The phantom, p.5
The Phantom, page 5
“And give the residents another male to covet?” He spread his arms, as if he were some kind of prize. “Believe me. You’ll want them focused solely on Roux.”
Her attention returned to the Astra. He jerked up his head, meeting her gaze, and she gasped. He could see her?
His lids slitted, and his lips compressed into a thin line. But. He didn’t leap into a defense position. He scanned the chamber, crimson sparks burning brighter and brighter in his irises.
Hmm. Maybe he couldn’t see her. She waited, curious to learn what he’d do next.
Moving as slow as molasses, he unfolded from the bed. The sheer breadth of him swallowed up the space, making the square footage seem to shrink. After cracking the bones in his neck, he rolled back his shoulders. Preparing for battle?
Erebus chortled with glee. “I don’t know how, but one or both of us has been detected. How wonderful. How wonderful indeed.”
Wonderful? Not really the word she’d pick.
“Best you go, my dear, before it’s too late.” Her father brandished a hand toward a wall, where a large red door with strange symbols carved into the wood appeared.
Roux ran his tongue over his teeth. “Show yourself. Come on. Don’t be shy now.”
“I grow tired of waiting, daughter.” Erebus waved the dagger in her direction. “Will you win, or will you lose?”
Blythe looked between the two males, wanting to face off with Roux here and now but also eager to oversee his vengeance. What if this was her only way into Ation?
“I’ll go.” Wings rippling, she swiped the firstone dagger and its sheath. A hum of power slipped up her arm, and she nodded with satisfaction. Right decision.
Growing more determined by the second, she strode over and twisted the red door’s knob. An overwarm handle. No, not just overwarm but searing. She hissed as pain flared, but she didn’t let go of her prize.
Determined, she pushed her way through the block...
Suddenly, she stood in the center of a damp, dark cave. Cold air roused goose bumps on her exposed flesh. But she couldn’t complain. The air carried an intoxicating scent. Like nothing she’d ever encountered.
She looked here and there. Rocky walls speckled with crystal surrounded her. A steady drip, drip of water filled her ears. Hmm.
This was the infamous Ation? Yes, the smell rocked. But the sights left something to be desired.
She gazed over her shoulder, intending to snap questions at her father. Her jaw dropped. The door. It was gone. Had vanished as if it had never existed.
Deep breath in, out. If Erebus had sent her anywhere other than Ation... No, surely not. Why would he do so? He might not care about her well-being, but he despised the Astra as much as she did. She—movement behind her!
Wings buzzing, Blythe whipped around, sliding the dagger from the pouch. A shadow traveled closer in a blink, swooping down and punching the top of her sternum. Impact sent her stumbling back amid a chorus of feminine laughter.
Thankfully, she recovered quickly. Wait. The being hadn’t punched her sternum; no, the being had punched through the bone, meeting Blythe’s spirit and adhering some kind of ruby to it. A ruby that manifested in her flesh only a blink later.
What was...why... A flood of weakness infiltrated her limbs. So dizzy. In seconds, she was tottering. Usually, such feebleness came when a harpy’s wings were pinned. But hers remained free. Even still, only iron determination kept her upright with the dagger in her hand as her strength continued to drain.
The shadow slinked a wide circle around her. Then another. And another. The creature, whatever it was, drew closer each time.
Blythe attempted to flash but failed. She tried to mist. Another fail. Too weak.
The darkness receded as the shadow stopped directly in front of her. She jolted. A wraith. A species that fed on a specific emotion. None could assume a solid physical form, but all could change their appearance at will. This particular wraith had chosen a beautiful redhead with amber eyes and overlarge breasts squeezed into a skintight silver gown. Very evil queen chic.
“Hello, Blythe. My name is Penelope. Some call me Miss Murder. I answer to either.”
She knows me? Blythe struggled to think as she attempted to swing the dagger, but again, she failed, her arm too heavy to lift. No, no, no. Need to fight!
