A weighted breath leaves me. I’d actually considered my own death as a possibility of fast-tracking myself to the underworld but truly hoped there were alternatives.
“Thank God.”
But I double take when the old man seems to think that’s worthy of a chuckle.
“What?” I demand. “That simplifies things, doesn’t it?”
When he raises his head, I assume there’ll be more of his rheumy gaze. But his pupils are practically blown, pushing at the boundaries of irises that gleam like irradiated glass.
“You’ve been acquainted with your uncle already then, yes, Professor?”
I nod in reply.
“So tell me… In what world would you consider Hades simple?”
I rock back, tempted to blow off my nervousness by tapping at the edge of the desk, but its particleboard surface won’t weather my stress like my mahogany dining set. “Point heard and taken. So does that mean you can’t help us? Or you simply won’t?”
He shakes his head. “You and my ladybug really do share similar wiring.”
A quick chuff from Jesse, and then, “You mean the single-mindedly stubborn part? Or the won’t-take-no-for-an-answer part?”
I surge to my feet. “I’d love to bask in the compliment cavalcade all night, gentlemen, but every second we waste is another moment the woman I love remains prisoner of the hell master she’s defied.”
Both men stare at me as thunder rumbles overhead.
“So you do love her.”
Gio issues the observation with a mixture of ferocity and calm. I meet the challenge of his gaze without a flinch of my own.
“With every cell in my blood and throb of my heart.”
He pushes up from the desk and stiffly turns, pacing over to a tall teak display hutch fronted by glass windows. He tugs open the cabinet’s doors, triggering the built-in lights to flare to life. Occupying the top two shelves are bound screenplays much like the ones I already studied at Alameda’s library. The bottom two tiers are cluttered with an eyepopping array of trophies and awards, including a couple of iconic gold men with crusader swords.
But Gio’s attention isn’t on his screenplays or the accolades they’ve earned him.
He’s fixated on the middle two shelves, where there’s an intriguing collection of knickknacks and photographs. Among them is an aqua apothecary vial that looks like it was preserved from Vesalius’s own laboratory, kept preserved and upright in a customized wire holder. In a red velvet box rests a sizable gold coin that’s definitely rarer than a double eagle. I lean in to get a better look. The writing on it is foreign, which has me wondering about the distinct chill I get when gazing too long at it.
Time to move on. Now.
Next, I set my eyes on an array of elegant cufflink sets, dusty and neglected, obviously cherished from long-ago special occasions. Beside it is an ornate gold ring, set with diamonds and rubies that remind me of Kara’s heirloom earrings.
But my interest in the story behind the thing doesn’t come close to my fascination with the framed photographs crowding the next shelf down. More precisely, with Gio’s fixation on them. At once, and even just viewing his profile, I know the man might as well be showing us the inside of his hidden treasure chest. In these images, in the laughter and smiles and achievements of his family, we’re beholding the most valuable pieces of his life. His world.
Inside that unmistakable truth, there’s another fact to acknowledge. Kara’s photographs outnumber everyone else’s. And not by a little.
“I can see she’s been your favorite.”
Our stares engage via the hutch’s polished glass. I’m close enough to watch as his irises turn a texture that can cut that glass, and his angled cheekbones protrude along with his deeper frown.
“Bah.” He throws a stiff arm up. “I love all my grandchildren!”
“But not like you love Kara.”
When he whirls on me, there are still dark diamonds in his eyes and deep crevices across his face.
“Is that what she told you?”
I drag in a deep breath. “She’s told at least a dozen stories about the ways you’ve inspired her to be compassionate, humble, hardworking, and kind. Judging from how different she is from her siblings, I’d guess the special attention she received made all the difference.”
“She has a natural capacity for all of those things…and a great deal more. I simply recognized it in her from an early age and tried to lovingly guide her talents. God knows, Veronica couldn’t see the ways to nurture them.”
Now doesn’t seem like the right time for listing the many strong traits his daughter has imbued into Kara, especially as he trades his combative gleam for a sad wash of nostalgia. I’m not going to get a better advantage to press him on the mission.
“Gio. There’s a good chance you know exactly what I want here and why I’ve come directly here for it. Why I’ve come straight to you.”
He reaches out, bracing a bony hand to the hutch’s polished frame. “Certainly not because you have an ounce of sense in your head.”
“I came here for your insights, not to celebrate mine.”
“Wisdom comes at a price. I earned the bells on my fool’s cap quite a long time ago. Undoubtedly, you’ve been apprised about how I’ve been paying the price for it since.”
I grimace. “So what are you saying? That I’m not ready to pay my own price?”
“That’s an assumption I can’t—and won’t—make for you.”
“Where does that leave us?”
He lifts a solid grip to my shoulder, even as both of his slump. “I escaped hell once and paid the dearest toll, short of death, for it.” His next sigh is full of resignation. “I regret nothing, of course. My family is my whole world. But if you think my part in the Valari dynasty is the bargaining chip you need, you’ve knocked on the wrong door, boys.”
Jesse rubs an impatient palm along the top of his right wheel. “Okay, so that means exactly what?”
Gio steps to an arched window with a deep ledge that supports a small stack of books on one side. As he rests a hip into his makeshift reading nook, weariness seems to settle over him. In direct proportion, my anxiety climbs.
“It means that in terms of hellbound strings getting pulled, you’re hitching your wagon to a nonexistent star.”
Forget about the climbing dread. I’ve already reached the peak, and it turns out it’s a roaring volcano.
“Mr. Valari, the other half of my soul is a hostage in hell,” I utter with the force of a desperate man. “So if you think I’m after a star, check your cosmic compass.”
He winces. “I…well, I assumed…you have access to a number of resources now. If not your father himself—”
“No,” I bite out. “Zeus is about as reliable as a mall phone repair guy.”
Gio’s salt-and-pepper brows jump up. “But he knows, yes?”
“Wouldn’t matter if he did. According to Hades’s ledger, Kara is his subject, not Zeus’s. Pressing the issue would mean certain catastrophe for the mortal realm.”
Clearly, my elaboration isn’t necessary. Gio’s face is back to contorting as tightly as mine. “What about the woman who helped raise you? The Olympian guardswoman? The one who was even spying on us for a while.”