The waterskin containing the Water of Life lay where Alecto had left it. Eva stooped, picked it up, and slung it over her shoulder.
Eva did not know why Alecto had left it behind. It did not matter. Perry did.
The tail she had severed lay nearby in blood and venom. It was as thick as her thigh, the serpent’s eyes clouded, its jaws slack, fangs exposed, still dripping black venom. One fang had cracked during the fight and hung at an angle from the others.
The tail was far too heavy to carry. Even the serpent’s head would be cumbersome. She would take the tooth. Perhaps use it as a weapon. She wasn’t sure why. She just wanted it.
She sliced a strip from the hem of her dress. Planted her boot against the jaw. Wrapped the cloth around the fang and gripped it with one hand. Slipped her dagger between tooth and gum with the other. Then twisted. It came free with a wet, awful crack. Nearly as long as her dagger.
Movement caught her eye. Cerberus was not dead. He whimpered.
She turned to face him warily, staying just beyond the reach of teeth and claws. She held up the fang for him to see. His ears flattened, and he lowered his head. His tongue flicked toward her. Not in hunger. Not affection. Submission.
The brutality of it all stunned her. What is happening to me? Who am I becoming? She shoved the thought aside. All that mattered now was Perry.
She carefully wrapped the fang, taking extra care with the tip, then slipped it into her belt. And walked into the fire.
She placed each step with care, avoiding the flames and pools of lava. Beyond the smoke and burning sulfur stood a stone archway leading into a narrow tunnel.
The heat lessened. The air grew cooler. Still. Wet. Stale. The roar of the fire faded into distant water. Echoes. Murmuring.
The passage widened, and the light changed. The red glow faded, replaced by a gray-blue gloom.
Eva’s breath caught. She stepped out onto an overlook above a vast subterranean expanse of unfathomable proportions. Stars twinkled overhead—but they could not be stars. Beyond them, barely visible in the distance was a solid ceiling of rock.
Below lay a town of twisting alleys and uneven streets. Doubt surged. Was this even the right way? It looked less like Hell than some forgotten underground city.
But beyond the town lay a mighty river, its far side shrouded in fog, invisible in the dim light. This had to be the river Alecto had warned her about.
A staircase wound downward toward the town—and the river beyond. As she descended, Eva strained to hear screams, but there were none. Only conversation. Complaining. Arguing. Even coughing.
The houses here were built of soot-dark brick, weathered stone, and timber framing. Slate roofs. Warped wood. Everything just a little damp.
The people looked exhausted. Some paced. Others stood motionless, blank-faced.
“I’m going to cross today,” one voice said.
“The line is always too long. No room on the ferry,” whined another.
Eva beckoned to a man leaning against a greasy oil lamp, smoking.
“What is this place?”
“This place is…” he replied confidently. Then he frowned. “Is… here.” He stared at her as though she had asked something absurd.
She made her way past long rows of storage buildings, turning down one street after another, always angling vaguely toward the river. She passed what looked like a custom house.
At last, she reached the river. It was black, slow, and heavy. Almost oily. Deeply unsettling.
A group of people stood on the dock, waiting in line.
“Fine!” snapped one woman. “I won’t go at all.” With a huff, she stormed back toward the town.
Out of the mist glided a magnificent vessel. The wood was ancient yet solid, dark as though it had been soaked in salt water for centuries.
At the helm stood an old man, grim and rough, his skin like leather, a wild gray beard framing a face carved by time, his eyes seeming to blaze in the twilight. He guided the vessel deftly with a long pole, sure and practiced.
Eva tugged at the sleeve of the man in front of her.
“Where does this go?”
A blank stare. “Across.” He turned away.
Ahead of her, a fight broke out. Two more people left the line. Then a third. A cheer went up from the crowd.
No sooner had it docked than people began pushing and shoving, struggling to board the ferry. Eva was the last one left. Yet there was still plenty of room. The vessel had barely filled halfway.
No return. That was what Alecto had said. But this had to be the way to Perry. She would cross. Then she would find him. Eva stepped onto the ferry without hesitation.
“You,” said Charon, fixing her with his gaze. “You don’t belong here.” But he made no move to stop her. He turned away, dipped his pole deep into the water, and shoved off.
