Chapter Forty-Two: Bedknobs and Broom Closets

  Jace sighed, the weight of Hades’ displeasure pressing on him like a shroud. The reward had plummeted, and his reputation with Hades was beginning to slip. He’d have to address this soon, but not right now. His eyes closed, the morning’s events swirling in his mind like dark clouds.

  He moved to his cabinet, fingers tracing the worn edges as he retrieved his notebook and quill. Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror, a strange tingling sensation crawled up his spine, prickling his skin as if unseen eyes were upon him. He shook his head, trying to dislodge the paranoia.

  Jace sat cross-legged on the floor, his notebook open before him, quill hovering above the paper. He closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath, and began to cultivate his aether, trying to channel his thoughts through journaling. The quill scratched across the page, but the words felt stilted, lifeless.

  He paused, staring at the blank spaces between his scribbles. His chest tightened with impatience. Why was this so hard tonight? His mind was a storm, thoughts clashing and colliding, making it impossible to find focus. Each word he wrote felt like a struggle, each line a battle against the stagnant aether within him.

  “Why can’t I just concentrate?” he muttered, glaring at the uncooperative notebook. The inked words seemed insignificant, a pale shadow of the turmoil inside him. Time slipped by unnoticed, and he realized an hour had passed with barely two hundred EXP spent.

  Frustration bubbled up, hot and fierce. With a growl, he flung the book and quill aside. They skidded across the floor, coming to rest in the shadows. He buried his face in his hands, fingers digging into his scalp. He needed a break, something to clear his mind, to cut through the fog of frustration and fatigue.

  The room felt too small, the air too thick. Rising to his feet, Jace paced the floor, each step echoing in the quiet.

  In a huff, Jace opened his map. The secret route to the Underworld from his dorms lay hidden, a barely visible line until he selected it. With a shimmer, the name glowed gold: Forgotten Path. The line shimmered along the map, illuminating his way.

  He drew in a steadying breath, bracing himself, and stepped out of his room. The corridor was silent, the soft glow of the map guiding him through the shadows. As he walked, the air grew colder, each breath misting in front of him. He passed by little cracks that led up and up, the muffled sounds of students talking outside filtering through. The walls seemed to close in, the familiar surroundings of the academy morphing into something darker, more foreboding.

  The path led him down winding stairs, through hidden doors, and along forgotten tunnels. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the occasional drip of water echoing through the dark passages. His steps echoed, a steady beat in the otherwise still air.

  He reached a heavy, ancient door, its surface etched with silver snake that writhed and shifted in the dim light. Placing a hand on the cool metal, he pushed. The door groaned in protest, and a rush of cold air greeted him, carrying the faint scent of decay and the distant echoes of tormented souls.

  Jace hesitated. The Underworld was not a place for the faint-hearted, and even he, favored by Hades, felt a twinge of fear as he crossed the threshold into the realm of shadows.

  The path before him was illuminated by flickering torches, casting eerie shadows that danced along the rough-hewn walls. Each step he took kicked up dust, and cobwebs clung to his clothes, the sticky threads brushing against his face. He brushed them away, feeling the grit of ancient dust under his fingertips.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  The air grew heavier, filled with the whispers of the dead and the rustling of unseen beings. He could feel the presence of spirits brushing past him, their cold, intangible forms sending shivers down his spine. His heart pounded, his senses on high alert, every creak and whisper amplified in the silence.

  As he walked, ancient torches lining the walls burst to life of their own accord, casting long, wavering shadows that seemed to reach out and grasp at him. Undeterred, he pressed on, determined and resolute.

  He reached a large door at the top of a steep staircase. Opening it, he found himself in a cramped, pitch-black space. His dark vision revealed assorted bric-a-brac: a dusty broom, an old mop, pieces of old furniture, a bedpost, and a pile of cleaning supplies. It looked like a closet. The door was stuck and wouldn’t budge. With a grunt and a solid kick, it flew open, and he tumbled out, accompanied by the broom and mop, into an office lit by harsh fluorescent lights, surrounded by cubicles.

