Page 26 of Gods and Graves

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

THEA

A pparently, the Labyrinth’s entrance is in Edinburgh, Scotland.

We enter through an unassuming door on a bustling street, descend a steep staircase, and weave through a series of underground homes and streets.

“This is normally a tourist destination,” Zaid explains to me, a taut smile on his face. They’ve all been doing that lately—staring at me as if I’m seconds from cracking. “Hundreds of years ago, this used to be above ground, hence why there are so many streets and houses.”

“And none of the tourists or guides stumbled upon the entrance to the Labyrinth?” I arch my eyebrows in disbelief.

“It’s not that easy to get into.” He chuckles, though the sound is forced.

They don’t need to walk on eggshells around me, but whenever I tell them as much, they assure me they’re not.

Liars.

“Here.” Zaid stops in front of a plain brick wall, artificial gold lights flickering off its wet surface.

“Here?”

“Here,” Rafe says, stepping forward.

He grabs his dagger out of a sheath, cuts his palm, and then places his hand against the wall.

We all wait with bated breath.

I don’t know what I expect to happen, but when nothing does, my shoulders slump.

If this is a bust, then we’ll be back to square one.

Zaid shifts his weight. “Maybe we need to?—”

The wall crumbles away, the bricks seeming to deteriorate into thin air. Where there was once part of a building now stands a seemingly dark abyss.

Every knot in my stomach tightens simultaneously.

“Is this…?” I squint, hoping to see something—anything—in the oppressive darkness.

“The entrance of the Labyrinth,” Rafe answers darkly, giving his dagger an expert twirl in the air and catching the handle.

“Oh. Fun.” I scratch absently at the inside of my wrist.

The guys position themselves so they’re surrounding me—Everett and Rafe taking the lead, with Krystian and Zaid behind me—and then we move as one.

The darkness is unnerving and absolute. The farther away we get from the door, the darker it seems to become, until I can barely make out the men in front of me. The only indication they’re still here are the occasional grunts and curses.

Instinctively, I reach forward, my hand brushing the soft cotton of Everett’s shirt. I expect him to push me away, but instead, he grabs my hand in his, interlocking our fingers together.

I push out a breath of relief.

“Flashlights aren’t working,” Zaid says from behind me.

“Phones aren’t either,” Rafe grunts out.

“So we’re just supposed to walk in absolute darkness?” I ask.

The second the question leaves my lips, though, hundreds of lights flicker on, one after another.

Torches.

Fire twists and dances high above us, illuminating the pathway—the graying stone walls, dripping with an undefinable liquid, and compacted dirt walkways.

“So…how do we know when we’re nearing a puzzle?” I query. “And how do we even know which direction to go?”

The pathway up ahead splits into three directions.

“We don’t,” Everett answers, and I realize, somewhat belatedly, that he’s still holding my hand.

Is it because he doesn’t notice? Or because he wants to?

My heart pounds dauntingly against my rib cage, and unease curls up my spine like red creeping thyme.

We reach the first fork in the tunnel, and Zaid steps around us, his head cocked to the side.

“I’m not going to be able to hold the form for long,” Zaid tells us, confusing the shit out of me. “You know how hard it is when I’m not outside during the daytime.” He pauses, frowns, and then adds, “But the flames should be enough—if they don’t go out.”

Huh?

I must’ve spoken it out loud, because Zaid turns towards me, an unexpectedly serious expression on his face.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Then, to my utter shock, he coalesces into shadows, disappearing from view.

I jerk forward, but Everett, who still has a tight grip on my hand, pulls me to a stop.

“He’ll be fine,” he assures me, his tone gruff. “He’s just checking each pathway to figure out which way we need to go.”

The next few minutes are the longest of my life, which is saying something.

Fear grips my throat in an impenetrable chokehold.

I can’t help but think of the worst-case scenario.

What if the flames sputter out? What if a monster attacks Zaid in his shadow form?

What if he can’t find his way back? What if?—

The shadows deepen in front of us and then solidify, Zaid’s body taking form followed by his face and inky hair. Lines of tension create furrows between his brows, and sweat drips down his cheeks. He places his hands on his knees and takes a couple of harrowed breaths, as if he ran a marathon.

“Sorry,” he pants out. “It’s hard to hold the form in these conditions.”

I strain to go to him, to comfort him, but Everett’s grip on my hand remains firm. All I can do is stare, biting on my lower lip hard enough to draw blood.

“This way,” Zaid says at last, pointing down the right pathway. “The center one leads to a dead end, and the left ends at a pit of spikes.”

Krystian reaches into his backpack and digs out a water bottle, extending it for Zaid to take. The wraith does so gratefully and swallows it down.

