Hades (11 page)

fountain in which stone nymphs frolicked. Adjacent to the

reception desk rose an ornate glass elevator in the shape

of a giant capsule. Here the hotel staff were dressed in

crisp uniforms and the mood was business-like compared

to the seediness of the clubs. When I walked in, they al

froze for a moment and fixed me with the eyes of vultures

before resuming their duties. Despite their seemingly

ordinary appearances, I could see something untamed in

their gazes, something that made me squirm inside. I was

grateful to be flanked by the two burly security guards, as I

would not have liked to be left alone with them.

“Welcome to the Ambrosia,” said the woman behind the

reception desk in a light and airy voice. With her tailored

suit and blond hair wound in a smooth bun, she was the

picture of efficiency. Except for her unblinking, shark-eyed

gaze. “We’ve been expecting you. Your rooms are ready.”

Her cheerfulness belied the sharp look in her eyes. Her

long manicured nails made a soft, clacking sound as they

moved fleetingly over the keyboard. “The penthouse has

been reserved for you.”

“Thank you,” I said. “It’s a beautiful hotel, but would you

mind tel ing me where I am?”

The woman stopped short, dropping her professional

demeanor for a moment.

“He hasn’t told her?” She looked incredulously at my

escorts, who exchanged looks as if to say
Don’t ask us
. I

was having trouble containing the feeling of dread growing

in the pit of my stomach. It was spreading upward like a

fungus. “Wel , my dear”—the receptionist’s eyes glinted

darkly—”you’re in Hades. Make yourself at home.” She slid

a key card in a plastic pouch across the polished counter.

“Excuse me?” I said. “By Hades you don’t mean … you

can’t mean …” I faltered. Of course I knew instantly what

she meant. I knew from my studies that the literal translation

of the place meant “the unseen.” But my mind refused to

acknowledge it as true. Until I heard it spoken aloud I didn’t

have to believe it.

“Otherwise known as Hel ,” the receptionist said breezily.

“But don’t let Mr. Thorn catch you cal ing it that. He prefers

the more classical name. And you know how pedantic

demon princes can be.”

I only caught part of what she said because I’d stopped

listening. My knees began to tremble. The last thing I saw

were the bodyguards lunging forward as the black marble

floor came up to meet my face.

7

Underground

I woke to a deafening silence. A milky light filtered into the

room and I rubbed my eyes to get a better look at my

surroundings. The first thing I saw was a sitting area with a

fireplace. The last embers were crumbling to a soft glow in

the grate, casting shadows across the room and softening

the edges of the furniture. The room was richly decorated in

dark timbers, and a crystal chandelier hung from the

decorative ceiling.

I found myself lying in an oak-paneled bed with gold satin

sheets and a rich burgundy coverlet. I was wearing an old-

fashioned nightdress with lacy cuffs. I wondered where my

costume had gone? I had no memory of taking it off. I

propped myself up and looked around, from the plush

carpet to the heavy velvet drapes to the vast welcome

basket that sat on a low glass table with gilt claw feet. A

huge leopard-skin rug was laid out at the foot of the bed.

The bed itself was covered in plump pil ows and an

inordinate amount of tasseled cushions. When I felt

something cool and fragrant beneath my cheek, I turned

over to see my pil ows were scattered with red rose petals.

A huge marble vanity stood against one wal ; its mirror

encrusted with gemstones. Displayed on it was a mother-

of-pearl hairbrush and a hand mirror along with an array of

expensive-looking perfumes and lotions in blue glass jars.

An ivory silk dressing gown was draped over the foot of the

bed. Two wingback armchairs had been strategical y

arranged in front of the fire. The bathroom door was open

and I caught a glimpse of gold taps and an antique tub.

There appeared to be no consistent theme to the decor; it

was as if someone had opened a magazine and randomly

pointed to whatever suggested opulence and had it

delivered to this room.

A breakfast tray with a pot of steaming tea and pastries

had been left on the low table. When I tried the door, I found

it locked. My throat felt dry and parched so I poured myself

a cup and sat on the plush carpet to drink it while I gathered

my thoughts. Despite the luxurious surroundings I knew I

was a prisoner.

Someone had taken away the key card so there was no

way out of the room. Even if I managed to escape and

made it down to the lobby, it would be crawling with Jake’s

al ies. I could try and get past them and make a run for it but

how far would I get before being recaptured?

