“Do you need to consult the beast about this decision?”

  “I already have. He is willing. He doesn’t mind giving in to some of my needs, few as they are. He understands I live mostly in the shadows of his enormous head. Come, he wants us to journey there now. He will show you the way as it is a good distance away, and quite deep in the earth. But first, I should tell you what to expect. It may keep you alive and help you return in one piece.”

  “Thank you,” I say.

  The information is eye-opening, detailed, unexpected, life-saving, unbelievable... and utterly appreciated. After all, few have ventured into the Underworld and returned to tell the tale we are hearing now. And yeah, Fang was right. One big, sprawling underworld, filled with gods and their allotted kingdoms, complete with palaces. Hades will be the first, as he’s the most famous and active of the Underworld deities. Fame and notoriety go far for such gods. The last thing such an entity wants is to be forgotten. Forgotten gods are a terrible sight to see, and most wish for death, or to end their existence, except there’s a catch. Gods cannot end their own lives.

  Of course, the devil comes to mind. He needed me to help him end his existence, which I happily obliged after he kidnapped my daughter, but that’s another tale for another time.

  Meanwhile, down in the Underworld, the many other gods, from the many traditions around the world, are spread out into the darkest regions of the underworld. Reggie’s best guess is that there are over a thousand such kingdoms ‘down there,’ or so he’s heard. Of course, his primary source of information is the minotaur itself.

  When he’s finished with his instructions, the man called Reggie throws back his head, grits his teeth, shakes and grunts, and soon becomes something mind-bogglingly epic and awesome, a true beast, complete with massive horns nearly as wide as the tunnel itself. It studies Ishmael and me with its wide-set, bovine eyes, its pupils rolling slowly and focusing on each of us in turn.

  Then it nods, turns, and dashes off, its hoofed feet moving in something close to a blur.

  I pat Ishmael on the arm. “Are you ready, big guy?”

  He looks down at my hand and seems to relish the flesh-on-flesh contact. “I am, Samantha.”

  With that, we jump on our wings and follow the surprisingly fleet-of-foot bullman.

  Chapter Twenty

  After a blur of twists and turns—all of which the minotaur makes on a dime—we come across a long stretch of tunnel that gradually descends.

  Granted, Ishmael and I are flying, so it doesn’t take much for us to keep pace with the beast before us, a beast who seems to only be picking up speed. Wow, the big fellow can move. Then again, so can Kingsley. Pretty much all supernaturals can move quickly when we want to. The bull’s horns occasionally snag a section of protruding wall, causing small bursts of dirt and dust. Behind me, I hear Ishmael’s wings doing the same, despite him consciously pulling them in. Myself, I can stretch my dark wings to the max... and only rarely hit the walls. If anything, the bullman is shockingly consistent with his tunnel building.

  Down, down, down we go. A mile maybe? Two or three? Hard to know.

  Now the tunnel dips even steeper. The minotaur is veritably flying down the slope, yet somehow in total control of his body. Supernaturals are cool.

  Ishmael and I keep pace easily, aiming down, and only flapping occasionally to keep aloft.

  Amazingly, the decline turns into a straight drop, and the minotaur raises his hands as he free-falls, like a kid on a roller coaster. I tuck my wings back and note the steps carved into the wall next to me. Okay, so that’s how the big fella gets back up. Cool. But where in god’s name are we dropping to?

  He hits a sort of dirt slide, doing so on his rump. The slide eventually levels out and he tucks and rolls. Eventually, he gains control over his hoofed feet and is running again.

  Ishmael and I have an easier time of it, simply adjusting our angle of descent.

  The half-bull/half-man is now running over a smattering of black rock, some of which spark under the clash of his hooves. All the while, the tunnel echoes with the sound of crashing rocks, hoofed footfalls, snorting... and the beating of wings. Quite a heady cacophony for being so deep in the earth.

  Finally, after what must have an hour straight of running, zigzagging, and falling, the minotaur finally slows down, and I see why...

