Page 17 of The Fifth Gate

She reaches out with her free hand, and her fingers brush the Relic of the Second Garden still around my throat. “I’ll leave a tiny portion of my essence inside the necklace. The rest of me will remain here, and bolstered by your power, it will convince the War God that you are still in this room. If I am discovered, I’ll be able to simply use my connection to flee to the necklace to warn you. Similarly, if you were to need me, or you were to find Arawn, you could summon me with it.”

That’s actually pretty genius. I’d be happier about it if we weren’t in a literal life and death and already dead kind of situation. Honestly, I’m still not thrilled by the idea of leaving Rhiannon behind in my place. She might not think Ares could hurt her, but that’s not a risk I really want to take.

On the other hand, I have literally no other ideas on how to get out of here, and last time I checked, I only had three days to rescue Janie. That might seem like a lot, but time moves wonky in the Underworld. Three days could be a hundred years. It could also be fifteen minutes.

I wish I had more time. Not just because Janie’s existence is hanging in the balance, but because with more time maybe I’d actually have a chance to talk Ares into understanding I’m not the enemy. He’s a big, murderous idiot, but I think, if we had the chance, we could help each other.

As mad as I am, it’s going to be hard to leave him trapped here for who knows how long.

I don’t have any good choices.

“Okay,” I say, hating myself a little. “If you’re sure.”

Rhiannon nods and squares her shoulders. “I am.”

Of course, she is. I sigh. “Then let’s do this.”

We start with a hug.

Yes, I know it sounds a bit silly, but it allows our auras to touch. I let my magic seep out, just a little. There’s no point to hiding it entirely. I mean, Ares is pretty obviously aware that I’m here. But pressed in close, my divinity is strong enough to cast Rhiannon’s smaller light into shadow.

From there, it’s just a matter of weaving that power together and pulling it around her like a cloak made out of sunbeams. In return, she clasps the pendant with one hand, her brow furrowing with effort as she goes about leaving a tiny bit of herself behind.

She winces and tries to hide it. I didn’t think this would hurt her, but what do I know? Now I feel like a giant asshole for not even thinking of it. It can’t be comfortable to split a piece of yourself off and into some object.

Once our energy is mingled, we shuffle over to the door together, like the world’s most awkward three-legged race, and with a tiny flex of power and a brush of my fingers, I convince the door to let me pass.

Letting go is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Closing the door on Rhiannon’s small, sad smile is worse. The door slips back into place with a sigh. It feels like it should boom, like it should rattle the walls like when Ares kicked it in earlier. But there isn’t even a click.

I take a deep breath that only shakes a little on the way out and scrub my palms over my thighs. There will be time for guilt and recriminations later. I mean, I hope there will be. But I’ve got a plan, and Rhiannon is trusting me, so it’s time to get to it.

NINE

PEN

Unfortunately, Ares’s stupid castle is full of identical hallways and dim lighting.

Seriously, it’s like trying to find your way inside of an ant hill, except instead of ants, it’s crawling with some of the strongest warriors and soldiers of the history of the world, so that’s a fun little added bit of stress. I’d rather deal with ants, because I’m pretty sure I could take an ant in a fight.

Unfortunately, I didn’t have much of a chance to watch my surroundings while I was being dragged through the palace, so I’m now worrying that I’m not going to be able to find Janie again, at least not easily. And I’m paranoid to even extend my senses, because doing so will blow my cover on the whole ‘Penelope is still locked in her room’ fake out. It’s all I can do to keep my breathing even and not just run through the hallways in a panic, checking every doorway and alcove I can find.

I found Janie once. I just need to calm down and pay attention and I’ll find her again. I hope.

I inch down a corridor, keeping a sharp ear and eye out for any of the guard patrols, so when I hear Ares snarl something from around the corner, there’s a second where I almost leap out of my own skin like toothpaste in a tube that’s been squeezed too hard.

I flatten myself against the wall, my pulse beating hard like it’s trying to tear itself free and escape. There’s nowhere else to hide, and if Ares comes around the corner, he’ll see me, and then I’m so, so very screwed.

It’s not until I hear someone respond in a quiet voice that I can’t make out that I realize that Ares is actually talking to someone, not just stalking his castle halls like some kind of Gothic villain. I inch closer and peek around the corner to take a look. If Ares is distracted by someone or something, all the better for me.

Around the next curve in the hallway is a massive arching doorway that, from the extreme sideways angled peek I’m willing to take, looks like it leads to a throne room. There are two statues flanking the entrance, their edges blurred and softened, like they’ve been exposed to wind and rain for so long that most of their details have been smoothed away. There’s enough left of them though that I can make out two women in long gowns, their heads covered in either hoods, or maybe old-fashioned mourning veils. Their hands are clasped together against their chests, and I have no idea why, but the sight of them makes my heart give a painful, bruised throb.

I nudge one of the statues, ready to leap back just in case it comes to life or something. But it’s either really good at the long con, or it’s actually just a statue. When I’m reasonably sure it’s not going to come to life and scare the f out of me, I press up beside one, hiding in the sweep of her skirts and the shadows they cast in the flickering red light. Doing so gives me a bit more of a view of the room beyond. I can see the edge of a throne up on a dais, made entirely out of old, pitted, rusted metal. I find myself focusing on a pile of weapons that look like they were left in a heap and just rusted into place, accidentally forming a chair.

I might be an immortal Demi-goddess, and immune to virtually all illness and disease, but you better believe I wouldn’t put my body anywhere near that tetanus armchair.

Ares apparently doesn’t have a problem with it. At least I’m willing to bet that the leg I see from the knee down belongs to him. He’s slumped back, one clenched fist resting on the halberd blade that forms the throne’s armrest. Pottery Barn it is not.

“I should have known.”

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