“The berry compote made it.” Trident licks his lips. “The shortbread crumb was a fantastic addition for a crunch element. The black sesame seeds…” He widens his eyes. “I have to take my hat off to the chef. I want that recipe for my new restaurant. It opens in a couple of weeks.”
“Trident has several restaurants and nightclubs,” Death explains, putting his napkin on the table. He starts to fold it into squares.
“Oh, how interesting.” Twelve dabs her mouth with her napkin. “I will ask him to write it down for you.” She yawns. “I’m afraid this pregnancy is taking it out of me. It’s hard work growing a little cherub.”
More like a little demon.
Hades beams. “My boy is going to be big and strong.” He winks at Twelve. “That’s why he’s taking so much out of you.”
“You mean your daughter is going to be big and strong.” Twelve smiles.
“I mostly have sons.” He puts his arms around his wife. “I’m almost one hundred percent sure we’re having a boy.” He puts a hand on her belly.
“I think you’re wrong,” Twelve says; she yawns again. “I know you will be happy, no matter what.”
“Of course, I will.” I somehow don’t buy it. Hades wants a son. He’ll be disappointed if the baby is a girl. Might even eat the girl-child when Twelve isn’t looking. I wouldn’t put it past him. I’m not as naïve as I once was. Hades is pure evil. I know the signs.
“I’m afraid it’s past my bedtime,” Twelve says. “There’s a whole string of bedrooms down the hall. I had my staff put fresh towels and toiletries in all of them.”
“Wait a minute…” Hades has his eyes narrowed.
“Now, now honey, I invited them all to stay. They’re our guests. I want to show off how well our chef can prepare an Eggs Benedict.” She smiles at Death. “Let’s go to bed while I still have some strength.” She winks at her husband.
Hades grins at her. It’s the first real smile I’ve seen all night. “Okay, babe.”
“Eggs Benedict, my favorite,” Death says, ignoring any reference to sex.
Hades glowers. His whole stance is tense.
“I’m glad you’re coming to bed with me,” Twelve says in a singsong voice, her eyes on Hades. “My back is killing me, and you give the best rubs.” She presses her hands into her lower back, wincing. Then she winks at him again.
Hades keeps his narrowed eyes on Death. I have a feeling there will be repercussions for bringing us here. It makes me wonder what’s in it for Death. Why is he helping me? I trust him less and less, even though he seems nice. He might be the nicest person on the planet; pity his will is not his own. “Of course, sweets,” Hades says, turning his gaze to Twelve.
We all say our goodnights, and they leave.
Rage pushes his hand through his hair. It’s unruly from him doing that all night. What is he thinking? I can’t gauge.
“The two of you should share a room,” Death looks from me to Rage and back, “and the two of us will do the same…for safety’s sake,” Death says, glancing over at Trident.
Rage looks like he’d rather swim in shark-infested waters than share a room with me. He nods once, anyway. His jaw is tight. His whole body is vibrating with energy.
I’m tempted to ask to swap out for Trident, but I don’t want the big lug to get any ideas. I also feel safest when I’m with Rage. More than anything, I want to talk to him. I want to find out what the hell is going on. “Do we have to stay here?” I blurt. I already know the answer.
Death’s face is unreadable. “What else would you suggest? Where would you rather go?” He sounds irritated. “None of us actually wants to be here, Nia. The other option is taking you back out there to the slaughter. You’re not ready to face Gaire.”
“I might just take him this time,” Tri says. “I’ll be—”
“He’s too fucking strong,” Rage says; his face is like a mask.
They’re right. I must sound ungrateful. Like a spoiled brat. I take a deep breath. “Thank you for helping us, Death. I wish there was another way.” I look around the room, feeling a chill race up my spine.
“There is another way.” Death looks pointedly at Rage. They lock eyes for longer than what would be considered normal. They’re having a silent conversation or a standoff. Or something!
“Let’s get some sleep,” Rage finally says.
Trident cracks some silly joke, but no one laughs. I think he’s trying to defuse the tension. He means well. We mumble our goodbyes as Trident and Death take the first room.
Rage and I keep walking and walking and walking. There are at least twenty doors down the hallway. The floors are gleaming marble, with a long red rug over the top. There are a dozen, or so, paintings of regal-looking kings and queens on the walls. They’re either posing as a couple, or individually and wearing old-fashioned attire. Upon closer inspection, I realize that they’re all of Hades and Twelve. What the…? I smile to myself at how conceited they are. This place is massive. The multitude of chandeliers look like they might be made of real crystal. There isn’t so much as a speck of dust anywhere; it’s spotless. There’s a large, white bust at the end of the hallway. It’s Hades, wearing a crown. It’s a bit freaky and over-the-top for my taste.
Rage points at the door to the left. “This one okay?”
“We’re far away from the others.” I suddenly realize that we’ve walked all the way down the long corridor, right to the end.
“I think we’ll be fine. We’re safe within the castle walls. I trust Death,” he adds, like he can read my mind.
“We probably don’t have to share,” I say. “I can take that room.” I point to the one on the opposite side of the hallway. “We can leave the doors open or something.”
“If something were to happen to you… No…we’re sharing.”
“As long as you’re sure?”
“I am.” He sounds sure, but he looks put out.
I walk inside. The vast room has high ceilings, which have been painted to depict a full-scale battle. There are men on horses wearing helmets. They have spears and swords. They’re locked in in combat. Again, it’s well done, but not my style at all. There is a thick rug on the floor. The colors are reds, golds, and whites done in various fabrics, including thick velvet. It’s gaudy but somehow works.
The four-poster bed takes up a good portion of the room. I think six or seven people could sleep on the thing in relative comfort. A sofa and a wingback chair face a large fireplace. There’s a huge gold-framed mirror hanging above the mantle. I see clean clothing hanging over a desk and chair on the other side. Did they prepare all of the other rooms down the hallway as well? Or did they somehow know we would pick this room?
I notice that Rage is pacing. He’s trying to make it look like he’s checking out the room. I can see that’s not it; he seems agitated. He peels off his ruined shirt, turning to me.
The slash across his chest is scabbing over, which is good. “I think I’m going to take a shower, but it can wait if you need to use the bathroom first.” He points at the open door.