She looked away as her face grew hot.
He sighed heavily. “How long will the transformation last?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve never done it before.”
“Then we’d better go.”
She glanced between the drachma and the boat. “Yes.”
At first he didn’t move. Neither of them did. They stood there, staring at one another as if they were assessing a new statue in the temple. But then Orpheus grabbed her hand and led her to Charon, where she placed the coin into the skeleton’s waiting palm.
The spectral figure gestured for them to climb on board. Alena cringed as she slipped through the cold aura of Charon’s presence to get to the front of the boat. But once the warmth of Orpheus’s body was beside her and he wrapped his steadying arm around her shoulders, she could almost forget their harrowing circumstances. She leaned into his side, trying her best to absorb his heat, and he placed a tender kiss on her temple.
“Thank you,” she mumbled.
He gave her a small nod. Slowly the boat began to move.
Alena stared at the water, at the strange pale plants that wavered under the surface as Charon’s boat passed. “Are those…?”
Faces stared up at her, pale, decaying corpses locked into a weedy eternity. She swallowed the scream that built in her throat.
Orpheus gripped her jaw and turned her face toward him. “Don’t look,” he whispered into her ear. “Look at me. I’m right here.”
Thankful for the escape, she buried her face in his chest. His steady breath in her ear calmed her. Tucked into the cocoon of his embrace, she could almost forget they were careening across a river of the dead toward their probable doom.
The boat came to rest on the opposite shore, and Orpheus swept her by the waist, out of the boat and along the path away from Charon before she could blink. A screech the likes of which Alena had never heard before came from the direction of the boat—Charon.
“The drachma is a sand dollar again,” she said.
The dark figure swung its scythe in their direction, slicing through the foliage behind them.
“He can’t leave the boat, but I’m not sure how far he can throw that scythe. Come on. The path leads that way.”
He pointed toward a house at the center of the island, and they gladly hurried away from Charon.
“What is this place?”
“I’m sure our next deadly trial. Hopefully one that will end in us finding the grimoire.”
They reached the stone manor, and she allowed him to take her hand and lead her inside like a child. With a grand stone entrance and a suspiciously open door, the house welcomed them, bursting of the scent of baking bread. A fire blazed in the grate.
Alena eyed a chair near the hearth. “Can we rest? Just for a moment? I’m so tired.” She rubbed her temples.
“Not here. It’s too exposed.”
He led her up a flight of stairs to a hall of rooms. Each, upon inspection, was empty.
“We’re alone here,” Orpheus said, standing in the doorway of the last room. White curtains blew in from the open window, and a plush white bed waited at the center. On the bureau rested a pitcher and a bowl of fresh fruit.
“Someone has been here. The fruit is fresh.” Alena yawned.
“It could be a trap.” Orpheus rubbed his face as if he too struggled to keep his eyes open.
Alena reached into her satchel for the enchanted stone she used to test for curses and poisons. Crossing to the side table, she dunked it in the pitcher of water. It did not change color.
“This water is pure. We can drink it.” She poured a glass and drank it down, slaking her thirst, then dug into the bowl of fruit, holding the stone against a shiny red apple. “This is safe to eat.”
Orpheus breathed a sigh of relief and closed and locked the door behind him. “We’ll rest here, take shifts. Just for a little while.”
