, showing my true self feels too… personal. As for Charon’s grim look, I don’t rag on him. I don’t envy his stressful job.
My friend waves goodbye, and I’m left with a stranger to deal with. Maybe it’s for the best.
Back in the elevator, he looked confident, but right now, he’s got a whole new countenance.
Pale face. Wide eyes. Quivering body.
At once, the young man lifts his arms and covers his ears with his hands. The Underworld embodies both blazing chaos and timeless hush. Too many souls. Not enough time. Too much to take in.
Mouth gaping, he turns away, his audible swallow barely covered by the sound of his boots squeaking on the dark sand. This isn’t how it was supposed to unfold. Processing what got us here, I keep my big mouth shut. I’m not in the mood to explain yet.
His light brown eyes dart around the oppressive and somewhat cavernous space. The torches lining the banks cast a shadowy amber glow. As much as it feels likedéjà vu, this situation doesn’t compare with that of Nathan Price. I didn’t propel Nathan into my world. He didn’t freak out. We didn’t bother with the basics.
Minutes later, the man spins on his heel to face me, his jaw slack. “What the hell is this?” he demands, his voice faltering. “I’m sorry, but no. This is—this is not possible. I was just in…” He frowns, dropping his arms to his sides and sliding his shaking hands into his pants pockets. “Did you drug me?”
“You got some nerve accusingme, young man. You’re here because you screwed up!” I snap, incapable of reining in my annoyance. My hand twitches, aching to slap his charming face.
“Me?” he dares. His head lolls from side to side. “I?—”
I can’t take it anymore, so I cut him off. “You stole from me, asshole.”
His mouth quirks up.
“The coin,” I say. “And it’s not rocket science, man. You took it from the wrong person.”
“It’s a golden coin, for Christ’s sake!” His voice jumps an octave. “What’s that got to do with… whatever this place is?”
“Home,” I say, glancing at him. “I told you—this is home. My home…”
A hollow laugh escapes him as he runs a hand through his hair, sweeping the area again like he’s trying to jolt himself awake. “Nope. Nope, nope, nope. This coin can’t be some kinda token for the Highway to Hell… I didn’t sign up for this.”
