Chapter Three

Moira

I stared down at the water with my lip snarled in distaste. The river was dark enough that you shouldn't be able to see the currents, but something within it glowed. It was alive… but cold, similar to Charon himself.

The psychopomp did not appear as I had imagined. In my mind, he was always shrouded in mystery, a dark being cloaked from perception. I had never truly wondered what was underneath the layers of cloth.

Some said he was an old man. Others declared him nothing but bone. The real being was something in between.

Some of his fingers were skeletal, others with a pallor that should resemble death, but somehow didn't. There was a sheen to it that seemed to glow with life, even in this dreary place between the mortal world and the eternal.

I couldn't believe I had told him my real name. It had slipped out as easy as breathing, as if he were always meant to know it. It was not information I gave willingly, and yet I had told it to him without a moment of reservation.

I nibbled my lip. Hermes would take me back to die, or I would die here , waiting forever, unless I completed my task and stole an obol. I had considered passing off one of my obols as one of Charon's, but deceiving the god was a fool's errand.

He knew my name. He saw my crimes. He even knew about my mother leaving me in the market when I was only six years old. No, the god of thieves was unlikely to be fooled.

Still, I didn't know how I was going to steal from Charon. I had managed to get in the boat, but the being himself just… stood there.

He didn't make conversation. He barely looked at me. He barely even moved.

He remained, leaning against the push pole and staring out over the water, silver eyes devoid of emotion.

I'd never seen someone simply exist with such dedication, determined to be exactly what he was and nothing more.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're a bore?"

He snorted. "The very god who abandoned you here. Many times. Has anyone ever told you that you're insufferable?"

"Hardly. I'm told I'm quite charming. Besides, you can't call me insufferable when you haven't even bothered to have a conversation. Instead, you just stand there, looming."

Charon threw his head back with a laugh. It reminded me of Hermes in the taverna. The comparison faded away, however, when I saw what the motion had revealed.

The cowl of the chlamys slid backwards onto his shoulders, no longer cloaking his form. Black horns protruded amongst long white hair that hung to his shoulders. The horns curled back over his head, little rings of texture along their short lengths. That same mottled flesh of his hand covered his body, though there were patches of exposed bone there as well. I could see teeth through a hole in his cheek, an ivory protrusion where his neck met his shoulder. I gasped, hand covering my mouth at the sight.

His eyes met mine. The silver seemed to burn, resentment dancing within like a flame. He reached quickly to pull the fabric back up.

"No," I barked, reaching a hand towards him. "Please… leave it down."

Charon narrowed his eyes at me, but stopped raising the fabric. Ever so slowly, he let it fold back towards his shoulders, but not fast enough to hide what I had been searching for.

His chlamys had raised just enough as he adjusted his cowl that his torso was exposed. There, amongst the folds of his chiton, glinted metal.

I knew where Charon's obols were.

My chances of survival weren't as dire as I thought.

I knew what I needed to steal. I knew where it was. Yet, I had destroyed my ability to take it.

I chided myself for my short-sighted behavior.

Getting close to men was easy. Coy glances. Trailing a fingertip along the edge of my chiton. Pretending that they were fascinating.

But I had saved none of my charm for Charon. No, I had bickered with him from the moment Hermes left. I even called him a bore.

Even though the psychopomp seemed determined to do nothing but stare off over the water and scowl, I shouldn't have told him as such. But the man seemed to burrow under my skin in a way that others could not. I had grown hardened over the years; it took a great deal to vex me.

Like kidnapping me to the Underworld.

Or being so indifferent to existence you might as well be made of stone.

Now I needed to be close to Charon, the lump of stone himself. Close enough to slip my hand through the layers of his clothing and free him of his sack of obols without him noticing.

He never sat, never lounged. He simply stood there in the same attitude, stoic and frozen. I wanted to destroy that veneer, to take this empty shell of a being and crack him open until all the messy parts seeped out. There was no way in the realms that a being could be like this, not all the time.

Everyone had a weakness, something that would rattle them. It was only a matter of finding it.

I lowered myself to the deck of the boat, tucking my feet to the side. "How did you become a ferryman?"

Most people loved to talk about themselves. Not Charon. The Underworld was quiet except for the lap of the river against the ferry and rocky shore for what seemed like an eternity.

"I am the Ferryman."

"Yes, I can see that." I huffed. "But how did you become the Ferryman? What did you do before? Where did you live?"

Those piercing eyes turned and raked over me. It was as if he was picking me apart rather than me being the one gleaning information.

