Going to the Underworld was a terrible idea. Even if she found Misha, the odds of her getting her back here were slim, and if she’s caught…well, she didn’t want to think about that.
First, she needed to talk to Ben.
The Phoenix was closed, but the lights were on. Vika knocked on the door.
Ben pulled open the door. “Vika. You’re up early.” He raked a hand through his messy dark hair, which did not tame it. He stepped aside. “Come in.”
“Thanks,” she said. As she stepped into the bar, the smell of fresh bread engulfed her. “You were baking.”
He nodded. “I was making pretzel buns. How’s it going with our ghost?”
“Getting better,” she said holding up the blade.
His eyes widened. “Is that her ceremonial blade?”
Vika shook her head. “Her sister’s. Dahlia led us to it. Sort of. She was scattered, like she couldn’t remember. Millie found it, actually, near the broken boundary marker.”
She slid into a booth, and Ben sat across from her. “That’s not surprising. She’s been stuck there for a long time, going through her routine.”
“Yeah. When I touched it, I saw flashes of what I think was the binding ceremony.” Vika began to tell him about the images she’d seen when she touched the blade.
Ben listened without interrupting. When she was finished, he steepled his fingers. “I’m not sure if what you saw was the binding ceremony, but this blade will certainly help us recreate it more accurately. We really need the details from Dahlia. Did she talk to you at all?”
Vika shifted in her seat. “I’m working on it.”
Ben studied her before taking a sharp breath. “Okay.”
“That’s actually why I’m here. I need to run an errand for her, and I was wondering if you would watch Millie. Just for a day or so.” Vika traced the grain of the wood table, wishing she could tell him everything.
His eyes narrowed. “What kind of errand?”
“Can you watch her?”
“Of course, but what kind of errand?” Ben repeated, his stormy eyes searching hers.
She looked away. “One that will help with the knot.” That hung between them for a beat and she changed the subject. “Have you figured out the spell?”
“Someday you are going to have to trust me,” Ben said.
“I do trust you, and if I could tell you, I would.” The lie tasted sour on her tongue, but she couldn’t tell him that her errand was popping down to the Underworld, even though she had the sneaking suspicion that he would understand.
Ben sighed as he leaned back in the booth. “Well, to answer your obvious change of subject, yes, I think I’ve figured out the ingredients. Most of them I have, like an applewood branch. It’s pretty standard. The spell is sealed with freely given, fresh blood, and bound with spoken truth. It’s the last part we need. We need the words of their spell.”
“Fresh blood?” Vika repeated, though she’d seen plenty of blood, the thought of creating a spell with it was slightly horrifying.
He shrugged. “It’s pretty common for binding spells. We don’t need a lot. I’ll just cut my thumb. No big deal. The blade you found will help anchor it.”
Unease twisted in her belly. “I wonder if we’re looking at this wrong. Dahlia shouldn’t be here. Just because we can recreate her binding spell doesn’t mean we should. There has to be a way to secure the knot and set her free.”
Dahlia should be with her family.
Ben tapped his chin, thinking. “I will look into it while you are on your mysterious errand.”
Vika needed to get in and out of the Underworld as quietly as possible, which meant sneaking in through the entrance in the state forest. She’d found the entrance by accident ages ago when she’d chased a wayward shade into the forest. Now, as she walked the deer path through the thick pines, she hoped it was still there and that Charon would take her across discreetly.
They normally got on, but that didn’t mean he’d cooperate.
The mouth of the cave was narrow and mostly hidden by a fallen oak and leggy, thorny bushes. Vika ducked under a branch, and the air shifted, the familiar pull of the In Between tugging her forward. Inside, it was completely dark, the damp air thick with the smell of dirt and old water. With one hand on the cold stone, she felt her way along the narrow passage as it wound its way down into the darkness.
Any mortal stumbling this far down the tunnel wouldn’t have marked the threshold. There was no X marks the spot or glowing fairy circle. It was a section of the rock that seemed to drink the darkness. If a mortal came upon it, they would turn around without thinking too much about it and then quickly forget they’d been here.
As she crossed it, the temperature plummeted, a cold that went right to her bones. A pearly river cut through the darkness, revealing a wider cavern. The milky water swirled with whispers and memories. Though she was drawn to it, Vika stayed back.
