Page 71 of Dead End

“Here. The coin.” I held up the silver dollar.

“I’ll accept nothing from a living, breathing mortal.”

It was hard to feel like a stranger to someone who’d spent so much time with me. “You gave me my first book,” Iblurted. The memory crystallized. “You told me that a well-read goddess was a merciful one.”

His slate-gray eyes softened to the color of a rain-soaked cloud. “How can you possibly know that?”

I braved the shoreline. “Because you said those words to me, Charon.” I pressed on. “You’re partial to peppermint candies. You’d ask my mother to bring them back for you whenever she visited the mortal realm.”

His look of astonishment was quickly replaced by one of relief. “Is it really you?”

I embraced him. “Yes.”

He squeezed my body, as though wanting to prove I was real and tangible, not one of the many souls here to board his boat. “Hestia, I mean Her Majesty, said… I just didn’t know what to believe.”

“I’m here to see her,” I said, withdrawing from the embrace. “Hestia. She asked me to relieve her by the summer solstice.”

“You’re early.”

“I doubt she’ll object.”

Charon’s smile was wry and knowing. “Your aunt isn’t suited for the throne. She misses the quiet, along with her creature comforts.” His brow furrowed. “Why have you come the way of souls?”

I was too embarrassed to admit I didn’t remember another route. “Like you said, I’m early. She isn’t expecting me yet.” I gestured to the boat. “Can you give me a lift?”

His pupils dilated. “I cannot transport a mortal being deeper into the underworld. You know this.”

It took me a second to realize why he seemed scared. “I’m not Hercules, old friend. Hestia wants me here.” Centuries ago, Charon had helped the living Hercules gain access to the underworld for his twelfth labor. As punishment, my father shackled the ferryman for a year.

Charon’s gaze flicked to the souls gathered on the dock. “As long as you don’t mind riding with them.”

“I’m the goddess of ghosts, remember? I’ll be in my element.”

He hugged me again. “It’s wonderful to have you home, Melinoe. We’ve all missed you.” He paused, his eyes downcast. “You and your parents.”

I pushed the comment down deep where I couldn’t access it. I didn’t want to think about my parents right now.Inch by inch, life’s a cinch, I thought to myself. One of Nana Pratt’s mantras.

I boarded the boat and walked to the prow, where I knew Charon preferred to stand. I picked up the pole that he typically handled. “Mind if I do the honors for this journey?”

“Do you remember the first time I left you in charge of the pole?” His belly laugh was music to my ears. “You nearly capsized the boat and all the souls in it.” He slapped a hand on the boat’s rail and laughed again. “Hades would’ve tossed me into Tartarus if that had happened.”

“He wouldn’t have done that. He loved you like a brother.” A brother he was willing to shackle for a year, but some sibling-style relationships were complicated, like Thor and Loki.

Charon’s smile evaporated. “Your father could be strict. Still, the underworld hasn’t been the same since the three of you left. Hestia is wonderful, of course, but…”

“Change is a natural part of life.”

“Maybe in the mortal world, but not here. The underworld is meant to be linear, not cyclical.”

He made a good point. The gods were eternal. We weren’t designed for change, which was probably one of the reasons so many of them bit the carrots dangled by The Corporation. Some deities craved novelty the way some people like Nana Pratt actively avoided it.

I observed the glooming river, a funeral procession in liquid form. The boat rocked, prompting a few souls to grab the nearest hard surface. Charon’s mouth puckered as he peered over the side.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

“I don’t see anything. Must’ve been a rock that came loose from the riverbed.”

The boat lifted a foot out of the water and landed back on the surface with a hearty splash. Souls screamed and clung to each other like tears to lashes.

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