"There was no before. Only this."

I pursed my lips but remained silent. Charon shifted his grip on the push pole, leaning more of his weight on it. The fabric of his chlamys slipped away to reveal mottled blue, muscular forearms, honed from years of pushing the boat.

"There were the Titans. Then the gods. Then the mortals. When your kind came to exist, so did I. Someone needed to push the boat."

"So you've always been here? The same as you are today?"

He looked down long enough for me to admire the length of his white eyelashes against his cheeks, then went back to staring across the shore. Boring he might be, but I couldn't help but admit that he was beautiful in his own way.

"I was more alive then, at the beginning. Over the centuries, I've changed to hover somewhere between life and death, as is fitting of my position."

"You seem particularly devoted to your work."

"It's what I am."

"Have you ever wanted more?"

His gaze bore into me, but there… for the blink of an eye, he looked vulnerable. His throat bobbed, lips curving into each other slightly. He even shifted his weight.

Got you . Charon desired something. Perhaps I could entice him…

I rose to my feet and took one tenuous step towards him. "What is it you want, Charon?"

He watched me as if I were a snake coiled to strike, but didn't retreat as I painstakingly crossed the distance between us.

This close, I had to crane my neck to keep his eyes on mine. I could feel the heat of his body; it seemed so at odds with his appearance. I expected him to be cold.

I pressed my hands to his chest, the move far more intimate than what I could usually do in the markets, but there was no one here to witness my transgression. Well, no one besides the wraiths, but they were too caught up in their own fates to notice mine.

I slid my palms along his chest and shoulders, getting him used to movement so that he wouldn't notice the important ones. Gods, the smooth plans of muscle that I could feel under soft, folded fabric… Charon wasn't a god, but he was built like one. Yet… there was an odd feeling on one side of his body, the same side as the sack of obols. It was ridged, with space between each raised line. Maybe he wore some kind of armor that I hadn't spotted before. I would need to be cautious of that.

"Do you not tire of this? The same everyday…" I asked, my voice coated with honey. "Lonely?"

He swallowed again. "I have never felt loneliness, nor have I tired of my task. I don't need anything else."

His words didn't match his motions. He seemed to know that himself. He avoided the lie, breaking our eye contact to once again stare over the water. As his head turned, I feigned a forward stumble, slipping my hand under his clothing and touching warm metal…

With the speed of a whip, Charon snatched my hands. His gaze snapped to mine, barely long enough for me to register the rage, betrayal, and… hurt in his features.

It cut through me like a knife.

Was this remorse? I hadn't been remorseful in years.

With a forceful jerk, my hands were whirled behind my back and I was pressed forward to the side of the boat. The ferry rocked dangerously as he kicked me so that my knees buckled.

I cried out with fear, struggling to get free, but it was no use. He used his hold at my back to shove me even further forward until I hung over the side of the ferry.

My nose was only a scant breath from the Styx—the river that could siphon my soul.

"You dare to steal from the Ferryman, Little Thief?" Charon growled against my ear. His entire body was pressed against mine, holding me in place. "I should throw you overboard, let the Styx take you. I could watch everything you are drain from your eyes until you were nothing but iridescence in the water."

Even as he threatened me with a fate worse than death, I was conscious of how his body pressed into mine; the feel of his thighs, strong and thick, pinning me into place. The way his chest seemed to wrap around my own, so much larger than my body.

I shouldn't be attracted to Charon, and I certainly shouldn't be focusing on that attraction while he promised me death.

A sobering look down at the swirling current washed away my distractions. I began to tremble. "You don't understand."

"I don't need to."

He inched me closer to the water so that my skin barely met its cool touch. A tiny thread of sensation tugged at my chest. I squirmed and kicked, managing to lift my face enough that I didn't touch the water, but still hung dangerously close.

He pushed against me harder until the wood of the hull dug into my ribs. Yet, something else—something new—was also pressing into me.

I rolled my hips against him, eliciting a sound that was something between a snarl and a moan. Charon's hard length slid against my ass.

"Is it truly wrath you feel, Charon? Or did you merely want an excuse to bend me over the side of your ferry?"

His shout of frustration made my ears ring. Charon jumped to his feet, ripping his body from mine. I jerked when he hauled me up with him. My body protested the sudden movements, but he showed no care. I was a rag doll, his toy to move at his will. When we were both upright he released me. I spun to face him, ready to take on my adversary.

The movement was too quick.

I lost my footing and stumbled backward, falling towards the bow of the ferry.