Chapter Twenty-One

“Hell is empty and all the devils are here.”

—Shakespeare

On my motorbike and with Brent riding as a passenger, we were third in a mile-long line of cars and trucks and vans carrying rebel Stygians toward the final meeting spot before our charge on Lethe. The sun was beginning to set. We had only an hour left of sunlight before darkness hit.

Prior to us hopping onto the motorbike, Clover had pulled me aside and into a private spot near a cluster of trees next to the vineyards. These were the same trees that Brent and I had visited before we had mounted the Interceptor to the roof of Le Château Frontenac on our first confrontation with Marin. This had been the only spot that was far enough from the rebels for us to speak.

“Your mama gave this to me before your attack on Lethe,” Clover had said, handing me a small, black velvet-covered box.

I had taken it from her hand and lifted the top. “This is Mama’s wedding ring.”

“She gave it to me and said that I should hold onto it until I had a chance to give it to you. She wanted you to have it, but in the excitement of your attack, she had forgotten.” Clover’s eyes had welled with tears.

The band was simple. Gold and round. Mama and Papa hadn’t much money, and the ring had represented that. But money hadn’t mattered. What had mattered was that they loved each other despite all else. The ring had been the trinket that showed that.

Prior to riding off to Lethe once more, I slipped the ring onto my middle finger where it fit snuggly like it had when I was younger. I wore it on my left hand, my dominant hand, and it did not feel strange to have it there. The ring felt like a small piece of Mama was with me, riding back to the place where all Death converged. It gave me the confidence and courage that I didn’t know that I needed.

With Mama’s ring and Brent’s arms around my waist and his hands locked tight so that I couldn’t escape, I felt nearly invincible.

Where were Papa, Delia, and Nicodemus? Why hadn’t they called?

It seemed when one thing worked out, another fell through. I had my soul back, fully intact, but now I worried about my loved ones. I didn’t know if they were alive or not. I assumed they were because I couldn’t think of the alternative. Yet, I had checked my cell phone every few minutes until it was time to leave. I had sent text messages. I had left voicemails. No answer. I had to remain certain that they were fine. After all, they were powerful in their own ways. They could take care of themselves.

But I still felt accountable for them because, whether it was a weakness or not, I loved each of them dearly.

Dudley remained at the cabin. There was no one to leave him with. So he stayed, curled on top of a fleece blanket in front of the fireplace. He had always been with someone, always protected. Now, he was on his own, and that bothered me.

Everything I couldn’t control left me unsettled. I wanted to reach out and take everything under my wing and nurture it. The idea bordered on obsessive. “If I can’t take care of them, no one will,” I kept repeating in my head.

This isn’t healthy. This is how good people turn bad. Control. They crave it.

I pushed that idea from my thoughts. I wasn’t bad. I made bad decisions at times, but I wasn’t evil like Marin or sly like Xiangu.

I’m not evil. I’m not wicked. I’m just trying to watch out for those I love. That’s not control, is it?

Brent patted my side and pointed at the spire sticking out of the top of Le Château Frontenac. The top of the hotel was visible from just about anywhere in the city. It wasn’t necessary for him to show me. I knew. But he distracted me from my thoughts, which were going in a dark direction.

My skin rippled in goose bumps as we approached Parliament Hill, the same place that we had passed on our way to save Brent from Lethe years ago. The Fontaine de Tourny was closer now than ever. My body quivered with anxiety. Would we see any Stygian rebels congregated there once we reached the top? Or would it be barren or flanked by Trivials waiting to rip each of us apart?

The three tiers of cherubs and nymphs of the massive fountain came into view as we crested the hill. We were finally here; the guests of honor arriving just as the street lamps sparkled to life and the sun’s last bit of light grew purple and pink.

“Good grief!” I squealed inside my helmet, the sound resonating for me alone.

“Holy Hades!” shouted Brent.

Surrounding us, Stygians congregated, plodding over sidewalks, grass and flowerbeds, hanging from lampposts, even scaling the fortress wall encircling Old Québec. Unassuming humans out for an early evening stroll were motionless, holding up their cell phones to take pictures as they observed hundreds of Stygians converge upon Fontaine de Tourny. Little did those humans know. To them, this was just another protest Québec City so often sees from locals or college students.