  The tunnel ends in a shimmering black mirror. He had already explained the mirror. It keeps the living from entering the land of the dead. Only true immortals can pass; that is, those humans whose corporeal bodies have known death. Dark and cursed deities may enter, too, such as the minotaur, whose origins were that of a demigod. Fallen angels and demons qualify, and for that, I’m grateful.

  After all, from what I’m beginning to understand, I kinda don’t want to brave it alone. My gosh, I’m a mom of three from suburbia. Fourteen years ago, I had a fairly routine job with HUD, spending half my time in the office writing reports. What do I know of any of this?

  Not a lot, but with each passing day—each crazier than the next, seemingly—I’m learning more and more.

  Luckily, Reggie gave us the rundown. How accurate his information will prove to be, I don’t know.

  Ishmael and I land just behind the beast.

  Howling wind blows the minotaur’s thick mane back over his shoulder. The wind, it appears, is coming from the mirror. So it’s not solid, it only appears that way. The creature grips the stone frame of the mirror, lest he get pushed back. An icy blast of air hits me, too, fluttering my hair and wings.

  It takes me a moment, but I begin to make out shapes in the mirror, in the darkness beyond. This is easily the darkest dark I have ever seen, and quite possibly the coldest air I’ve ever experienced. And I’ve been to the Moon and Mars, and high into the highest mountains in Alaska, among other cold places.

  The shapes I’m seeing seem to come from down below. I once again make out steps carved into the stone wall, leading up to what’s proving to be more window than mirror. Did the minotaur jump from here, tuck and roll again, and drink from the cursed river, only to climb back up again? Yeah, probably. Was he going to do so now? After all, he’d made the trip. Might as well wet his whistle.

  Except, no.

  With a bone-jarring infragrowl, followed by the mother of all boogery snorts, the hulking beast with his deadly horns turns away from the opening. Without looking back, it charges back up the sloping tunnel and disappears into the darkness.

  The minotaur clearly felt his end of the bargain was complete. Perhaps Reggie had wanted to emerge to wish us luck and give us some final bit of advice on how to survive the Underworld. But nope. Ishmael and I are on our own.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” I ask the angel next to me.

  “I want whatever you want, Samantha.”

  “Very well,” I say. “Here goes nothing.”

  And with that, I close my eyes and step toward the shimmering mirror that separates the living from the dead...

  Chapter Twenty-one

  While it’s not the weirdest thing to happen to me in the last thirty minutes, the sensation of stepping through the shimmering veil isn’t one I’ll soon forget.

  Indeed, it felt as if I had stepped through a waterfall, except I wasn’t wet. My biological feedback tells me I am seriously drenched, yet... nothing. Reggie warned me about it. The veil is the realm’s bouncer, so to speak. Those not qualified would have felt an electric shock, and likely would be knocked unconscious for days, complete with loss of memory.

  “That was a most unusual sensation, Samantha,” says Ishmael, looking down at his arms. “And this is coming from someone who lived in the center of the sun.”

  I chuckle at that and look around. We’re standing on a rocky ledge. We appear to be high above a chasm of some sort. Far below, I hear a river moving. Not necessarily the surge of rapids, but the sound of water moving over the earth. I want to say I hear howling on the wind, but I don’t think so. But... maybe.

  It’s the River Styx, and from what Reggie tells me, the minotaur would literally leap down from this space and plunge into the infamous river, drinking his fill. Another set of stone steps leads back up. The big fella does this only a few times a year, nourishing himself with the mystical waters, which separates the land of the living from the land of the dead.

  Mind you, the black mirror does a pretty good job of that, too. Then again, we are approaching the Underworld as those still semi-living, not a deceased mortal. And why would a deceased mortal come to this ancient and forgotten space?

  Because it isn’t forgotten. Not really. It’s being kept alive. Besides, there are still worshipers of the old religions. No, seriously. I looked it up.

