A/N: it's a long one. Strap in!
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Another question formed under my tongue, unasked.
Was this a game to him?
"What the hell doesâ" I made sarcastic finger quotes"â'New Hades' mean? What happened to the old one? And you know that in order for me to be a half-blooded anything, one of my parents had to be full-blooded, right? Newsflash: they are very much human. I may not be a doctor, but I'm pretty sure that's Genetics 101 for you. Human plus human equals tiny human, not half monster. My mother is from New Jersey and Dad was born in Arizona."
He was probably there now. He thrived in the desertâMom always said there was sand in his bloodâwhere my mother was a tried and true city girl. His genetic make up was one part hippie, one part aspiring-scientist, and two parts lone ranger. Their relationship had been all fire and passion and adventure. It didn't work out for them.
"Yes, I am quite familiar with genetics, I audited the class at Underworld University last fall," Hector smirked at me, finding himself funny.
"I'm human. My parents are human. My grandparents were human, for crying out loud. Give me my phone, there are a few people on speed dial who will corroborate." My confidence dropped ten points when I realized that, like a brainless fool, I left my phone on the bedside table when I snuck out of my window. Just like every run I went on, I had fully expected to return.
Okay, I really want to wake up now, I prayed to any powers-that-be who might be listening. Nothing happened.
My request for my cell phone went unacknowledged as well as my plea for wakefulness. "Just because your parents claim to be red-blooded mortals, destined to live like regular Americans, doesn't mean that they didn't originate in the Underworld. I know all of my Furies, and not only is your mother a full-blood, but your father carried the gene as well. By right of blood, you belong to me."
Every family its monsters but my parents didn't hold that title. Mom used to read me bedtime stories and brush my hair and when I was old enough to do those things by myself she proved her unconditional love for me even when we fought. There was Grandpa, who was more a father to me than my dad, and though he was probably an angel, he was a mere mortal like the rest of us.
Every Thanksgiving I visited Dad in Arizona and we went horseback riding in the desert. Grandpa taught me how to drive; Mom slipped love notes into my lunch every day; Dad always sent me the best, funniest, cheesiest birthday cards full of cash. I could trace my humanity back generations if I had to.
Just ask them, they'll tell you: my parents were normal, normal and divorced. And they were definitely human.
"Your parents were mated and used for breeding. Their purpose was to create you. They may not have known it, they may have mistaken Fate for love, but in the end they had a destiny and they fulfilled it. As you are going to do."
I jerked into a standing position and the chair tipped over behind me. "I'm not mating with you, if that's what you think. I don't believe your lies and I would never, ever, touch you."
The crazy in his personality was a real downer; in other circumstances, I would totally consider it.
"Calm down, Autumn, that's notâ"
"I will not calm down!" I didn't care that I was shouting. Hope flared in my chest that someone, anyone, might hear me and come to help. "You kidnapped me for some unknown nefarious reason and then tried to convince me that I'm a product of monsters and fate. For all I know, the food was drugged. I'm going to fall asleep unsuspectingly and never, ever wake up again." How could I have been so stupid as to accept food from him, even in an attempt to get answers? Just by putting it in my mouth I might have killed myself." My voice had risen and I inhaled sharply to bring myself down a few notches. In a less hysterical tone, I asked, "It's not drugged, right?"
"I am a god, not a common human thief in the night; I have ways of making you stay that do not involve drugs but I choose not to use themâwe are a civilized bunch when we choose to be. And it was no pomegranate. Do you feel like a slave to my whims? Has the desire to return home lessened?" he snapped. His eyes flashed gold through the dark grey-brown of his irises, fire shooting through the darkness before returning to their original coloring as if it hadn't happened at all.
What do pomegranates have to do with anything?
My accusations struck a nerveâor he was just as crazy as I feared, talking about pomegranates. Of course, he was much too sophisticated to stoop to drugs. Why would I ever think such a thing? But I couldn't shake the sight of his eyes flashing, even if it only lasted half a second.
I felt down my body, checking to make sure I was still there, could still feel everything. All the important pieces seemed to be in the appropriate places. I pressed my fingers to my neck and waited for my pulse. A strong rhythm beat under the pressure. Everything checked out.
"Then you are not drugged."
It would be easier if I was.
Abruptly, almost angrily, Hector moved out of one room and into the next. I followed behind like a leashed puppy. We left my unfinished plate and my fallen chair, and walked back into the first room I'd seen, with scenic paintings where there had been tapestries in the dining room. Hector must have wanted to break a record for most wall hangings in a single room. There was hardly any wall space uncovered. The floor wasn't much better, littered with furniture and piles of books stacked up here and there. Smaller treasures lived on thin wooden tables between the doors on the wall behind Hector. An elephant statue and a carved wooden totem pole, neither more than a foot tall, sat together. A sword leaned up again another table, where a porcelain angel figurine looked lovingly at her feet.