The wraith chortled. “I’ll take this, thank you very much.” Penelope plucked the prized weapon and sheath from her grip. “By the way, it was your father who told me you’d be arriving tonight. He’s paying me to oversee your...care. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve taken the liberty of forging a link between us.” She grazed a red-tipped nail against the ruby. “From now on, I’ll feast on your hatred anytime I open the link. Or anytime you decide to wallow in the emotion.” A wicked grin bloomed. “Don’t hate me—or do—but I’m not sure I’ve ever tasted anything sweeter. To be honest, I’m hoping to glut myself.”
Betrayed! “Why?” Blythe eked out. Why would Erebus do this?
The other woman’s grin widened. “Isn’t it obvious, dear? You aren’t the Astra’s killer. You’re the bait.”
5
THE MYSTERY
Roux walked like a doomed man headed to his execution. He held a piece of crumpled paper in a tight grip. An invitation from Isla Skyhawk, Blythe’s young daughter.
His lungs emptied anytime he glanced down at the paper. Hand-drawn locks and keys consumed every free space. The old iron ones with fancy swirls. In the center of the page, she’d written:
WHAT? A TEA PARTY.
WHEN? TWO MINUTES AGO. DON’T BE
LATE.
WHY? YOU OWE ME.
No location was mentioned. Not that he required any kind of map to find her.
He should ignore the summons. He had duties to complete. By Roc’s command, Roux must aid Ian and Silver as they fortified the palace against Erebus. Somehow, the god continued to bypass once impenetrable defenses, bringing his phantoms inside. But how could Roux turn down an “invitation” from a young girl who’d recently lost her father because Roux had brutally slain the male?
He bit the inside of his cheek, tasting blood. No doubt Isla wished to poison him. An act of revenge. Something most harpies revered. One thought kept him striding forward. He’d left her with a memory she would forever long to scrub from her mind; something too many others had done to him. If he could ease her inner agonies in any way, why not play along?
His dread magnified as he entered a small sitting room with yellow walls, gilt-framed portraits, crystal vases, and velvet sofas, all spotlighted by lavender beams of sunlight filtering through a stained glass wall. Delicate china was spread over a large oval coffee table.
Isla sat on a beaded pillow, concentrating with all her might as she poured steaming tea into a saucer. She wore a pink leotard and a fluffy tutu, with her sleek black hair twisted into a bun.
Seeing her, he felt like someone shot him in the stomach. Would she shrink back with terror upon noticing him?
After placing the teapot on the table, she glanced up at him with mismatched irises. One blue, one brown. No, she didn’t shrink back. She narrowed her eyes.
“Sit,” she commanded, motioning to the pillow on the other side of the table.
Such bravery deserved a reward. “Yes, ma’am. I believe I will.” Roux folded his enormous body onto a small pillow across from her and attempted to get comfortable. An impossibility. Never had he felt so awkward. “May I ask why you have no fear of me?”
Her brow furrowed, as if he’d asked an unanswerable question. “Why would I be afraid of you? I’m, like, a powerful goddess or whatever.”
Yes, he supposed she was. “Does your mother know about this party for—”
“Nope,” she interjected, so much like Blythe he figured he’d be losing another kidney before this ended.
Where was Blythe? What was she doing? Yesterday afternoon, mere days after Halo’s triumph, she’d come to Roux’s bedroom. He knew she had. He’d caught a waft of her delectable fragrance—mixed with her father’s. But neither individual had appeared, or challenged him. Or approached him since. He thought he might, perhaps, miss the female.
Isla pushed a cup toward him, the action smooth. “I know your secret.”
“Impossible. I have no secrets.” He concealed nothing from the Astra, and they concealed nothing from him. Halo had even known about this tea party before Roux.
Apparently, this was his twenty-something time to attend it. Not that he remembered any but this one. The others had taken place during Halo’s blessing task. A challenge involving a repeating day, a mystical weapon in the form of a harpy-nymph, and twelve Herculean labors. Roux recalled only the final day of the challenge—when the tea party had not occurred.
