Page 9 of The Prince of Hidden Shadows (Runaway Prince Hotel #5)
Despite the lulling waves of the River Styx, the presence of the human is messing with my head, and now isn’t the time to question my smartass friend.
Granted, some would refer to the waves as churning and restless, as if tormented souls stirred beneath the surface, but they have a soothing effect on me. So, I decide to play it cool. “Thanks. I’ll get back here as soon as I can.”
“Sure…” He pauses. “Take good care of our little human first.” I can’t decipher what prompted his sudden patronizing tone.
Théodore Cassel is losing his shit, and I have to take responsibility. I wish I could soothe the panic radiating from him. I know it’s a lot to take in, and I’m relieved that Charon doesn’t stick around.
Nathan’s uncanny detachment rattled me—made sense later, when he confessed he was steeped in myths and legends—and swore by every word.
Because of his in-between state, I couldn’t alter what he saw, but I wasn’t worried.
For all I know, once cured, Nathan might attribute the hallucinations to his addiction.
Unfortunately, Monsieur Cassel stands on the other side of the spectrum, alive and kicking.
I look back at him, taking his hands in mine. Staring at our laced fingers, my heart races. WTF?
“Look, Théodore, you need to relax and trust me on this, okay?” I don’t give him the opportunity to form an opinion.
He has no reason to do as I say. Still, when I attempt to withdraw my fingers from his, he squeezes my hands without a word.
I let him, ignoring how my blood boils in my veins.
“I’m gonna bring us back, but first, you and I need to have a little talk about your…
petty theft. You’ll return the obol of your own free will.
If I steal it back from you, it’ll trigger the wrath of a slew of Greek gods.
” I ’ll hunt down every loophole to stop this from ever repeating.
“And last but not least, to avoid consequences, I’ll wipe your memory clean of this realm. ”
Théodore’s gaze softens. “Nobody calls me Théodore,” he whispers.
My brows knit; did I hear him wrong earlier?
“People call me Théo.” I shake my head. Of all the things he could have said, I sure wasn’t expecting that.
What’s his deal? He shrugs, then spits, “I steal things, that’s what I do… and I like shiny objects, sue me!”
“Do you realize, Théo ,” I emphasize, “that it could have gotten you killed?” Then, I hear myself say, “I can’t allow it.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, he breaks our contact, returns the golden coin, and winces. My heart constricts at the loss of his warmth.
“Did you say you’re gonna erase my memory? I mean, I’ve seen plenty of weird shit around here, but I’ll keep your secrets. I’m trained to anyway.”
“Huh?” Yes, sometimes, I’m eloquent like that.
“You told me your unlikely truth, here’s mine: Bad people hire me to pull off heists for beautiful things. I get paid a shit ton of money because I’m damn good at my job. I’m talented, efficient, and discreet.”
“So, you’re saying someone paid you to steal my obol? How did you know I had it?”
He doesn’t answer me right away. His gaze drifts to my hand, where the coin rolls between my fingers with practiced ease.
After a beat, he smirks and shakes his head, voice rough.
“No one hired me for that job. But the coin’s size, the weight in your pocket—something about it screamed ‘worth stealing.’ I had to figure out what it was, you know…
” He shrugs. “But I promise I’ll behave from now on, Zag.
” I grin at the nickname this time, pocketing the obol, so he zeroes in on me rather than the forbidden fruit that caused all the trouble.
We lock eyes, and I shiver at the nonplussed expression I see in them.
But what baffles me the most is my own reaction. Why does my body answer him before I do? Why does my skin prickle where he touched me? Why does every instinct say release, but I’m holding on?
Apparently oblivious to it, Théo admits in a pleading voice, “I shouldn’t have stolen your coin.
It was beyond my control. I’m sorry. Please leave my memory intact…
Pleeease, I want to remember this fucked-up reality…
or surreality!” He jokes, then winces. “But most of all, I can’t have any missing pieces.
.. Maybe you know this already…” He trails off, swallows hard, and carries on.
“Don’t recall if Greek gods are mind readers or not—but either way, don’t mess with my memory…
please. I can’t risk it jinxing anything. ”
He fidgets, nerves taking over, so he rambles. I don’t interrupt. It’s cute.
Scanning his surroundings—checking if we’re out of earshot?— his light brown gaze captures my darker one again. He’s fucking hot.
I inhale sharply, refraining the urge to pounce while we’re having a serious conversation.
“You see, I can’t forget I have to swipe an infamous painting and deliver it to my client soon.
” His expression twisting in confusion, he breaks eye contact.
“Why did I say that?” His hand flies over his appetizing mouth for a second as if realizing he’s said too much. “Oh my God, I’m so fucking stupid.”
I cringe. In my world, it’s gods—plural. Once again, I hold back. This isn’t the time to speak. I need to hear him out.
He parts his lips, and soon he’s gawking. “The painting… Holy shit…” Again, I cringe at the word “holy,” but keep my mouth shut. “This…” He gestures around us. “This scenery looks exactly like it.” He snatches my wrist, strengthening his hold on me. “How did I miss it? How is this possible? How?”
My heart skips a beat. There’s plenty of art depicting the Underworld, but not this exact location. “Are you talking about the painting supposedly based on the Divine Comedy that disappeared ages ago?”
“ Do you mean Hidden Shadows ?” Spot-on, although your accurate question, dear Théo, fills me with glee, hope, and fear. “It’s breathtaking. I saw it today and?—”
Did I hear him correctly? I can’t speak. I can’t breathe. I just can’t, so I nod. Eventually, all I can say is one word. One stupid word. One hopeful word.
“Where?”