Furious

Chapter Eight

Jasper smirked at me. "Now we're getting somewhere. Unfortunately for your sake, I've been told to leave that topic to the boss. I can't tell you anything about them."

"That's not fair—" I protested, but Jasper cut me off.

"I can't tell you how powerful, how strong, how righteous, they are." He looked at me pointedly and I shut my mouth. "I can't tell you that all Furies are descendants of the original three sisters. Nor can I tell you about their affinity for whips and fireballs. It's really not my place."

"Is there anything else you can't tell me?"

Jasper shook his head and grinned an I-know-something-you-don't-know grin. There was a special place in hell for people like him.

"That's what I wanted to tell you before you passed out. If you were scared and panicked before, you better hold onto something—because we're going to be dealing with all kinds of monsters, and some of them might actually try to eat you despite Hades' hands-off memo."

Being in proximity to him suddenly grew unbearable again. Back in the living room, I looked at the walls in search of another way out—the string that would bring the whole set crumbling down and reveal the cast behind the scene. But it was really too late to tell myself I was still dreaming. In lieu of that imaginary string, I studied the paintings hung so thoughtfully on the walls. Surrounding the mirror were forests and fields, mountains and oceans. The nearest frame held a depiction of a tree, fully in bloom with deep green leaves and luscious red fruits. They could have been apples or pomegranates or red clown noses for all I cared.

Complimentary to the naturalistic paintings were cities and islands and desperate patches of land, no frame the same as its neighbor.

Absentmindedly I ran my fingers lightly along the frames until I stopped at the mirror and leaned against its cool surface. The glass was comforting against my shirt, real and solid and harmless. The mirror didn't want anything from me; it wasn't demanding that I turn in assignments, or requiring financial information in order to deny scholarships, or expecting me to go to a war for it.

In the ultimate betrayal, the mirror at my back rippled and a hand nudged me gently away from the no-longer-solid surface. There wasn't enough room for him to materialize with me leaning on the mirror, I realized.

"Looking for me?" Hector asked, stepping from the mirror's frame. The smirk was gone, as was the delight in his eyes. Do immortal gods get nervous when they talk to girls? The rational part of my brain reminded me that Hector had been a god for only fifty short years. The teenage girl part swooned a little at the thought.

I wanted to smack that part and ground her until she turned thirty.

"No—" I started instinctively. "I mean yes, actually. We need to talk."

One side of his mouth twitched. A spark of triumph lit up his irises and what I mistook for wariness dissolved.

"I apologize for my ill-timed exit; this isn't going exactly as planned and I was late for a meeting with Ares. If you allow me a moment with Jasper, I'm all yours."

My eyes locked on him. Now we were getting somewhere. "Ares? The war god?" A picture of flaming red hair and a sword, also on fire, filled my head.

"Correct—god of war. And a complementary temper to go along with his title." His smile had returned to its proper place on his face, disarmingly proud. I looked away from his shining eyes.

"We really need to talk."

Without bothering with a response, Hector turned and headed towards the kitchen. I could hear bits and pieces of their hushed conversation.

"...Ares?"

"No change; there's no reasoning with them..."

"Can't we just attack now? You have her..."

"Absolutely not. No one is prepared for battle. And I'll thank you not to mention it to Autumn."

"Yes, my lord."

He made Jasper call him 'lord'? Archaic. I crept closer, one dramatic, cartoonish step at a time.

After a pause Jasper ventured, "Forgive me, my lord, but how do you know it will even work?"

"It has to work. It worked last time and we're running out of options."
"And Furies, my lord."

Hector made a short growling noise in his throat. "Just take care of her. And use the pomegranate."

I peeked into the silent kitchen at two men and a whole lot of tension between them. Hector had another glass of red wine/juice/blood of innocents in his hand. Jasper's eyes darted in my direction, a sharp warning in his gaze. I backed away, pretending I had never seen the concern wrinkle Hector's features.

Eventually he emerged from the kitchen once more and smiled at me, unworried. In fact, he looked rejuvenated. Not a care in the world.

"Let's talk, Autumn. I imagine that you still have questions."

Oh boy, did I ever.

"You know me so well," I joked before remembering just who I was speaking to. "What's with the pomegranate?"

The Lord of the Underworld—was he my lord as well as Jasper's now that I was sort of a demon-freak?—shrugged. "Local delicacy," was all he offered.

Hector approached me but didn't stop, his focus on the wall behind me. I spun to see him at the tree painting next to the lonely mirror, waiting. Reluctantly, curiously, conflicted, I joined him. Side by side, my shoulder brushed against his bicep. He was warm and enticing and I wanted to lean my head ever so slightly to the left so it rested on his shoulder.

I did not do this. In fact, I stepped conspicuously away, needing space.

"Notice the horizon in this piece, how the glow of the rising sun is ever so slightly growing in the distance. If you'll remember,"—I didn't—"the sky was dark when you arrived, mimicking your sky. By now the sun has begun its rise in your corner of the world, where this painting is tied to an ancient apple tree. Time moves faster here than you are used to and a full day in the Underworld equates to roughly six hours at the speed you are used to."

I did some quick math; four days in Hades equals one day on earth. What time had I snuck out for an ill-fated run last night? Ten p.m.? Eleven? Either way I had been gone at least six hours.

Or one full Underworld day.

At this rate, the gods must feel impossibly old and humanity so, so infantile. It wouldn't do to live forever, not for me.

If the sun was rising at home that meant Mom was already awake. She would be off to work by five thirty a.m. and would do her best not to wake me. She wouldn't open my bedroom door, wouldn't notice the empty bed, wouldn't even miss me until I was late getting home from school.

No matter how angry I was when I left, I always came back. When I didn't show up in a few hours she was going to lose her mind.

Oblivious to my thoughts, Hector plowed on. "This is how we track the passage of time in your world. Every painting in this room is linked to reflect Helios' path over the mortal realm, at any point of my choosing."

I counted twenty-four paintings lining the walls. Among others, there was one of snow-capped mountains, a red desert, two lakes surrounded by trees, three horizons over cities, and the tree in front of me. The tree that was, for whatever reason, linked to my time zone, my house, me. Somewhere in my world a city created its own light, not bothering to wait for the sun.

"Is that one Paris?" I asked.

I wasn't even surprised when Hector didn't answer.

He placed his palm on the surface of the mirror-portal, still not paying me any attention. It was no use waiting for him to acknowledge my question: I didn't get an answer about Paris because the Lord of the Underworld took my hand and pulled me into the wall. Or, more specifically, he pulled me through the mirror and into oblivion.

A/N: where do you think he's taking her? Let me know what you think of Autumn's story so far! Comment, vote, or send me a DM. Let's be friends :)