Page 64 of Curse the Flame

One is draped in a dark cloak, the hood hiding everything, though I don’t sense that she—because the shape is definitely of a woman—is one of ours. Life still clings to her, but there are those who find their way to the Underworld in that state.

Daphne did. So did Alex. So long as she could pay her fare to Charon, the woman can visit—though she must be careful otherwise she won’t be able to leave.

The shade hovering at the far end of the ferry, as far from the woman as he can, is undoubtedly a man. He’s also very, very dead.

That’s no surprise. What is a surprise, though? Is that I know him.

I glance down at Sir. He barks happily, and it hits me that this… this is the reason why Sir retrieved me to bring me to the dock.

I remember him. The tunic he’s wearing, the pack slung over his back, the curls that are see-through now, but I saw them when they were thick and black and curled around his neck.

Theseus. It’s Aria’s husband, Theo, but here in the realm of the dead, he is Theseus.

When he lifts his face as Charon docks the ferry, I see that his eyes are full black. No faded color belonging to one of the shades there. It looks like someone colored them in with a black Sharpie, and my breath gets caught.

Everyone in the Underworld knows what that means.

He’s an Unmentionable.

Now that he’s docked, Charon steps onto the shore and lifts one hand in my direction. It isn’t quite a wave. Charon… he’s not really the waving type, though I’ve worn him down enough that I want to believe we’re friends so, at the very least, he acknowledges Willow more than he’s showing deference to Persephone.

I do wave back. “Busy day for you, too?” I call.

His hood tilts. “Very.”

I glance at the lines stretching along the path to the gate. “I noticed.”

No wonder Hades needed to spend the day in the megaron…

“More coming,” adds Charon, his voice dry and brittle, like rattling bones. “Plenty more.”

Wonderful.

He lowers the gangplank. The cloak-figured steps off first, keeping her hood drawn tightly around her face. Charon gestures toward the palace with one skeletal hand. “The lord is waiting for your arrival.”

Oh. What’s that about?

I don’t know. The woman in the cloak strides forward, but before I can sate my curious side and ask, the male shade hovers over the gangplank, floating over to the edge of the dock. He remains near the landing, even after Charon nods his goodbye before climbing into the ferry and pushing off again.

No attendant approaches Theseus. None is needed. The mark in his eyes has already decided his path. The judges will confirm it, but everyone knows where he’ll end up.

He stares toward the distant gate, a small frown tugging on his lips.

My heart sinks. And, though I should probably just leave well enough alone, that’s never been my style.

I move toward him. Sir stays pressed against my leg, quiet, and I’m sure he’s waiting to see what I’m going to do.

“Hello.”

That’s what I do. I say “hello”.

He lifts his head, a stricken look on his face that’s terrible, but not as terrible as the mark of the Unmentionable.

“I didn’t mean to die,” he says in a voice that echoes. “Not while our story was still being told. But the beast… the minotaur… he was going after Ariadne. My wife. I had to stop him. I had to save her. But I was too slow, and now she’s with the beast, and I… I am here.”

One thing I’ve learned since I’ve been in the Underworld: if given the opportunity to plead their case to either the king or queen of this realm, nearly every shade will. It’s just wired into them. Immortal or not, we’re all still human—for the most part—and we don’t want to be judged for all eternity based on singular mistakes we’ve made.

I’ve heard of murderers trying to justify themselves before being sent to the Fields of Punishment, but this is worse. If what Theseus says is true, he finally put his wife first, only to die and be doomed as an Unmentionable for it.