There was only one thing I knew for certain. I could tel by

the stone-cold feeling in my chest that I’d been torn away

from everything I loved. I was here because of Jake Thorn,

but what was his motivation? Was it revenge? If so, why

hadn’t he kil ed me when he had the chance? Did he want

to somehow prolong my suffering? Or was there some

other agenda like there always was with Jake? He’d

seemed so genuine about making me feel comfortable. My

knowledge of Hel was sketchy as my kind never ventured

here. I wracked my brains, trying to recal snippets of

information that Gabriel might have shared with me, but I

drew a blank. I’d only been told that somewhere, deep

underground, there was a pit crawling with creatures so

dark they were unfathomable to us. Jake must have brought

me here as punishment for humiliating him. Unless … A

new thought suddenly dawned on me. He hadn’t seemed

particularly vindictive; in fact there’d been a strange

excitement in his eyes. Was it possible he actual y thought I

could be happy here? An angel in Hel ? That only proved

how little he understood. My only objective was to return

home to my loved ones. This wasn’t my world and never

would be. The longer I stayed here, the harder it would be to

find my way back. I knew one thing for sure: Something like

this had never happened before. An angel had never been

captured, plucked from the earth, and dragged into a prison

of fire. Maybe this went deeper than Jake’s bizarre

attachment to me. Maybe something terrible was on the

brink of being unleashed.

A row of tal windows stretched along the length of one

wal , but they looked out onto a swirling gray mist. There

was no sunrise here and daybreak appeared to be marked

by a watery light that looked as if it’d filtered down through a

fissure in the earth. The thought of not seeing the sunlight

for a long time brought tears to my eyes. But I blinked them

away and gathered up the silk dressing gown, wrapping it

around myself. I went into the bathroom to wash my face

and brush my teeth, then ran a comb through my hair to

unravel the knots that had appeared. There was a

suffocating silence in the hotel suite. Every noise I made

seemed exaggeratedly loud. With a pang of longing I

remembered what it was like to wake up in Venus Cove. I

associated it with a cacophony of sound: music playing,

birds singing, and Phantom loping up the stairs. I could

picture in perfect detail my bedroom with its pockmarked

boards and rickety writing desk. If I closed my eyes, I could

almost remember the feel of my soft white bedspread

against my skin and the way the canopy made me feel as if

I were cocooned in my own little nest. Mornings there were

met with a silvery predawn light that was quickly broken by

streams of golden sunlight. It would wash over the rooftops

and dance over the waves of the ocean, setting the whole

town alight. I remembered how I used to wake to the sound

of birdsong and the breeze tapping lightly against the

balcony doors as if to rouse me. Even when the house was

empty, the sea was always there, cal ing to me, reminding

me that I wasn’t alone. I remembered the mornings when I’d

come downstairs to hear Gabriel’s fingers lazily strumming

his guitar and to smel the inviting aroma of waffles in the

air. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen my family or

how we came to be separated. When I thought of Venus

Cove, I felt a brief flutter of hope in my chest, as though I

could wil myself back to my old life. But a moment later it

was gone, transformed into despair as heavy as a stone

pressing on my heart.

I opened my eyes to see my reflection in the mirror and

realized that something was different. Nothing had changed

in terms of my features; there were the same wide brown

eyes flecked with gold and green looking back at me, the

smal pixie ears, and the porcelain skin tinged with pink.

But the expression in my eyes was that of a stranger. My

eyes that had once sparkled with curiosity were lifeless.

The girl in the mirror looked lost.

The room was set at a comfortable temperature, but I stil

shivered. I walked quickly over to the closet and pul ed out

the first garment that came to hand—a black tul e cocktail

dress with puffy sleeves. I sighed and hunted around for

something more appropriate only to find that there wasn’t a

single piece of practical clothing in there. The outfits varied

from floor-length evening gowns to tailored Chanel suits

with silk blouses. I settled on the simplest item I could find

(a knee-length, long-sleeved dress in crushed moss green

velvet) and some bal et flats. Then I sat on my bed and

waited for something to happen.

I remembered Venus Cove and my siblings vividly, but I

knew there was something or someone I was forgetting. It

nagged at me, an insistent tug at the back of my mind, and

trying to remember was exhausting. I lay on the bed and

stared at the scrol s on the ceiling. I could feel a gnawing

pain somewhere inside me, but I couldn’t identify its source.

I even wished Jake would show up in case talking to him

provided the trigger for these lost memories. I could feel

them stirring in the recesses of my mind, but every time I

tried to grasp them, they slipped away.

The click of a key card startled me and a round-faced girl

entered the room. She was wearing the standard

housekeeping uniform: a plain taupe dress with the Hotel

Ambrosia logo on the pocket, beige stockings, and

comfortable oxfords. Her honey-colored hair was pul ed

back into a ponytail and held in place with a clasp.

“Excuse me, miss, would you like me to make up your

room now or should I come back later?” Her manner was

diffident, and she kept her eyes downcast to avoid eye

contact. Behind her was a cart laden with cleaning products

and piles of fresh linen.

“Oh, that’s real y not necessary,” I said, trying to be

helpful, but my suggestion only served to make her

uncomfortable. She stood at a loss, awaiting further

instructions. “Or now is fine,” I said, moving to one of the

wingback chairs. The girl looked visibly relieved. She

moved with practiced efficiency, straightening the

bedclothes and changing the water in the vase, even

though she couldn’t have been more than sixteen years old.