To us, it was Death’s revolution coming to a grand finale, all here to set Styx on a healthy course for the future.

“My God, is this for real?” Clover said through the window of the car next to us. “Are there really this many Stygians in Québec?”

“Québec is the nerve center of Styx. There’s bound to be more here than anywhere.” Brent replied as a large group of male Reapers sprinted in front of our motorbike. Cars didn’t matter tonight. Humans didn’t matter. These Stygians wore faces ripe with the same bravado I had seen in my own before I had left the cottage.

“Do you think the Trivials will attack us here?” asked Azim from the driver’s seat, as he leaned over Clover’s lap. The couple was holding hands. Clover’s knuckles were white from tension. Azim’s index finger stroked her pale skin, subtly trying to soothe her.

“I doubt there are enough Trivials to do it here. They’ll attack inside Lethe, I’m sure of it.” Brent’s words troubled me because they were true, and I was not looking forward to that confrontation, but I said nothing. This was the time to stand united. To do that, we had to embrace reckless abandon. We would not have come this far to fail now. Hades would be cruel indeed if failure was the path he set out for us. At least, that was what I told myself over and over and over again. Besides, we had already destroyed the biggest threat—Marin.

“What do you think of this? This is all because of you,” Clover said to me as Brent and I dismounted the bike. She and Azim climbed out of their car, but they quickly rejoined hands as they stood side-by-side. I smiled at their show of love. They were the Stygians we were fighting to protect. They deserved a bright future. We all did.

The hundreds of rebels that joined us from the Isle of Orleans parked their vehicles wherever they could, climbed out, and looked around in astonishment at the masses of Stygians.

To answer Clover’s question, I felt like I was going to hurl from exhaustion and nerves.

Manny pulled the pickup truck crammed full of the Kentuckians to one side, leaving it in the intersection because the forest of Stygians was too thick to go anywhere else. As the cars’ engines died, the voices of Styx’s allies grew louder. Manny and Puck wrenched their doors open and climbed out.

“Mama, mama, this is bigger than I imagined,” Manny said, patting his chest. His face beamed.

“I’m ready for this. Been ready for years,” Puck added. He had candy crumbs on his shirt. The Reaper was sugar drunk, and though I hated sugar, I would have chugged Pixie Stix after Pixie Stix to calm my own nerves.

Crisp air bit at my cheeks as we headed toward the Fontaine de Tourny. In front of us, shoulder-to-shoulder Stygians led the way. More than likely we would not be able to reach the fountain given how many bodies stood in our way.

“I’ve never seen so many of us in one place before.” I found Brent’s hand with mine. Azim and Clover needed each other’s comfort. I needed Brent’s.

“Keep close.” Brent clutched my hand tight enough to rub my bones together. I didn’t yelp or jerk away. I needed him to funnel me toward the fountain not just because I was too short to see above the heads of everyone, but also because I was numb.

“Welcome, Styx! Welcome all!” cried a familiar bass voice from a crackling megaphone.

Cheers rippled through the throngs. My eardrums buzzed. Hands and elbows twitching with excitement shoved me from side to side. But Brent’s grip never let up, even when I caught on a teenage Reaper in a black Prodigy T-shirt and green Mohawk.

“At long last, we come together as one to bring justice to Styx!” the voice continued. “No longer do we need to hide in secret! No longer are we threatened with the List of Offenses or an eternity in Erebus! We are free! We are free!”

As we trudged nearer, I spotted the one with the megaphone standing over the crowd on the lip of the marble fountain, swinging around to reach the ears of everyone who gathered. Papa was alive! Papa was the one with the megaphone!

If Papa was here, that meant Delia and Nicodemus were, too.

I breathed in relief. The only other being I worried about now was Dudley, and he was surely okay in his little nest at the cabin.

Oh, thank Hades, Papa, Delia, and Nic were okay!

But I couldn’t rush up to Papa and hug him as much as I wanted to. There were Stygians in the way. So, I hopped on my toes to see if I could spot Delia or Nicodemus. Brent did the same, stretching his neck to get a better view.