If I took a picture right now and put it on display the tag would read: Reflections of a Disorganized, Overly Cramped Antique Shop by Autumn Rein.
None of the pieces fit together and yet they all seemed to be exactly where they should, as if they were meant to sit on those shelves, to be piled on the floor, to be randomly on display.
Even the sofa across from where my host now sat was too large. It didn't match the other chairs, or the carpet for that matter. I didn't want to sit on anything; where the dinning room was functional, this whole room screamed "Do Not Touch". Did all crazy men live in museums or just the ones interested in me? If you could call this interaction "interest"; according to him, it was fate and good breeding.
Like I was some kind of dog destined to win trained puppy shows and be used to further breeding of champions. The thought settled deep in my stomach and I wanted to wretch in the vase on the side table near the bookshelves. It probably cost more than our house and would have made an incredible puke pot.
But I held it back; as much as I wanted to ruin some of his stuff, my kidnapper hadn't touched me or eaten me or been even a little mean. I squashed me distaste until the nausea went away, leaving me feeling slightly more empty than before.
Hector, not Mysterio, perched delicately on the plush sofa, staring intently at a painting on the wall, and I plopped down across from him with as much grace as an elephant. So much for not touching anything. Each room I'd seen had felt ancient. They belonged in the castle of a conquering king where the stone walls were covered with decorations from every corner of the world, like a giant trophy case in the shape of a living room.
"This field trip is getting us nowhere. Stop dragging me all around your place and just answer my damn questions." Be calm, Autumn, getting angry isn't going to get you home. Quit shaking, he's going to notice. Built-up frustration seeped into every muscle. I shook even though the room was warm; a slight angry chill threatening to take over. Funny, I was more angry than afraid now that I knew his name. As long as I was angry there wasn't any room left to be afraid.
"This is not 'all around' my place. The Underworld is vast and sprawling and would swallow you whole if you took a wrong step."
Comforting.
Hectorâor would he rather be called Hades? Gods should be addressed with titles, shouldn't they?âlooked out around the room at the history that had been compiled there. He leaned back and spread his arms out, the picture of relaxation.
"My predecessor collected beautiful works of art from every culture through the centuries. French Romanticism is my favorite and so I had all of those pieces hung here. If you don't like them we can hang something more to your tastes."
No, thank you. After a moment of admiration at the ancient, beautiful trophies in the room, Hector looked at me, humor replacing the anger in his eyes. "What is it you wanted to know?"
Every time he answered a question I only came up with more. His game was getting old. I didn't like itâor him.
"I don't like you. That being said: have you been paying attention to me at all? I want to know who you are, where we are, and how I can get homeâall the obvious queries. This is the same chain of questions I asked you an hour agoâ" Realization smacked me in the face. I'd been gone a long time. Long enough for Hector to make dinner and me to not eat it. I'd just gone out to blow off some steam, and my mother would be wondering where I was.
She knew that I always came home, no matter how mad I was or how heated the arguments got, I always came home. Except this time.
"Relax, Autumn. Time passes differently in the Underworld. My world moves faster than yours."
Oh, sure, that was reassuring and it settled all my nerves instantly. Not. His assertion only made me wonder if his godliness allowed him to read my mind.
Gods can't read minds, gods can't read minds, gods can't read minds, I chanted in my head. As if it would help.
"Hector, Hades, whatever; what do you want from me?" I tried.
And if he said anything that sounded like "need to know", I was going to smack him across his stupid, perfect face.
He didn't though. He didn't say anything for a while. I could hear clock hands ticking away in my brain as he just stared at me even though I hadn't noticed any clocks. I tried not to blink. I wasn't going to let him win even a simple staring contest.
His eyes focused, unblinkingly; I lost.
"You'll find out soon enough," was his eventual answer. Five short words after an eternity of terse silence between us.
My jaw locked and I narrowed my eyes at him. "I was looking for something a bit more concrete."
"Then ask something else."
"Because you're so good at answering my questions, right? You said if I ate that you would give me an explanation; well, I lived up to my end of the deal and you are just as unreliable as ever."
Hector held up his hand palm towards me. "One bite unceremoniously spit into a napkin does not constitute eating. Tit for tat, Autumn. You eat, I'll provide all the answers you want."
I jumped up from the couch so quickly I was airborne for the second time since meeting Hector. "I am not Hansel and Gretel to be fattened up for eating."
The comparison was not encouraging and garnered no response from Hector.
The man was going to drive me insane. But, even I had to admit that he was right. I pivoted on my heel, walking purposefully away from him. There had to be a way out, right? I had three doors, three options. The door to the furthest right would lead to the kitchen and, continuing in through that room, I could find the dinning room with my unfinished plate. Let's see what's behind door number one.
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Hey you--yes, you, Reader. You make my day. I'm so nervous to put my work out there and just by being here, now, you make it worth it. So thank you, you beautiful, wonderful, patient person. You're my favorite.