  Jace looked up, blinking in the sudden brightness. Ghostly figures were hunched over desks, tapping away at typewriters, their ethereal forms momentarily pausing to stare at him. The air buzzed with a faint, otherworldly hum.

  “Jace! What are you doing in the mop closet?” Jerry’s voice cut through the silence, friendly and amused.

  “Mop closet?” Jace muttered, turning to see the tiny room behind him. He realized a hidden door in the back of the closet had led him in. “Well,” he shrugged, “you learn something new every day. Never can get too comfortable around here. Twists and turns at every corner.”

  “Exactly,” Jerry chuckled dryly. “This place is like a maze with a sense of humor. But what brings you to my neck of the woods? Not that I don’t appreciate the visit.”

  “I need to speak with Hades,” Jace said, urgency in his voice.

  “Oof, no can do, I’m afraid,” Jerry replied, and Jace shot him a skeptical look.

  “It’s not my call. I’m not stopping you or anything. You’re free to check, but I’ve got it on the books that he’s out of the office.”

  “Did it say where he went?”

  “Above my pay grade, I’m afraid,” Jerry said with a shrug. “Still, you’re free to check and personally leave a note.”

  “Jerry, I need to speak with him. It’s urgent. The Travelers are having some issues...”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard. Tough spot. Can’t make it home, eh? I’m sure it’ll all get sorted out.” Jerry’s tone was pleasant, but there was something off. His eyes held a glimmer of pity and something else... guilt?

  “What do you know?” Jace pressed.

  Jerry sighed. “What do I know? What do I know? I know the directions to a great pastry shop in Thebes. They make these incredible custard-filled treats soaked in sweet syrup. Absolutely to die for.” He clapped a hand on Jace’s shoulder, steering him toward the elevator while loudly extolling the virtues of Greek pastries for the benefit of their ghostly audience.

  “Where are we going?” Jace asked, playing along.

  “Oh, Jace, as a Chosen of Hades, I’m happy to show you to the Underworld to leave a note for him!” Jerry’s voice boomed cheerfully as they stepped into the elevator. “It’s not like I’m allowed to stop you, when you officially have requested.” Once inside, the doors closed, and Jerry’s demeanor shifted.

  “Jace, don’t say anything. I’m not sure who can hear us, but it’s not safe for you here when Hades is out. Something’s going on. Some of the ghosts have been acting real suspicious. And I can’t believe it, but... I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t seen it...”

  “What is it?” Jace asked, his heart pounding, as the Girl From Ipanema played in the background.

  “I’m not sure all the staff here are on our side.”

  “Side?”

  “Yeah, our side. The side of order and life. The side of Hades and everyone else who’d rather not be blinked out of existence for all eternity.”

  “Can’t you just report it?”

  “It’s not that simple. A wrong accusation without proof... I need more time to figure this out. But needless to say, I wouldn’t trust leaving a note with anyone upstairs. Other than myself and Barb, of course.”

  “I need to reach Hades.”

  “All the gods have been out of the office since the shift. Their answering machines are on—basically ghosts like me just trying to pacify everyone while the gods deliberate.”

  “Makes sense why no one has gotten anything but cryptic answers.”

  “We can only say so much. It’s like an eternal ‘away from desk’ message. Listen, I’m pretty sure the ferryman is on our team. But you can’t be sure with anyone these days.”

  The elevator dinged, and the doors opened. Jerry stayed back.

  “Jace, trust no one. I... I like you and I don’t want to see you -disappeared.”

  “Don’t worry about me, Jerry,” Jace said with a wry smile. “We all have to face the danger now and then. Besides, you can’t spell extraordinary without that little ‘extra,’ right?”

  As the door closed, Jerry gave a weak smile.

  The sound of moving water reached Jace’s ears, a soft lapping against the stilts of a dock. He approached, the ferryman waiting for him, shrouded in shadow. The chill of the Underworld seeped into his bones as he stepped onto the boat.