“What’s that?” I ask.
“The river of sorrow.”
* * *
I pull my dress on before we leave the cottage. The men are headed down the dock toward the boat, but I take a final look at this home of the recently faded.
It reminds me of my mother’s home--what my four-year-old mind remembers of it, at least. Mom and my auntie had herbs lining shelves, apothecary jars filled with herbs and tinctures. They were witches, I had that in my vocabulary at least, but I don’t know what sort of magic they conjured.
How much I’ve wished over the years that I had their spells. That something in those jars could possibly be the key to finding a way out. I wish I had one of their spells right now. To take away the thousands of questions burning in my mind... how my father is Hades and how is Hawthorne’s story possible?
Who is Harlow and why is Hawthorne a liar, and am I going to die, once and for all?
And if so, why did I wait so damn long to admit to what I always knew?
I love South and I love Lennox and I even love Hawthorne, despite his lies.
I’m not sure what that says about me, but all I know is this: Hawthorne may be a demon, but wouldn’t I have chosen the exact same thing as him if given the opportunity?
I would do anything right now to leave Styx with my men. Which is, apparently, nowhere near as bad as the Underworld. In theory, I don’t hate Hawthorne for lying. But now, at the moment-- it’s hard to reconcile.
I wonder who will take up residence here next. Who will arrive at this dock and rock in this chair, waiting for someone to help for a day or a week or a month until they fade?
My heart tightens. How have I not come to accept dying after living here for so long?
“Ten,” Hawthorne calls, coming back for me.
“I’m coming.” And I am. I take a final look at the cottage and close the door. It feels like the end of a chapter; or really, the end of a book.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, reaching for my hand. It’s dark, but I can barely even remember life in the light.
His fingers brush against my own and my breath catches. Hours ago, we were at a party where we didn’t belong, drinking moonshine that wasn’t ours, and now we are here, at the end of our lives.
“Why are you fading if Hades made you a promise?” I ask him.
He shakes his head. “I betrayed him. I’m just getting what I deserve.”
I press my lips together, feeling a surge of emotion within me. For him. “You don’t deserve to die.”
“Does anyone?”
My chin quivers, tears splashing down my cheeks. “I’m so scared, Hawthorne.”
He pulls me to him, his strong arms taking hold of my face, my eyes on his. “No more tears, Ten. Not until we know for sure what is happening.”
“And then what?”
“Then we will figure it out together like we always have.”
“I feel stupid, too. For not realizing what you are. That you weren’t a child like me.”
His eyes well with tears. “I don’t even know what I was before you, before us. I just know what I am when I am with you. Yours. I wish I knew more. Why I was in the Underworld and how long I’d been there. I spent eternity waiting for you, and here you are.”
His mouth crashes against my lips, and he kisses me like it’s the last kiss we’ll ever share. And maybe it is. Maybe forever ends tonight.
“I love you,” I say, gasping between kisses. The boat is loaded, and we need to go, but I’m not ready to leave Hawthorne’s arms.
“I love you too,” he says, pushing my hair from my eyes, cradling my face in his hands. “Now let’s go find a way to stay together. Forever.”
13
South
On the boat ride, I’m filled with conflicting emotions. I saw the way Tennyson forgave Hawthorne for a lifetime of lies -- and damn, it makes me love her even more.
I remember women in Detroit while growing up. Jealous, bitter, full of rage.
But tonight, Ten showed her truest colors, colors I’ve rarely glimpsed. She tries to stay so tough, so resilient but tonight she was soft. She was understanding. She accepted Hawthorne for what he is, demon and all.
The guys all begin rowing the boat and Hawthorne tells us the direction of the Acheron river. How he fucking knows the way is beyond me, but I try not to grumble about his deceit. If Ten can be a bigger person, then I can be too. Right?
God, it’s not that fucking easy.
Still, I like Styx way better than Detroit. And I’ve loved this half-life with her.
I’m not ready to lose it.