I find myself lying in the grove in Olympus Hills. Or at least I assume it’s the same grove, even though it looks so different. The ground is scorched and littered with upturned earth and broken tree branches from burned trees. There must have been a battle here. I look up at the sky and shield my eyes from the noonday sun. It’s so much brighter here than the ethereal daylight of the Underrealm.
The Underrealm. Tobin!
I push myself up and hobble to the two arched trees that cloak Persephone’s Gate in the mortal world. It pulses with green light. Tobin is on the other side with the Keres. I know it even though I cannot see him. My first thought is to jump back through and try to save him, but then I remember what he shouted when he let go of my hand. He wanted me to get the others and come back for him. And he was right. Even though I can use my vocal powers to make the Keres solid, there’s nothing I can do to stop them without someone who can throw lightning.
I need Haden.
But as much as I hate the idea of locking Tobin out, the first thing I need to do is lock the gate. I can’t risk any Keres slipping through. One had done enough damage on its own—an entire swarm would decimate Olympus Hills in no time. And if what Haden had told me was true, if the Keres get strong enough from feeding on the life forces of people, they could multiply exponentially—and destroy the world.
I dig into my pocket to pull out the Key, but it isn’t there. The talisman and Joe’s coin remain, but instead of the Key, I only find a small hole in the lining of the pocket, just big enough for the Key to slip through.
I let out a string of swear words and shake my cloak and my skirts. I search the ground, looking for anything metallic in the burned grass. I try singing to the Key, beckoning it to come like when I removed it from the tree where it had been hidden for millennia. When that doesn’t work, I swear some more. The Key is gone. Once again it’s lost. Either in this realm, the other, or possibly somewhere in between. Only this time, the gate is unlocked.
I pick up my skirts and run, dashing wildly, adrenaline driving me to ignore the throbbing pain in my knee, out of the grove and onto the jogging paths that will take me away from the lake. I don’t know where to go—back to Joe’s perhaps?—to find Haden and the others. What if they’re still in the Skyrealm?
I remember the communication talisman. I pull it from my pocket, and without slowing my pace, I try to make a call. My talisman glows with a green light but no one picks up on the other end. I try once more and then shove it back in my pocket, when I come to a crossroads—a fork in the path. One direction will take me back toward Joe’s, and the other will take me to the other side of the lake, where Haden’s house is. I stop for a moment to catch my breath. Logic tells me to head toward Joe’s because that’s the most likely place they would use to rendezvous, but my heart tells me to turn to Haden’s.
I get an idea and grab the pomegranate charm between my fingers. I close my eyes and envision Haden’s living room where he and I sat at the coffee table eating the French toast we’d made. I remember wanting to kiss him so badly but not wanting to allow myself to do so. How could I have been so dumb? I get a clear picture of that coffee table in my mind, but when I open my eyes I find myself still standing on the lake path. A few more choice words come out of my mouth. Apparently I can only teleport in the Underrealm.
I take off in a limping run once more. Not stopping for anything until I make it to Haden’s doorstep. The door has been left wide open. I enter the house. The smell tells me that no one has been living here for days, but I don’t let that stop me. I run up the stairs, feeling as though some invisible thread is pulling me there.
I hear voices and follow them all the way to Haden’s bedroom. A group of people stand around Haden’s bed. I recognize Ethan, Joe, and Lexie. They’re joined by a few other people but I don’t take the time to notice who they are because of what I see on the bed. Haden, lying as still as death on his back.
“Haden?” I say from the doorway. Someone gasps. I don’t know who. I can’t take my eyes off of Haden. He looks like some sort of ghastly marbled statue, the way his veins have gone black and hard under his too-pale skin. “What happened?”
“It’s too late,” someone says. “Haden is dead.”
I am reeling. Spinning. The whole world feels like it’s spinning off its axis.
“No,” I say. “It can’t be. I thought I had time. I thought I could make it back.”
Had I wasted too much time trying to save Tobin, only to have to leave him behind? Did I make the wrong choice?
Did I cause this?
“Sleeping potion,” someone says, but I don’t know who. I don’t care. I can’t focus on anyone but Haden. “Someone helped him down the whole bottle.”
“Someone?” Haden was murdered? It wasn’t even the black poison.
“I only finished what he started,” someone else says.
Started? Haden would do this to himself?
I remember Jonathan saying the black poison would drive its victim into madness. Make him the greatest danger to himself.
“Sleeping potion?” My mind finally focuses on that fact. The other thing it focuses on is all the worried and melancholy tones bombarding my ears. The sounds of sorrow coming from Haden’s companions are so overwhelming that I almost don’t catch the other noise. It’s a small sound, like a distant chime of a small bell coming from the direction of Haden’s chest. I don’t think anyone else can hear it—which means . . .
“Everyone get out!” I say.
“Daphne . . . What . . . ?” I think it is Joe who says this but I don’t know.
“Get out!” I demand, waving them away. “I need to listen.”
The other people and their overpowering tones shuffle out of the room. I hear someone whisper that I might be out of my mind, but I don’t really care. When the room empties, I rush to Haden’s side and listen closely, placing my ear over his chest. The tone, so faint, is coming from inside his ribcage. Having worked for the only florist in a small town, I had seen my fair share of dead bodies when delivering wreaths and bouquets to the local funeral home. Something that had struck me as interesting ever since I was a young child was that even though other organic things like rocks and rain have inner songs, the bodies of dead people and animals do not give off any sound.
“He has no pulse,” someone says from the doorway. The voice strikes me as familiar but different somehow. Deeper. More commanding. “We tried resuscitation. He’s as good as gone—”
“No,” I say. He may not have a pulse but he does have a song, a tiny chime, coming from his heart. “I don’t think he’s dead. Not yet. I think he’s in a deep sleep.”
“Perhaps not,” that voice says. “You’re his true love. You’re bonded. There’s still the kiss.”
True love’s kiss. The thing that fairy tales were made of. Only, according to Jonathan, he’s the one who invented the concept. I had administered the true love arrow to Haden, but I had not sealed the cure with true love’s kiss. The only thing that could release him from the black poison’s grip.
I practically throw myself on top of Haden’s body. I grip his blackened hand. “Come back to me.” I press my lips to his marbled mouth. They’re as cold and unyielding as stone. I press harder, trying to give him all of my warmth. “Haden, I love you. You have to come back to me.”