He should have avoided it today, too. He didn’t belong in a chamber like this. He didn’t belong anywhere near a child. Any child. Especially the daughter of his victim. His past was too violent, his future expected to be much worse.
He sighed and met the girl’s gaze. Her mismatched eyes lacked the mischievous sparkle so many other harpy children possessed. A somber air cloaked her. My fault.
He deflated. “Why don’t we discuss your father?” Roux would issue an apology. Something! “There is much I—”
“No.” The flat denial forbade further comment on the subject. Her irises flashed black, reminding him of her mother. Little pink nails sharpened into ebony claws.
Different parts of his torso constricted. Very well. “You were telling me about my secret?”
“Yep.” She took a sip of her tea, then added a heaping spoonful of sugar. “It’s pretty terrible—for you.”
He drained his cup, simply to have something to do, surprised to detect no toxins in the liquid. “Enlighten me. Please,” he added.
As she daintily added more sugar to the pot and poured him more of the already too-sweet liquid, she said, “You won’t believe me.”
No, probably not. He drained his second cup. “Tell me anyway. That is why I’m here, is it not?”
“It is.” She propped her elbows on the coffee table, rested her chin in her hands, and stared at him. “You’re hiding a prisoner in your mind. Even from the other prisoners. Even from yourself!”
He double blinked. How did she know about his prisoners? Unless...
A roar nearly erupted from him. “You visited the dungeon in my mind while you and your mother inhabited my body?” Had seen the spirits trapped inside his head?
“Yep,” she repeated, remaining as calm as could be. “By the way, you are super weird. Probably the weirdest person I’ve ever met. But I’m thinking of opening a mind dungeon of my own. Any tips?”
“Yes. Don’t do it. And I hide no one, especially from myself.” He remained keenly aware of every inmate. Didn’t he? He might have forgotten who and what they were, might have failed to capture and reimprison the escapee, but he sensed their presence.
“You totally do,” she said, and how confident she sounded. How gleeful.
“Who is it, then?”
“I’m not telling.” Her focus returned to the tea. “I promised I’d keep his identity to myself, and I never break my promises unless I want to.”
She’d offered a clue, at least. This supposed secret prisoner was male. And there was a single reason she’d want to guard his identity. She knew him.
If circumstances were different, Roux might believe he’d absorbed her father, the manticore. But circumstances weren’t different and—Wait. “Did you speak with this prisoner?” The second the terseness of his tone registered, he inwardly cursed. Fragile little girl. Do better.
She added another dollop of sugar to the teapot, then poured more liquid into her cup and sampled the result. “Mmm. It’s perfect now. Care for more, Mr. R?”
“No, thank you,” he grated. “Why tell me about the prisoner without revealing his identity?”
Again, she flipped up her gaze. This time, she grinned, and in all the centuries of his life, no one had ever appeared more diabolical. An expression she’d inherited from her mother? “Now you’ll search for him. Hopefully, you’ll find him sooner rather than later. I’m eager for the two of you to chat.”
He didn’t know what to say. This must be a trick. Her version of revenge. A way to torment him with a supposition or distraction. She’d all but admitted it! So, no. He wouldn’t visit the dungeon to locate this supposed prisoner and solve the alleged mystery.
He. Would. Not.
A hard rap sounded at the door, and he craned his neck to glance at the intruder. Spotting the Commander, Roux popped to his feet, standing at attention. Since Roc’s marriage to Taliyah Skyhawk, Blythe’s sister, the iron-willed warrior had displayed prolonged moments of uncharacteristic softness coupled with unexpected smiles. Today strain etched his every feature.
Roux wanted to spew out questions but held his silence. One did not speak before one’s superior. He kept his gaze pinned over Roc’s broad shoulder, exactly as a subordinate should. Not because the other god was stronger or more powerful; he wasn’t. Roux did this to show his respect. Like all Astra, he valued title above sentiment. Emotion was always subject to change, but the authority in their designations forever remained the same.