“Didn’t expect to see you here, little Kere.” The voice came from a figure leaning on a pole near the bank.
“Charon,” Vika said. The ferryman looked the same, somehow ageless and weathered together. “Can you take me to the Asphodel Fields?”
“Mmmm.” He pushed off from the shore, the small boat beneath him rocking gently. “You know the rules. Passage requires payment.”
Vika held out a silver drachma, one from the collection in her shop.
Charon held out a knotty hand. “That’ll do.”
The coin disappeared into his robes. Vika climbed aboard, the boat steady under her weight.
They glided across the water in silence. Vika watched the changing shapes of the shores, the mouths of caves, and other tributaries. Occasionally, she glimpsed other figures, but they shrank when they saw her, and nobody else got on or off.
The boat bumped against a shore Vika didn’t see coming. Gray fields with swaying grasses, strange white flowers, and lavender stretched as far as she could see, the gray of the sky dipping into the gray landscape.
“Be careful,” Charon said. “Even the favorites of the Fates can fall from grace. I hope whoever you’re looking for hasn’t forgotten themselves.”
“Me too,” Vika muttered. “Please don’t tell—“
“I’m just the ferryman,” Charon said, thumping his staff on the floor. “I carry the souls and I see nothing.”
“Thank you.”
Then she was alone on the shore. Vika took out the blade, gripping it as she walked into the fields. She missed the comforting presence of Millie at her side, but this was no place for her. Though Millie was a failed hellhound, she was a perfect dog. She was safer at home with Ben.
At the thought of Ben, she gripped the blade tighter. If he knew what she was, would he still smile at her? Bring her favorite coffee? If she succeeds with Dahlia, he will understand. He had to.
Spirits dotted the fields, translucent and wandering, acting out scenes from plays only they knew. Others drank from the milky white flowers that grew among the grasses. In this part of the Underworld, there was no suffering, but there was no luxury either.
The calm here was the quiet of forgetting, of time passing without purpose. If Misha were here, Vika hoped she remembered enough to want to help her sister.
She concentrated on the blade, focusing on the magic that still clung to it as she imagined the smell of apple blossoms and the way sunshine made the red of the ripe apples stand out against the blue sky. “Come on, Misha. Where are you?”
Vika wove between the spirits, careful not to touch them, and in return, they didn’t seem to notice her. At first, it was strange that they weren’t afraid of her, but Keres weren’t an uncommon sight here, and these spirits had nothing to fear now.
She walked along, searching their faces for Misha’s, which was burned into her memory from the visions.
The blade warmed in her hands, and she trusted it to find its owner. Time passed oddly in the Underworld, and she didn’t know how long she’d been searching. Hours? Days? Hours she thought. As she was about to give up and beg the Fates for help, she saw craggy branches dripping with blood-red apples.
The girl sat beneath a twisted tree in a small grove of four apple trees, her long dark hair hanging over her face. She was humming as her fingers carved symbols on a fallen branch. When Vika got closer, she noticed that all the trunks were covered in carvings.
“Misha?” Vika said.
The girl’s head shot up. She didn’t say anything, just watched Vika with wary distrust.
Vika held up the blade. “I think this is yours.”
Misha’s fingers twitched.
“Your sister needs your help,” Vika said softly. “She’s still there, Misha. She’s still protecting the orchard, but the binding is loosening. Dahlia needs to know you’re at peace. Will you help?”
Misha’s gaze drifted to Vika’s. Her eyes were distant, cloudy, but at the mention of her sister, recognition flickered.
“Dahlia,” Misha whispered. “Dahlia. I can’t find her.”
“Is that why you grew these trees? So she’d find you?”
Misha looked from Vika to the blade in her hand. Vika held it out.
Misha’s fingers reached out and brushed the wooden handle. She couldn’t hold it, but as her fingers passed through, sharpness returned to her features. Her eyes cleared. Misha’s ghostly fingers wrapped around the handle.
“They killed her,” Misha said. “They burned—“
“I know,” Vika interrupted. “Will you come with me? Will you help her?”
Misha nodded.
Vika tried to look confident as she led Misha through the fields toward the bank of the Styx. She had coins for passage, but it was no guarantee. Vika could pass through, but Cerberus, Hades’ three-headed dog, prevented souls from leaving.
They pressed on. She would think of something.