Page 8 of The Prince of Hidden Shadows (Runaway Prince Hotel #5)

Chapter Seven

PERFUME OF THE TIMELESS

Zagreus

C atching Charon’s gaze from afar, I don’t dare intervene. My heart tightens at the fucked-up situation I find myself in. He shakes his head in disbelief and mouths a silent, “Again?” to which I shrug. My thoughts exactly.

Standing on his boat, my friend’s hands are clenched on his oar. Too bad he’s about to leave the shores with a group of the deceased; I would have preferred dealing with this human together.

Granted, Charon’s appearance can unsettle humans.

He claims it gives the newly dead a taste of what might await them.

A somber nod is his usual greeting—quiet disapproval, as if their lives spoke for themselves and the destination was sealed.

His words are scarce, and he never mentions the gentler corners of the Underworld—not that he’s judging, of course; that part’s above his pay grade.

His role is to collect the obol and ferry them across.

The rest—what they assume, what they fear—he leaves hanging.

But I see him for what he is: a hard-working, dedicated, and honest god.

We share the same values—only he thrives on this part of it.

Me? I picked a look and stuck with it. Don’t care how humans read me.

I don’t intend to scare them off, nor do I wish for them to glimpse my godly face.

Sure, it wouldn’t matter—they’re already dead.

Still, showing my true self feels too… personal.

As for Charon’s grim look, I don’t rag on him. I don’t envy his stressful job.

My friend waves goodbye, and I’m left with a stranger to deal with. Maybe it’s for the best.

Back in the elevator, he looked confident, but right now, he’s got a whole new countenance.

Pale face. Wide eyes. Quivering body.

At once, the young man lifts his arms and covers his ears with his hands. The Underworld embodies both blazing chaos and timeless hush. Too many souls. Not enough time. Too much to take in.

Mouth gaping, he turns away, his audible swallow barely covered by the sound of his boots squeaking on the dark sand. This isn’t how it was supposed to unfold. Processing what got us here, I keep my big mouth shut. I’m not in the mood to explain yet.

His light brown eyes dart around the oppressive and somewhat cavernous space.

The torches lining the banks cast a shadowy amber glow.

As much as it feels like déjà vu , this situation doesn’t compare with that of Nathan Price.

I didn’t propel Nathan into my world. He didn’t freak out. We didn’t bother with the basics.

Minutes later, the man spins on his heel to face me, his jaw slack.

“What the hell is this?” he demands, his voice faltering.

“I’m sorry, but no. This is—this is not possible.

I was just in…” He frowns, dropping his arms to his sides and sliding his shaking hands into his pants pockets. “Did you drug me?”

“You got some nerve accusing me , young man. You’re here because you screwed up!” I snap, incapable of reining in my annoyance. My hand twitches, aching to slap his charming face.

“Me?” he dares. His head lolls from side to side. “I?—”

I can’t take it anymore, so I cut him off. “You stole from me, asshole.”

His mouth quirks up.

“The coin,” I say. “And it’s not rocket science, man. You took it from the wrong person.”

“It’s a golden coin, for Christ’s sake!” His voice jumps an octave. “What’s that got to do with… whatever this place is?”

“Home,” I say, glancing at him. “I told you—this is home. My home…”

A hollow laugh escapes him as he runs a hand through his hair, sweeping the area again like he’s trying to jolt himself awake. “Nope. Nope, nope, nope. This coin can’t be some kinda token for the Highway to Hell… I didn’t sign up for this.”

I suppress a chuckle at his cluelessness, but don’t correct him. “Well, you’re here now,” I mutter between gritted teeth.

We approach the embankment, keeping our distance from the crowd.

A familiar figure steps out of his boat, arms crossed and smirking while glancing at the queue.

I’m always amazed at how fast Charon is; I never asked how, but I’m guessing his friendship with Hecate, the goddess of witchcraft, serves him well.

As for me, I do my best to avoid asking for favors from anyone.

“Zag,” he draws out my name, slow and smug. “What’s this? Another stray? You were supposed to settle the case, not extend it!”

“Not now, Char’, please,” I bark, though the bite’s gone. His tone’s all bait.

“Oh, come on,” he says, tilting his head to look the very alive stranger up and down. “Who’s the wide-eyed wonder?”

“No one,” I say in a tone devoid of emotion, although the man triggers some useless ones that I’m not ready to explore. I can’t deny that the stranger’s hot or that our elevator encounter amused me. But what attracts me the most is the boldness of his theft.

