* * *
Blisters are formingon my feet as I walk through the unbearable heat toward the shiny black building that presumes to pierce the sky. It is liberating and terrifying all at once; all it would take is the owner of this suit to spot me near this house for me to be called out and plopped into whatever kind of jail cell they use in the land of the Daemons.
Anytime I spot a bike rack, I find myself trying to inconspicuously grip the metal bars to steady my wobbly feet. People are staring at me now. My new look has given me new visibility. Some of them snicker when they see my unsure footing. I will be in trouble if I don’t figure out how to get myself together before I get to the Tower.
If Cebe had stayed with me, undoubtedly, she would be walking alongside me and helping me with my death march.
If I cannot gain an audience with my uncle, then I am shit out of luck. I’m becoming used to how the feeling drains out of my fingertips and toes when my anxiety heightens. In a show of false confidence, I assume a more suggestive pose with my body by pushing out my chest and clasping my wrist with my other hand behind my back.
It’s impossible to resist twisting the smooth, cool metal of the bracelet around my skin.
My natural sense of direction doesn’t fail me. Soon, I am back in the same square as before. It is cloudy, and thunder rumbles ahead. The heat is becoming heavy and oppressive, and the air is filled with humidity. Nothing like this ever happened underwater, and it’s completely new to me.
I hope I can make it to my destination before the rains fall. My pace slows as I consciously make the effort to soften my steps and transform my gait into something more akin to belonging on a runway than a drunken being stumbling from a bar.
As I pass through the enchanted statues depicting my family's history, I wish I knew what theyactuallylooked like over what they had been presented to me as. I want to know whether Fortuna’s eyes really held the ghosts of kindness.
The opposite end of the Pantheon boasts a walkway protected by rows of Daemon guards of all genders. There are velvet stanchions separating the tourists from the truly elite few. The peasants from the royalty.
I sneer at the thought. My whole purpose in coming here is to hopefully appeal to a man who is not like my father in any way, shape, or form. If he is the same flavor in different packaging, well…
I stop myself there. There is no reason to sabotage my plan before I give it a proper chance. My hands are coated with sweat as I make a mental list of everything I need to say to my uncle.
Schooling my face with a look of indifferent condescension, I pat the pocket where the note about my identity is stashed. I feel the artificial gleam fill my eye, and I widen my stride. Crossing to the space where two exceptionally strong Daemons stand at attention, I remain looking forward and bored.
A crisp hiss of paper against cloth sounds as I take out the note written on nice stationary and fold it into thirds. One of them holds out his hand as I place it delicately in his palm.
All of my princess training happened underwater. I hope it shows through as I wait for him to read. Once finished, he looks up from the note and gives me a good once-over. I wink.
His eyes widen as he turns to his impassive partner. “Says here that she is the daughter of Ice Mer King Phelix. She’s requesting an audience with King Hades. Do you know anything about this?”
The other snatches the note and reads it over. “No, we better go ask Toth’toros.”
That name.
For the love of Fortuna.
“I’m one of the least shitty Daemons in the King’s employ.”
Wariness floods my body. If I run away now, it will absolutely imbue suspicion into a pair of already paranoid alpha males. My elbows press into the sides of my body, trying to make me appear smaller.
One of them does a sharp about-face and marches into the Tower.
“First time in the Gates of Hell?” the one who remains asks.
I shake my head.
He smirks. “Oh yeah, you can’t speak. Got it.”
The moments drag on as we wait for the other Daemon to return. My eyes stare forward, but don’t really see any of my surroundings. One visitor to the square stops to take a flash photo of me.
My lips compress. They don’t even know who I am, they just want to remember that one time they saw a supposedly famous person in a very ancient place. They don't know that the picture they took on their crappy, bottom-tier camera could be worth millions in the right hands.
I am a wanted female.
An ache has started in my shoulder blades from how tightly I hold my posture. Finally, the other Daemon returns. Tension brackets his mouth, but thank the gods, he is alone. I am sure Todd remembers me.
When he reaches us, his eyes flash something that looks like a warning to his teammate.