  Anyway, I had asked Reggie why he/they needed to drink from the river and he had asked why I needed to siphon energy from the living. I answered because it gave me sustenance. The one-time college professor nodded and explained that the river is much more than flowing water. It’s god-force—literally having been created by the gods of yore for a specific purpose: to separate two very different worlds. Another purpose is to literally fuel the gods and possibly even the underworld itself. Its headwaters are from an aspect of Zeus/Jupiter, the greatest of the ancient gods. I asked what he meant, and the little professor described a sort of giant living statue, imbued with the power of the gods, from which the water poured forth from its open mouth. A mouth that moved, and a statue whose eyes followed you.

  Right, a living statue. That’s not weird at all.

  We need to cross the river first, as Hades’s palace is just on the other side. I had asked Reggie if he thought we could fly over it, and he wasn’t sure. However, he had seen things flying through the skies. What kind of things? He didn’t know, but they looked something akin to monkeys.

  Great. Flying moneys. Did I enter Evil Oz?

  I wait for my eyes to adjust to the Stygian darkness—something I’m entirely used to. Meaning, my eyes generally (if ever) need adjusting to anything. Even the darkest of rooms and caves come alive for me.

  But not here.

  Below is a landscape so bleak and dark that I doubt even a torch or flashlight would penetrate it very far. As we stand and wait (I suspect Ishmael’s own eyes need adjustment, though we don’t discuss it), distant mounds and hills come slowly into view. More details emerge minutes later, and I see the land is scarred and crisscrossed with vales and valleys. As yet, no sign of life. The wind, weirdly, seems to come from multiple directions. With it is a hint of decay, but not overwhelmingly so.

  With my eyes nearly fully adjusted, I leap from the ledge, spreading my wings, and aim down into what is truly a world down under...

  ***

  We level off a few hundred feet above the bleak landscape, rising and falling on various currents, literally getting the lay of the land.

  According to Reggie, the Underworld of the ancients has morphed a number of times over the eons to accommodate various beliefs. Apparently, thousands of years ago, it was a vibrant, happening place, with its famed five rivers, the River Styx being one of them. Over time, the lesser-known rivers disappeared, leaving just the one flowing around the boundary of this nether realm. Thanks to movies and books, the Styx still holds its tenuous grip of relevancy.

  Apparently, different gods rule different sections of the underworld, each usually with their own palace, beneath which are functioning hellscapes, where souls suffer even to this day. Some deities actively sought more souls, even going as far as making deals with humans, as was the case with Ferdinand and Dis Pater.

  With the recent Clash of the Titans movies, a plethora of Rick Riordan books, and even a series by a local vampire writer who I may or may not have met at a Starbucks a few years back, the Greek Underworld is fairly alive and well. As such, Hades, Persephone, Cerberus, Charon and the gang are thriving along this outer rim of the Underworld.

  Although the Romans are more recent, their pantheon of gods and demigods are far less known, which might explain why Dis Pater, a Roman deity, made such an unfair deal with a young matador. The dude was desperate for some attention, and perhaps entertainment. Not sure what kind of bastard gets off watching someone suffer, but apparently, he did.

  According to Reggie, we would soon be coming upon the River Styx. I guess we aren’t technically in the underworld until we cross the infamous waterway. Unlike land dwellers, we don’t need the services of Charon and his raft. But that doesn’t mean we get off scot-free. Reggie is certain that entities guard the sky. Then again, the minotaur never ventured further than the banks of the flowing water, stopping there to drink deeply from it.

  Which is why I keep my eyes peeled. So does Ishmael, who keeps his head on a swivel. This is all new to him, too.

  All to save a kid who perished hundreds of years ago.

  Sometimes I wonder about my life choices. Tammy calls it bleeding-heart syndrome. That’s fine. Call it what you want. Apparently, I help those in life and death.

  Below, a distant shimmering thread appears. The thread widens and soon it’s obvious that we’ve come upon a river. What’s causing it to shimmer, I haven’t a clue. Maybe it’s pulsing with its own inner glow. Pretty sure natural laws don’t apply down here. According to Reggie, the river encircles the entirety of the Underworld. Which means a vast area indeed to search for one lost soul.

