He nearly bolted to his feet to wake her, but the fresh human blood running through his veins decided to pull another memory to the surface—the continuation of Hades. It was as if he stood witness to his younger self, and he relaxed as the vision took hold.
Hades scratched fervently with his quill behind a polished stone desk, then paused to lift the parchment and blow on the wet ink. Satisfied it was dry, he tucked it in the stack that had accumulated nearby. Hades looked content—happy even. Was this when his memories were taken?
Lucius watched Minthe appear in the doorway, leaning seductively against its frame to accentuate her crimson wrapped curves. He noticed she had taken extra care to smooth her flaxen locks, her lips stained like wine. “Were you able to finish?” she asked him.
Hades gestured with his eyes towards the stack of parchment. “Of course I did. I have been managing the Underworld since its inception.”
“I am surprised you remember.” She slid into his office, and headed towards the pile.
Hades frowned. “What do you mean by that?”
“Oh, nothing,” she said lightly. She flipped through the pages, scanning the notes he had made. “I cannot believe how much the realm has grown over these past years,” she remarked. “I will make sure Thanatos receives these. His recent employment has proven such a fruitful addition.” She moved to leave, but he rose from his desk.
“Wait—”
She turned as casually as she could muster, a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. “Yes?”
“I wanted to tell you how much I appreciate all the work you have been doing here lately,” Hades said. “It would mean the world to me if you could join me for dinner tonight. My way of saying thank you.”
Minthe blinked, then beamed, a soft, rising pink blemishing her pale skin. “Of course. I would love to.”
“Good,” he said as he resumed his place behind his desk. “I will be returning to the palace shortly. Get the paperwork to Thanatos and then you may head over.”
“I am looking forward to it.”
The vision shifted, taking Lucius back to Hades’s fully restored palace. He and Minthe laughed over bottles of wine, ignoring the elaborate spread of food that covered the dining table, dozens of slender black candles waning at the center. Hades’s face showed no sign of disdain—he seemed rather drunk, to be frank—and eventually, he rose to his feet and swept the table clear with his arm. The silver dishes clattered to the floor as he hoisted Minthe on top of it, kissing her fervently as her bare legs coiled around his back.
Lucius turned away in disgust, but not before he caught the glint of a blade in the dwindling candlelight. Hades’s free hand had been searching behind her in mid-embrace, his fingers finally landing on a carving knife. He gripped it tightly and without any hesitation, plunged it into her liver.
Minthe’s ruby eyes widened with confusion as he stepped back, blood sputtering from her mouth as she reached down to feel the blade lodged between her ribs. Her hands shook as they came back coated in heavy crimson.
Hades crossed his arms across his chest. “Apparently,” he said with a smirk, “you had no idea what sort of god you were dealing with.”
Minthe stared at him in shock, unable to speak as she slumped from the table to the ground, gasping and gurgling.
“I am not sure exactly what happens when a god kills another god,” he told her as he crouched down to where she lay. “But you are no longer welcome here. Whether it is a grand facade or not, I am the king of this realm, and trying to trick me into forgetting my memories was an amateur mistake. I built this realm—your rivers have no power over me.”
Minthe coughed up a fresh splash of blood, coating the marble as the life drained from her eyes.
“And though I do thank you for your assistance,” Hades continued as he stood, “your services are no longer required in the Underworld.”
She made a weak attempt to reach out to him, but he briskly exited the room.
“Thanatos,” he called. “It is finished.”
“Who are you talking to?”
Back in the present, Lucius looked up to see Morrigan standing on the stairs.
PART II
The boy led him out of the ancient oak and back into the forest, guiding him across a bridge that swayed as they crossed. “My name is Aengus,” the child said over his shoulder.
“My name is...” David faltered.
“I know who you are,” Aengus pulled him onward until they reached a smaller treehouse, multi-tiered and woven with ladders and nets. David was distracted by the intricate design, wondering how a small child had managed to build such a thing, when he discovered the boy had shifted into a young man, and a near identical image of himself stared back at him.
Aengus had the same jaw, the same nose, the same rusted curls that sprang around his forehead in defiance. But his skin was alive, real blood coursing through his veins, bringing life to his cells, color into his cheeks, and light into eyes green like his mother’s. David looked down at his hands, reminded that his own glowing skin was only an illusion, that as soon as he woke, he would once again be walking death.
“You don’t have to be a blood drinker anymore if you don’t want to,” his son told him with a shrug.
David’s heart sank. “Again, I have the terrible feeling you are both meant to be a trick.” He smiled sadly.
Aengus chuckled. “Not a trick. But they did ask us if we would help them.” The young man leaned against the bark of his tree, crossing his arms. “We really are the souls of your lost family,” he assured him.
David let out a deep sigh. “When do I get to meet these Watchers?”
“I can take you now,” Aengus suggested, straightening.
Gaia abruptly appeared around the bend, wearing worry clearly on her face. “You will bring him back, right?” she asked her son. David was struck by how similar the apples of their cheeks were, the mirroring slope of their lips as they spoke to each other. “It has not been long enough of a visit.”
“I will come back,” David promised her. When the look of panic didn’t budge, he walked over to where she stood and without any hesitation, took her into his arms. She felt so soft and warm, so unapologetically human. She seemed to melt against him as if she also witnessed the memories from long ago that filled his mind, threatening to consume his reality. He recalled his life before his transformation clearly for the first time in centuries, the one that existed in the sunlight. Where he didn’t have to try to be moral—he just simply was. His mind reached back even farther to the days as Isis’s husband, when he played the righteous king, the father of humanity. The time before he was forced to live apart from humans, to control his murderous instincts around them. When life was simple.
Gaia pulled away gradually, as if appreciating the moment of nostalgia. “I will hold you to that promise,” she warned him.
Aengus led him out of the forest and down the hill to a lake, where a small rowboat had been tied to a post. They climbed inside and David watched quietly as the soul that was supposedly his son row until the current picked them up. He threw David a smile as he put the oar on his lap, letting it carry them as the river opened to a wide expanse that seemed to stretch on into oblivion. A bright, but very dense fog obscured any hope of sight, until an enormous shape broke its way through. Aengus didn’t seem bothered, and as they grew closer, David realized it was a towering building made entirely of white marble. It reminded David of the architecture in Rome, except that it had no embellishments nor details beyond the two Doric columns that held up its square facade, its door gated like a crypt. His son pulled their boat to shore, holding it steady so he could climb out.