As we searched, Papa continued with what he was born to do—to be a voice for all of us. He stood on the lip of the fountain, bringing Stygians together as he and Mama had always wanted.

“Papa!” I screamed, throwing a hand in the air, vainly trying to get his attention. “Papa! Papa!”

“I don’t see them,” Brent said of Nic and Delia.

I jumped higher to try and get a glimpse of the Stygians closest to the fountain. Where was Delia in her red jumpsuit? Where was the wise old Nicodemus?

“Head Reaper Marin never wanted to hear our complaints. He concealed himself from us for centuries. Today, he is gone, and Styx is ready to elect a new, rightful Reaper to replace him. We will not let this moment be taken from us by anyone—Reapers, Eidolons, Scriveners, or Trivials. We will unite as one, no longer divided!”

“Show us Olivia!” someone shouted and a collective roar fervently agreed.

“Show us! Show us!”

“You’ll get a better view on my shoulders,” Brent said with a smile and then pried his fingers from mine and hefted me onto his shoulders long before I had the sense to speak.

I found my balance just when a cascade of eyes rolled my way. Never had I witnessed so many Stygians looking at me at once. My stomach churned harder. It was not easy to cast aside apprehension at facing an ocean of Grim Reapers as I perched on Brent. They expected something from me. Guidance. Restoration. And if I didn’t give it to them, what then?

“Papa!” I shouted at my foster father. “Where’s Nic and Delia?”

Papa gave me a grim nod that told me many things, and they were not good. Nicodemus and Delia were not here. They were not safe. And Papa was here not to just to bring justice to Styx but to save them. I knew that much from reading the expression on his face, but I needed to know more before we descended into Lethe.

Around the perimeters of our demonstration stood several humans watching with interest. Even though none of them knew who we were or what we were protesting, some joined in with our rally without ever understanding the reason.

But humans and Stygians weren’t the faces I hoped to see in the crowd.

I scanned for anyone who didn’t have that gold, deathly stare. I thought to meet eyes with more courageous Scriveners, ones willing to step out of hiding and reveal himself or herself to a world that would, if fortune was with us, be better than today.

But I saw no one like me. No Scriveners.

“HermesHarbinger said it so well, weeks ago, and now, tonight, we have our chance to save Styx!” Papa drew everyone’s attention to his megaphone again. “Follow us to Le Château Frontenac and Styx’s salvation!”

Fists rocketed into the air. The crowd howled. I didn’t listen to Papa’s speech as he continued. I yearned to look into those blue eyes of Brent’s and to tell him how thankful I was for what he had seen in me when no one else had. But what if we were too late? Failure had not come to mind until now. Confidence had been a chemical high I had ridden long enough. It was unavoidable that I would think of the worst.

Papa and his megaphone rotated in the direction of Le Château’s mint green roof peeking over the city’s fortified wall at us. Every Stygian rebel joined him. The orange brick facade of the hotel trembled from our unified stare. It knew we were coming, and it unquestionably relayed the message to Lethe that it would no longer be the unknown city of Death—that it would never be forgotten after today.

I tapped Brent’s head with my elbow. “Okay. Put me down.”

He started toward Rue Saint-Louis with everyone else.

“Brent, put me down!” I kicked with just enough force to send me sliding down his shoulder and arm. My feet hit with forward momentum. I was again stuck inside the cordon of Stygians fixed to take over Le Château. Hundreds of Grim Reapers would soon stampede the luxury hotel to challenge the Trivials who were the last bastion to stand in our way toward peace and freedom.

I snaked my way through the crowd to catch up with whoever was leading the protesters. I spied a band of Watchmen in black suits and gold scythe pins. They all gave me a sidelong glance but nothing more. Their job as Styx’s police force was done. They were no longer bound to Marin’s rule. They, like us, wanted a new Styx. They just hadn’t taken off their uniforms to help create it.

Brent and I soon found ourselves at Papa’s side. It was easy to find Papa, thanks to his height and size, but once we caught up to him, I was out of breath. Our reunion with him was subtle since there was no space for us to properly hug and explain how we found ourselves at this point in the massive parade. Papa pulled me against his hip and placed a kiss on the top of my head.