  Luckily, the little archaeology professor had some additional insight. First, Hades himself might have insight, though I have to be cautious around him, being one of the few gods down here who likely hasn’t lost much, if any, of his power. He’s apparently had a resurgence of late, thanks to people using his name ironically, his popularity in novels, movies, and video games, and just an all-around uptick of interest. He’s not worshiped or feared, but because his name is often used interchangeably with the devil, he’s been given additional strength.

  Also, Reggie warned that Dis Pater would likely be desperate to hold on to what little power he has. I asked what that meant, and Reggie shrugged. His source of his information is the minotaur himself... a creature that has been a bit removed from the dealings of the Underworld, especially of the old guard. Still, the beast was quite aware of how these things worked and played themselves out, and of how entities came and went. Lately, they mostly went.

  As we approach the curving river, whose water I can now hear frothing below, I note a number of things that come into my field of vision, now that this nether world is coming more and more into view.

  First is an arched stone gate. Flames flicker on both sides of it, and along its apex. Before this arch is a short pier jutting out into the river. Crazily, I see a tall, muscular figure poling a small barge toward this landing. Upon this ferry are three people, all of whom I can see directly through. Spirits of the deceased, I’m guessing. Crazy as it seems, the process of ferrying people across the River Styx still seems to be a thing.

  Earlier, Reggie had confirmed there’s still the ongoing practice of Olympianism, the religion of the ancient Greeks. They keep the ancient gods alive and well through worship. For such practitioners, Zeus is their guy. Exactly how powerful the big guy is, I don’t know. But I’m thinking he’s not someone to trifle with.

  Along the shores of the river, I see other such spirits wandering. Some sit on rocks and logs, and some even swim, but most wander up and down the riverbank. From what I recall from my Greek mythology class in college, these are the people who can not pay the ferryman’s toll, and need to wait one hundred years before gaining entrance through the Gates of the Underworld.

  Which means, of course, that those three souls on the ferry paid their toll. Or, rather, their living relatives left coins over the deceased eyes.

  Too crazy, I think.

  But here it is, playing itself out as it has for thousands of years, though there had probably been a lot more traffic down there in bygone years.

  Meanwhile, the second obvious structure is a massive golden citadel of sorts—looking for all the world like a castle, palace and fortress all rolled into one. It sits heavy upon the land, sprawling in a dozen different directions. Torches flicker around it, reflecting off the shiny surface. Now I know where the world’s gold has gone to. According to Reggie—and my own limited knowledge—I know this structure to be the Palace of Hades.

  Crazy to think that the god Hades lives there, brother to Zeus and husband to Persephone. Lord knows how many other gods and demigods live here, too, or visit on holiday. But it’s not all fun and games in Hades’s palace, I know. Within its golden walls are prisons, cells, and pits for the worst of mankind.

  They are waiting for us, the little bastards.

  The moment we angle over the wide river, a horde of flying creatures erupts from the stunted trees below like so many bats startled from the back of a cave. Except these aren’t bats, and they aren’t startled. They fly at us with intention and malice... and fiery-red eyes.

  Demons? Flying monkeys? A little of both?

  I’m about to find out.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Ishmael’s fiery sword appears in a flash, erupting from his hand like a Star Wars lightsaber.

  Myself, I have nothing. For me to summon the ice sword, I need water—any water—and the closest source is down below in the form of the River Styx. And between the water and me are about fifty winged creatures that, yeah, look a lot like flying monkeys, but are actually closer to living gargoyles.

  They seem to come all at once, a flurry of claws and teeth and bulbous red eyes. Definitely different than the demons I’d fought before. Smaller, faster, though just as nasty. Undoubtedly, they are the Greek and Roman equivalent of a demon. I seem to recall them being spelled ‘daemon’ but can’t be certain.