On the other side is an office—one of thoseMad Men–type deals with the couches and dark furniture and half-empty glasses of whiskey. The only thing that doesn’t fit the mid-century aesthetic is the gaping void on the far wall. It’s such a dark and total black, it looks like a hole cut into reality itself. And I guess that’s what it is. The portal to Tartarus.
In front of the gateway sits a woman behind an angular wooden desk. Blue-black skin, high cheekbones, penetrating gaze. I recognize her—she was on the video call when Waring was offering me the job back at the museum.
She wears her coiled hair unbound, streaks of silver gleaming as she tilts her head to get a better look at me. The edges of her fulllips quirk in a smile, and as she steps around the desk into the light, I see the translucent sheen I’m used to seeing when a living person is in the Afterlife.
Poppy shoves me to my knees in front of her.
“We finally meet face-to-face,” the woman says, kneeling like she’s talking to a child. Her voice is melodic, honeyed, and deeper than I expected. “Hello, Elle. I’m Nyx.”
Nyx. Head of the Nightshades, which has members installed in every major government. For all intents and purposes, she rules the world.
I swallow. “I would shake your hand, but…”
She gives me a patronizing smile. “It’s a shame you didn’t take our job offer. But I guess you’ll be reunited with your brother anyway.”
Another acknowledgment that Dante’s in Tartarus. I resist the urge to look at Poppy and tell herI told you so.
Nyx stands and walks back to her desk.
“We have no ill will toward you. But we can’t have someone who knows as much as you just wandering around the Afterlife. You understand.” She turns to someone behind her. “Search her.”
A figure steps forward out of the shadows, and I tense.
A demon. Its horns are small and curve forward. It stares with blank eyes as it approaches. I have that same panicked feeling I get when being hunted by a hellhound.
It pats me down, movements slow and deliberate, until it pulls a handful of fake obols and a pair of lockpicks from my pocket.
“Whoops,” I say. “How did those get there?”
It’s fine. They were pig cadavers.
But then it rips the seams of my hood, and the limen stone tumbles to the floor.
That I did not expect.
Nyx taps her long fingernails against the arms of her office chairand gives me a disappointed look. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Poppy kneel and pick up the stone. It’s not slick or subtle, but she can get away with it, because they don’t realize what it is. They probably think it’s a weapon or some smaller charm.
“Melinoë said you used to work with her,” Nyx says to her.
Poppy swallows, fidgeting with the stone. “Someone from our old crew texted me when she died. I knew where she’d end up, and Melinoë offered me a lot to bring in her soul.”
She’s good at this, not overselling it, not pretending to be someone she’s not. But I wonder what’s going on under the surface. If she’s frantically trying to come up with a new plan, like I am. Or maybe not. Being stuck in hell is my problem to solve, not hers. Just like the run-in with Thea was her problem, not mine. She has to trust I’ll figure things out on my own, and I have to…well, figure things out on my own.
“Thank you, Ms.Champagne,” Nyx says. “I’ll make sure you’re duly compensated.”
The demon drags me toward the void. Okay, I guess we’re doing this.
“Wait,” Poppy says, and a twinge of panic has entered her voice. It’s the first crack I’ve seen in her facade since we got here. “I was told…I would get to accompany her to Tartarus.”
“Don’t worry,” Nyx says. “We won’t let her escape. We can send proof to Melinoë if she requires it.”
“It’s just that…” Poppy starts. She takes a deep breath, and when she speaks again, her voice is darker. “She’s responsible for the death of a friend.”
Ouch, okay. Definitely a good strategy, but way to hit me while I’m down.
“I understand. But trust me.” Something changes in Nyx’s voice. “You don’t want to make the trip if you don’t have to. You should go and leave her to us.”
The Nightshades’ magic of persuasion fills the room like a heady perfume. And even though Nyx isn’t directing it at me, I get a bit of the blowback. It slides into my lungs, coils around my thoughts. Poppy should leave. She doesn’t need to be here. Going to Tartarus is dangerous and making the trip is just not worth it. Not for me.