“Where are Nic and Delia?” I shouted.

“In Lethe. They kidnapped them yesterday.” He said this with so little emotion, it concerned me.

“What do you mean?” I grabbed onto his sleeve to keep him close as we marched.

“What I said. They kidnapped them. At least I think so. Woke up and they weren’t there, but it looked like a struggle. Didn’t you get my phone calls and messages?”

I didn’t. He didn’t get mine, either.

“The Trivials must’ve done something to the phone signals,” I said. “Nic and Delia aren’t…”

“Not dead. In Lethe. Left me a note telling me to come get them.” Papa reached around me to shake Brent’s hand, but then, as if Mama had channeled him, smacked my lover upside the head. “You keep stealing her away. ’Bout time you cut that shit out. Y’all could’ve left a damn note.”

“It was her idea!” Brent rubbed the back of his head.

Along with the Watchmen, we were the first to walk under the brick fortress surrounding Old Québec. Footfalls roared like the beats of war drums. Our steps quickened from a stride to a march. We traveled between narrow buildings with white and red shutters. Multicolored flags hanging from windows and wood signs for restaurants and boutiques rocked in the breeze as we passed by. The turrets of the Château scraped the twilight sky and soon fell into shadow when we made a right turn into the hotel’s small courtyard.

The bellhops and hotel guests stared in confusion as Stygians flooded the hotel’s courtyard. The thousands of us would not fit in the space, not that we would linger here for long. The entrance to Lethe used to change whenever it was discovered, an order made by Marin. The door had been left wide open when I fled Lethe a month ago, and it had not yet been sealed.

We marched through the courtyard and around the hotel to the set of service doors. Those doors were closed, but they were not locked. If any humans had ventured through those doors, they would not have found Lethe but a basement full of discarded, moldy furniture. For us, however, the bridge between life and death, we saw something else entirely.

At least I hoped so. What if the wall had been paved over?

Or what if it was left open for one very gruesome reason?

The Watchmen paused in front of the doors before daring to open them. Papa, Brent, and I stopped behind them. There were five Watchmen, each one giving the other uncertain looks.

“Some of us need to stand guard. Humans might follow us,” one said.

“Agreed. We’ll stay back,” said another.

Their expressions began to make sense as they peeled apart and stood on either side of the entrance into Lethe. They were scared. Their eyes should’ve been bright gold as Reaper’s eyes got in moments of confrontation. Theirs struggled between gold and their natural colors, failing to mask their true feelings.

I wanted to ask why they were so scared and had they seen something that told them to run the other way, but I didn’t. Trivials were frightening, sure, but they weren’t any more frightening than Marin and his loyalists. I had seen the worst.

One by one, with the Watchmen holding the metal doors open like the bellhops would for guests of the beautiful, historic Château, rebel Stygians fed through and into the one place they never thought they’d get to visit while alive. Once an overflowing handful pushed through the entrance, Papa, Brent, and I followed. This time, unlike all the others, we would not lead Styx. We would follow. This wasn’t our reclamation. It was everyone’s.

Just as I remembered, the long, concrete hallway descended about a hundred feet into the bowels of the hotel. There was another set of doors at the end of the hallway where we were headed. A large “Exit” sign hung above. As we marched, I felt things, both squishy and hard, underfoot. They threw off my balance. Stygians around me seemed to encounter the same things, though, like me, they couldn’t look down to inspect the floor given how close we all walked. My ankles rolled. I found myself bumping into Brent and Papa, both of whom struggled to manage their own balance.

“What the fuck?” Papa said.

“Can’t see,” I replied. As short as I was, I couldn’t look down to spot what exactly we were treading over.

“Smell that?” Brent asked, nose scrunched.

“No time to make fart jokes, son,” Papa grumbled.

“No. I smell it, too.” The stench grew stronger as we forged deeper toward Lethe.

Other Stygians near us agreed. What was the smell? What was underfoot?