“You can show yourself out,” she announced, sparing Roc a single glance. “You weren’t invited.”
The Commander blinked with incredulity. To be spoken to with such irreverence, and by a child...
Roux cringed inside. Such disrespect was never tolerated from anyone. Ever. He gently explained, “A Commander may attend any event that transpires in his territory, with or without an invitation.”
To Roc, he spoke telepathically, using a mental link all Astra possessed.—Any punishment due to her, I will take.—From this moment on, he would protect the little girl and her mother from further hurt and harm. Because Isla was right; he owed them.
The Commander seemed to fight a smile.—My next words may be punishment enough. The next blessing task is set, and you are the contender.—
He frowned. Usually, they went in order of rank: Roc, Halo, then Silver, with Roux sixth. This guaranteed they worked the same task every five hundred years. This round, however, they battled for more than the blessing. They sought ascension. A rise in status and dominance, and a chance to obtain eternal freedom from the curse. Then, at long last, they would have the power to oversee the ultimate destruction of Erebus. For this reason, the Dark One, who pursued his own ascension, was allowed to change the order he faced his opponents as well as the tasks themselves.
“Come to the conference room the moment you tell her goodbye,” Roc told him before flashing off.
“No need to say goodbye,” the little girl said, offering Roux another of those calculating smiles. “I’ll be seeing you real soon.”
He noted the pain behind her expression this time, and he couldn’t bring himself to leave. Not yet. “I know this means nothing to you but...” His jaw tensed. His throat tightened. Hands fisted, he sank to his knees, so that they were eye to eye. “I’m sorry I killed your father.”
The smile vanished. Her lower lip wavered. Tears welled, but she blinked them back. “You aren’t sorry,” she informed him with a firm tone. “But you will be. Now go. I’m done with you.”
Sighing, he forced himself to teleport to the conference room. An open space with a long table and ten chairs. Roc already stood at the head of the table, a tower of might with cropped dark hair, bronze skin heavily marked by alevala, and eyes of gold with striations of gray.
“Any questions?” the Commander prompted.
Many. But he’d start with the most important. “What am I to do?”
“There is a supposedly inescapable prison world known as Ation. You will venture there, apprehend the queen within twenty-nine days, and return to Harpina. On the thirtieth day, you will present your prisoner to Chaos and remove her heart with a trinite blade.”
Nothing out of the ordinary. All easily accomplished. So what was the catch? “What do you know of the queen?”
“Only that the current or former sovereign is a vampire, but the title can transfer to another at any time. Or has transferred. You may or may not meet the vampire but the one who rules after her. Or now.” Roc pinched the bridge of his nose. “The time difference between worlds is confusing. Sometimes it’s faster than ours, sometimes it’s slower, but everything equals out in the end. I’m not sure how it works. Just look for the one who wears the crystal crown.”
Halo Phaninon, their strategist, appeared, flashing into the room with Celestian “Ian” Eosphorus fast on his heels. The two flanked the Commander’s sides, the three creating a wall of ferocity.
Though the two weren’t related by blood, Halo resembled Roc in many ways. Similar brown hair, bronze skin, and odd golden eyes. And though Ian, who was black, looked nothing like the Commander, they shared the same parents.
The two males were just as different in temperament. Where Roc was all rough insistence and brute strength, his younger brother exuded unflappable confidence and smooth charm.
Both newcomers offered Roux a sympathetic wince. He kept quiet, waiting, as his mind whirled. Something had happened. What, what?
“Your suspicions were correct,” Halo informed the Commander. Once, he’d been known as the Machine. An emotionless husk Roux considered one of his closest friends. During his most recent task, however, Halo had found his gravita. Now the warrior constantly exuded an enviable contentment Roux couldn’t understand. “She’s missing.”
She who? Ophelia, Halo’s mate? Taliyah?
“Erebus is overdue a spanking.” Ian stretched his fingers, as if warming up for the job. “He sent another phantom with a message to my quarters, confirming her location.”
