Page 7 of The Fifth Gate

Thinking about Ares, my anger gutters. It doesn’t vanish; I’m still wickedly pissed. Every time I think about what happened to my sister, all I can see are her big blue eyes, filled with worry, telling me I should do something that makes me happy. And then the horrible, desperate animal sound of pain her fiancé, Christopher, made when he called me to tell me she was gone, and then I just want to bite something and scream sob.

But then… I do see it from Ares’s side too: if someone trapped me in literal Hell, you’re damned right I’d want revenge. I can’t exactly blame Ares for being furious with Aphrodite. I’m just pissed with his plan.

The crappiest part is: we don’t even have to be on opposite sides. If he could give up on his whole ‘murder Pen’ plot, we might be able to help each other. But now I have no time, and if I had to pick, I’d choose Janie all the way. I can’t help but regret the circumstances a little, though.

FOUR

PEN

The scuff of booted feet against the stone causes me to jerk back and duck into a shallow recession in the wall.

It’s just enough clearance that the guards marching past along the intersection of the two hallways don’t seem to notice me. I hold my breath until the sound retreats, and think really, really hard about no one noticing me. My magic isn’t good at subtle, quiet things, but in a pinch, I can do it. Of course, if I have to result to magic, I’m going to need to be able to grab Janie and run, because my magic will give me away in a spectacular fashion.

I bite my lip, and tilt the mirror around the corner, checking that the coast is, in fact, clear.

How am I even going to find Janie, anyway? Without magic, I’m kind of just stumbling around playing the most one-sided game of Marco Polo in the world. The light the mirror showed me up on the crag looked kind of central in the keep, but the place is huge so that doesn’t really narrow it down a whole lot.

I’m soclose. I’ve come so far. I can’t fail now. How much time do I have left? Will I even know it if I run out? Gods, don’t let me run out.

I turn down another damn hallway that looks just the same as all the other damn hallways. It has to be on purpose. Is this why there are so few guards? Because anyone who actually gets inside would become hopelessly lost in the stupid identical hallways and be lost forever?

Never mind my deadline, how much longer is Ares going to be fooled by the decoy me? He’s going to figure it out sooner or later, and probably sooner. Honestly, I’m shocked it’s bought me as much time as it has. I probably have Hades to thank for that. His power is a lot more potent than mine down here. Like, a lot more. Probably more than Ares’s, too.

Frustration boils in my belly, making it feel like there’s a fist around it, squeezing tight. I have to grit my teeth together, because if I open my mouth, I don’t know if a scream will come out, or just bile.

Just when I’m ready to say screw it and use magic and give myself away, I get a flicker of my sister’s presence.

It’s so small, so subtle, that for a second, I’m terrified I’m just imagining it. Quieter than a sigh, the murmur of my name. The ghost of her favorite perfume, something with a delicate lilac scent. That ineffable feeling that lets you know when you walk into a room whether it’s empty or not.

Janie. It’s her. I know it is.

I take a few steps forward. Back. My head tilts up like a bloodhound, following the sweet smell of lilacs. It takes some trial and error, and I almost walk past the door at first, since it’s the same color as the walls and floor and who the hell designed this place, a termite?

There’s another patrol coming, I can hear their feet moving in unison like an aggressive three-legged race, and I scramble at the door, looking for a way in. There’s no knob, no ring, nothing to open it. I finally just dig my already ruined nails into the crack between it and the wall and push as hard as I can.

It opens just enough for me to squeeze through, and the door swings silently closed behind me. Only then do I let out the breath that’s aching in my lungs.

This room isn’t the creepy shadow and blood of the rest of the castle. It’s lit by a soft silver radiance, and my heart is already doing its best to squeeze up into my throat as I turn around.

Janie.

Pale light flickers and rolls like a fog bank in the form of a woman. Her golden hair is washed to snow as it floats around her still face. Gone is the sweatshirt and jeans and polka dot socks I saw her in last. Now she’s wrapped in something that looks like a cross between a dress and a shroud. It floats around her like she’s underwater, covering her from her collarbone to the tips of her toes, leaving her neck and shoulders bare.

She looks like she’s sleeping, eyes closed. She’s strangely peaceful. I guess she’s technically dead, so the whole sleeping bit makes sense. It looks like Ares is keeping her in some kind of suspended animation, so she’s unaware of what’s going on around her, and some part of me is actually grateful for it. I don’t want her to see the little room she’s being kept in like a dusty antique. I don’t want her to know she’s dead and playing the part of hostage. I don’t want her to be afraid.

Oh, gods, Janie.

Tears burn the corner of my eyes, threatening to spill if I as much as blink. She’s here, she’s really here.

I’d come to Hell for her. I’d fought my way through everything, come so far, overcome Fallen Daemons, mountains, volcanoes, ice mazes, memory eating fog. I made it. But part of me never really thought I would. Never thought I’d see her again. No one thought I could do it, not me, not mother. Maybe Adonis did. Yet here she is, right in front of me, and I’m going to save her. I’m going to take herhome.

I take a step forward, and my legs totter like I’m an old woman. A tear burns its trembling path down my cheek.

She’s here. She’s really here. She’s right in front of me, and all I have to do is reach out and touch her and take my sister home.

My hand trembles as I reach out. Will she feel cold? Rhiannon doesn’t, just cool, but she also seems a lot more solid than Janie. Is it something that Ares has done to her? Janie looks almost more mist than woman. Will she just feel like air? Like I’m passing my hand through a cloud?

My fingertips are just about to brush the side of her face, when an iron grip clamps down on my shoulder and tears me away. My blood goes cold, my stomach dropping down somewhere around my feet.

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