The final set of doors into Lethe swung open ahead of us. When the first rebels burst through it, the stink of decaying flesh, sweet but instantly nauseating, overwhelmed everyone. Stygians slowed to stop, doubling over, covering their noses and faces with their shirts and jackets. The stink had been mild before the doors were open, but now was pungent enough to send some of the ones ahead of us stepping backward, uncertain if they should move forward and if their stomachs would let them.

Like everyone else, the three of us covered our faces. Our eyes watered.

“Has no one been in here for a month?” Papa said to us. “Is that what the smell is from?”

I had a hunch. Brent did, too. Even so, I had assumed that some of Marin’s loyalists had stayed due to Marin’s pre-taped videos. But perhaps those videos were all prearranged and automatically set to run? Perhaps Lethe had been abandoned after Marin’s demise?

But the smell. When Stygians died, they turned into dust unless they were torn apart by…

“Oh shit,” I whimpered when I knelt down to touch whatever was underfoot. When I picked it up and held it up in front of my face, the only thing I could do—because everyone around me did—was scream.

I had never imagined the horror of clutching a tuft of hair from a formerly living Stygian, a face that had no skull, no eyes, no teeth. The ghoulish thing looked more like a rubber Halloween mask than a former head of someone unrecognizable. Blood dripped from the empty eye sockets and neck where it had been severed.

Brent grabbed the sagging face of death from my hand and threw it against a wall. What this reaction was supposed to accomplish, neither of us was sure. The flesh smacked against the concrete wall and slid garishly down to the floor, leaving blood smeared in its wake. As everyone rushed to one side of the tunnel, they revealed numerous body parts scattered across the floor—the very things we were tripping over.

More Stygians around us screamed. Some vomited. Others looked around in abject terror. None of them, however, knew exactly what they were about to face.

“Motherfucking Trivials,” Brent growled, his body growing icy. “Those motherfucking—”

“Brent, not here.” I grabbed onto his arm as I felt his power intensifying.

“I’m sick of this shit! Isn’t it enough that we’re leaderless? Isn’t it enough that we’ve been through hell for decades?” Brent roared, causing the horrified Stygians to gradually inch away from us. Some, perhaps none of them around us, had never seen an Eidolon in full wraith form. I hadn’t until I had met Brent. And back then, it had terrified me to the core to see what he could do. Now was not the time to introduce Stygians to the full nightmare of a raging Eidolon.

“Brent!” I barked as he continued to rant.

“They’re going to tear you apart!” he shouted at the Stygians nearby. “They’re going to leave you like this poor shithead.” He bent to pick up the skull-less head and waved it around. “This is not Death! This is a fucking nightmare! We aren’t like this. We’re better than this. Death isn’t supposed to be horrifying, it’s a damn transition. It’s our job to make it painless and smooth. Look at this!”

The face swung around as he howled. Brent’s eyes were bright red, and the ghostly darkness began to surround him. I had never seen him like this, full of so much anger for what had been done. Brent used his Eidolon skills with precision, turning it off and on only when it was most needed. This Eidolon was unfamiliar, ungrounded, and willing to frighten off everyone to stop more bloody death from raining down on Styx.

But what I could see that no one else could was that deep down Brent was exhausted. He had remained the calm, focused leader for long enough. There were times when a meltdown was inevitable. Only, why did it have to be here and now?

“Papa,” I said, grabbing his shirt collar and pulling his face closer to mine. “We have to do something with him!”

“Nah. Let him get it out.” The tone in Papa’s voice was almost humorous.

“Help me calm him down before everyone runs away!”

As Papa and I debated, Brent’s sweet Kentucky brogue roared over voices and whimpering and crying. It carried over the screams of Stygians discovering the body parts under their feet. And it carried over the retching coming from sick Stygians.

Papa and I had to stop him. We had to calm him down.

“Do something!” I shouted at my foster father who was the only one big enough to bring the six-foot-tall Eidolon down.

“Why can’t we get a fucking break, huh? When is Marin’s hand going to lose sway over us? When? When?” Brent kicked what seemed to be a severed leg. He filled his lungs to begin again with meaningless, unhelpful words, when Papa tapped him on the shoulder. Brent whirled around, eyes blazing red, ready to attack. Instead, a fist met his cheek, knocking Brent to the floor and out cold.