Everett’s hold loosens, and I take the opportunity to lunge forward and study Zaid intently.

“Are you okay?” I ask somewhat desperately, pushing up on my tiptoes to cup his cheeks.

His warm eyes meet my own, and he gently places his hands over mine. “I’m okay.” A tentative smile pulls up his lips. “I know my limitations.”

That may be true, but I’m beginning to believe all of these guys will break these so-called “limitations” if it means saving me.

I don’t want that.

At all.

The five of us move down the right pathway. I remain beside Zaid, my shoulder brushing his with every step we take. I study him out of the corner of my eye, making sure he won’t keel over and die. I have no idea how long these side effects will last.

“I’m fine, sweetheart,” Zaid assures me for the one millionth time. “I promise.”

“Rafe?” I glance over my shoulder at the blood fae, who has fallen slightly behind.

“Truth,” Rafe answers simply.

The tightness in my chest loosens.

Zaid gives my hand a squeeze, though he doesn’t speak again. He doesn’t need to. Just his hand in mine is enough. It’s a revelation and a homecoming all in one.

“This place is fucking creepy,” Krystian laments, his head swiveling in all directions as he searches for threats.

Everett snorts. “It’s a maze designed by a madman and hijacked by a goddess. It’s not supposed to feel like a summer vacation.”

Krystian doesn’t bother to look over his shoulder as he flips the shifter off.

We press deeper into the tunnel, and the world shifts. There’s a pulse underfoot, like a heartbeat. Then?—

A roar splits the air, high and metallic, and the floor shudders beneath us. From the dark, it charges: a monstrosity of brass and iron.

The Minotaur.

No…not the Minotaur.

A mechanical one.

Its horns gleam under the flickering torchlight, its eyes glowing blood-red.

I’ve never seen anything like this before. It stands nearly ten feet tall, its body forged from riveted bronze plates and brass joints that hiss and vent steam with every movement.

Each hoof slams against the ground with the force of a battering ram, cracking the ancient flagstones beneath. Its torso is vaguely humanoid—massive, broad, and covered in armor etched with arcane glyphs—but its head is unmistakable.

The brutal, crowned skull of a bull, complete with curved iron horns sharp enough to gut a normal human.

Those twin glowing eyes lock onto us, the molten red glare a physical burn against my skin. From its snout, steam billows in rhythmic bursts.

In place of hands, it has gauntleted fists equipped with blades. Six curling metallic claws jut out like steel fingers ready to slice us into macabre confetti.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I breathe.

Athena is truly a twisted bitch if she chose to recreate and upgrade a dead monster.

“Back,” Everett growls, extending his arm out to stop me mid-step.

Zaid automatically positions me behind him, his body rippling with tension.

Krystian reaches for his bow and notches an arrow. He aims it at the creature’s chest, pulls the string back, and?—

The arrow bounces off the minotaur's flank and lands on the ground.

“Well, that didn’t go as planned,” Krystian muses.

The minotaur throws his head back and roars. Then, it charges.

When it moves, it’s faster than it should be—certainly faster than it looks, considering it’s made of heavy metal.

The creature’s limbs whir with deadly precision, its mechanical nostrils flaring.

Rafe takes a step forward, his palm already bleeding. He throws his hands out, and bloody whips encircle the creature, stopping it in mid-lunge.

Zaid vanishes in a ripple of darkness and reappears behind the beast, a blade in his hand.

The minotaur struggles against the bindings containing him, twisting his head to and fro, and rusty gears spin in his neck.

“Zaid!” I scream, causing the creature’s head to whip in my direction. “The neck! Go for the neck!”

Zaid’s eyes sharpen on the creature, and I can tell he sees the gears too.

With a roar, the wraith lunges at the creature and brings his arm down in a swooping arc. The dagger embeds itself deep in the minotaur's neck, and sparks fly. The creature swipes its claws in both directions, desperate, but Zaid’s dagger has done its job. The gears slow and then stop entirely.

The creature—the minotaur rebirthed—falls forward with an audible thunk, loose pieces of machinery spilling from him. Instead of blood, oil pools around it, dark and cloying.

The damn thing smells. Not like rot, not like a sweaty beast. But like scorched iron, ozone, and engine grease, as if it were born from fire and wrath.

“It seems as if we just passed Athena’s first trial,” Zaid says, breathing heavily.

He wipes away sweat with the back of his hand.

“Usually the first one is the easiest,” Krystian points out.

“ That was the easiest trial?” I blink at him in disbelief.

“We took the creature out pretty quickly, did we not?” Krystian smirks cockily.

“You know what? You’re right.” I puff out my chest, emulating a confidence and optimism I don’t truly feel. “We totally got this.”

Famous last words.