“Wrong! I’m Théodore,” he interjects, his tone sharp. “Théodore Cassel. Who do you think you are?” he taunts. “Any of you gonna explain, or do I have to guess where the hell I am. Hearing you crack jokes while pretending this is all very normal isn’t helping.”

Charon raises his eyebrows at me, clearly delighted by Théodore’s choice of words. “Fiery. I like him… Théodore… Hum… Interesting… Are you aware of the meaning of your first name, sir?” Before Théodore gets a chance to reply, my friend provides, “ Gift of God … Isn’t it ironic, don’t you think?”

“Ha-ha!” I roll my eyes so far back that I wonder if they’ll get stuck that way.

A smile creeps in all the same—the pop reference clicks.

On top of her songs, I adored Alanis Morissette—one of my 1990s icons—portraying God in Dogma .

I love keeping my people up-to-date with the human trends that I notice whenever I walk the Earth. That’s why I wear this stylish outfit.

“You sure you don’t want to hold on to this one?” Charon quips.

I’m about to reply, but a sting flares at the back of my neck.

Ouch!

Wincing at both the jab and the remark, I rub the tender spot. Before I can say more, the intruder’s outrage snaps me back.

“What?” Théodore roars, glaring at Charon while drumming his foot on the sand.

The muted thud adds an impromptu rhythm to the conversation.

“What are you two talking about?” He scrubs a well-manicured hand down his face.

I make out fragments of what he mutters under his breath—“ not happening… ” and a flicker of defiance beneath it.

When he steadies himself, his glare turns murderous as it travels between Charon and me.

His hesitation to appraise the full extent of the situation is clear in his tone. “Is this some kind of prank? Is someone trying to test me?” His mouth hangs open, cheeks flushing back to life. Charon’s proximity—that puts humans on edge.

“Ignore him.” My command gets Théodore’s full attention, and I begin pacing to calm my frayed nerves.

“Listen”—I say while I watch Charon approach—“because of your little… stunt, you’ve landed yourself in a world you can’t understand, and I’m not asking you to.

I know damn well you’re not ready for this conversation. ”

Théodore stares at me, left brow spiking up. “What are you talking about? Who even are you, Zag?”

Did I hear him right?

I stop dead in my tracks and turn to face him, my expression as serious as I can manage. “That’s Prince Zagreus, son of Hades, to you.” I point at Charon and introduce him. “He’s the ferryman. And this—all of this—is my world. And I’m sorry to inform you that you’re not welcome in it… yet.”

The poor guy scrutinizes me, undoubtedly thinking that I’ve lost my mind. I don’t blame him. But we’re here now, and there’s no going back. Not yet, anyway.

“You’re telling me you guys are Greek gods.” Hooray, he got it! “Like mythical creatures?” he inquires with contempt. “ Riiight …”

I gesture with my arm. “What do you think this is, moron?”

My jaw hardens into a hard line. My fists ball, knuckles whitening, tension coiled so tight it threatens to snap.

Oops, I’m handling this all wrong. Keep your cool, Zag!

My eyes burn as the words slam out before I can hold them back.

“Look, we’re here because you stole the obol!

”—he’ll get the CliffsNotes version, which sends him back to gawking—“I always keep it in my pocket for work purposes.” I don’t elaborate on how the elevator can venture here when a soul is ready.

I’ve said too much, but I can’t stop. “Without one, nobody can stumble into this realm...” I pause for effect and add, “Dead or alive!”

Of course, Charon coughs. Eyebrow up, I shoot him a sideways glance. “Enough,” I warn him, knowing full well that he’s thinking about Nathan, our own Schrodinger human, who’s back where he belongs.

Soon, Théodore will be, too.

Charon zips it, and I sigh in satisfaction until the human speaks again, raising his voice.

“That doesn’t add up. Admit it, you drugged me, and you brought me here to test me. Now you?—”

“Shut up!” Charon and I yell in unison. I gently request that my friend return to his obligations.

Before my friend leaves, he insists I promise I’ll handle this fast—no loose ends.

Eyes trained on the human, I oblige.

The corner of my mouth quirks up when he, too, massages the back of his neck, mimicking my earlier gesture… Odd, unless he’s mimicking me…

Nah, no mortal would dare, right?

I discard the thought until my gut tells me that something else is at play here, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. His eyes become unfocused for a mere second. I’m surprised I caught it. His face brightens with a lazy, almost seductive smile.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Charon declares, amusement evident in his tone, as his stare bounces between the human and me.

WTF?

Is he privy to something I’m not? What am I missing here? It bothers me since I tend to be perceptive.