"Dreaming of you?!" Irritation surges through my veins as I sit on the tiled floor. "I was not!"
My voice echoes around the empty bathroom. There's no reply. Valentine has already gone.
I rub my clammy face hard with my hands. My muscles ache, my throat feels like it's been ripped to shreds, and my mouth tastes sour and acrid.
And I don't like the suggestive way Valentine just spoke to me. If he's been on my mind it's only because he's been evilly plotting against me and the cupids for the past month. And because – somehow with the help of his friend – it seems he's been somehow manipulating my dreams.
Why else would I be thinking of him?
I exhale, then slowly – my bones feeling heavy – I push myself to my feet. Shaking slightly I make my way to the sink – gripping its cool edge and surveying myself in the small gilded mirror above it. My eyes are red and my skin pale and sickly looking. Strands of my dark hair cling to my face – shiny with sweat.
I can still feel the memory of Valentine's hand on my back, his hand in my hair, and I turn on the tap and splash my face; trying to cleanse myself of the feeling.
Then, somewhat dubious thanks to the last water I drank here in the Underworld – I cup my hand beneath the running water and tentatively sip from it. It eases the burn in my throat and I take some more – gulping greedily.
Was I dreaming about him when I was tortured? I remember Cupid, Cal, and Crystal suggesting the Oneiri were involved when I said I'd been communicating with Valentine. Charlie had discovered they were gods who ruled over dreams.
If Valentine's friend is the God of Dreams – then I suppose it makes sense.
I try to cast my mind back to the torture I endured. I was unconscious for a lot of it. Did I dream when I blacked out? I think I remember a cave. And something glowing – white – in the darkness. I try to grab onto the fuzzy images – to make sense of them.
And then the memory of Valentine's blue eyes – meeting mine – jolts back to me. But was that a dream? Or was that when he came to save me? I think of my head against Valentine's chest. I think of feeling light and warm – the world moving beneath me as his scent flooded my senses.
I splash my face again before glancing in the mirror - staring into my swollen eyes.
I don't want to think about that. I don't want to feel grateful for something I'm sure he did for his own self-interests. I need to arrange my fuzzy, distorted thoughts.
For now, I'm just going to have to take this one step at a time – making sure I don't let slip to Valentine how much trouble I'm actually in.
And I am in trouble.
I'm stuck in the Underworld with no way of escape. And seeing as Cupid and Cal have forgotten who I am – it's very unlikely they'll be making their way here anytime soon...
Valentine can't know.
I need to clean myself up and pull myself together.
I eye the small blue toothbrush resting on the side of the sink.
He said I could borrow it. Which is totally gross. But so is the taste in my mouth.
I pick it up, run it under the water, then hurriedly scrub my mouth out before I can think too much about it. Feeling a little fresher – I glance at the doorway.
I guess it's time to meet Morpheus, God of Dreams.
I head out of the bathroom into a large, high ceilinged space dominated by the king sized four poster bed in the center.
I stop by the doorway.
I'd expected Valentine to be waiting for me elsewhere – but he's lounging in a stiff throne like armchair in the corner of the room – booted foot resting on one knee, face contorted by shadow. He slowly puts his foot down on the checkered tiles and leans forwards when he sees me.
"Finally," he says – a smile slowly spreading across his face. "I was starting to wonder if you were scheming against me in there."
His eyes glint and I narrow mine.
"Ready?" he says.
"Yes."
"Good." He rises to his full height and walks to the door. "Morpheus gets bored easily. Best not to keep him waiting."
I resolutely don't look at him - glancing around me instead as I fall into step beside him in the corridor. We could almost be in an art gallery – the floor mosaiced, the ceiling high, and the walls decorated with strange and colorful paintings that remind me of Picasso.
"You're angry with me, Lila," says Valentine.
I don't look at him. "Of course I'm angry with you. You made me come to the Underworld to get you, I got tortured by the Furies, and now I'm stuck here with you."
"I didn't make you do anything – you came of your own accord. And I don't think that you mind my company as much as you claim. In fact, I think you rather enjoy it."
"I don't," I snap.
"But I'll admit, the torture was unfortunate..."
"Is that meant to be an apology?"
He doesn't say anything as we walk out onto a balcony overlooking a grand, windowless hall below. The sound of our heavy footsteps echo around us. A faint light flicks shadows around the dark – and I look up to see a giant chandelier above, white wax dripping from its thousands of candles to form bone-like wax stalactites.
Valentine stops as we reach the top of a staircase. "I don't want to lie to you, Lila. So no, it's not an apology. Because I'm not sorry. I'm glad you're here."
He looks at me – his expression serious and I frown; at a momentary loss for words. Then I fold my arms across my chest.
"What is this all about, Valentine? Getting me to kill you in the cave, the box, Venus escaping, saving me from the Furies, the God of Dreams, you wanting me to be here...?"
His lips spread into a smile. "I said I don't want to lie to you. It doesn't mean I don't have my secrets."
He starts to walk down the steps, but I reach out and grab his arm – jolting him back. I hear his slight intake of breath as he stops. Slowly he turns back around. He's a couple of steps down, making us around the same height. His eyes linger on my fingers, curled around his arm, before he meets my gaze and raises a dark eyebrow in question.
"Did you find her?" I say. Shadows flicker across his face and his expression darkens. I don't move my eyes from his. "Did you find a way to bring her back?"
"Whoever are you talking about?" He's trying to sound nonchalant, but there's an uncharacteristic terseness to his tone.
"You know who I'm talking about."
He says nothing – eyes blazing into mine.
"You told me that everything you did, you did it for her," I say – my hand still gripping his arm – feeling the tension of his muscles beneath his shirt. "You told me that your plan to resurrect Venus was for her. You told me you couldn't wait to see her again. And yet you've not mentioned her once. And she's not here. So did you find her? Did you find a way to bring back Psyche?"
His eyes don't move from mine for a moment, his expression intense. There is no more humor in his blue irises – there's a storm instead. He swallows. "I'm working on it."
"The box...the box that Venus wants...that the Arrows are after...it's got something to do with it, doesn't it?"
He says nothing.
"Keep your secrets, Valentine," I say. "I don't much care for your schemes. But don't lie to me. I'm not some pawn in your little games. You're right, you didn't force me to come here. I chose to. You owe me something for that. Does that box have something to do with Psyche?"
He moistens his bottom lip. "Yes."
"What's in the box?"
"I'll show you."
"Now."
"Later."
I look directly into his eyes. "Do you promise me?"
He says nothing for a moment.
"Yes," he says.
I release my grip on his arm. He doesn't move out of my personal space for a moment, just looks at me; the hardness of his jaw, and the darkness in his eyes enough to remind me that regardless of him saving me – this guy is dangerous.
And my body responds to the danger; my muscles tensing, my pulse quickening.
As if noticing, a wickedness slides across his expression, glinting in his irises. And then he turns and continues his descent down the stairway.
"Come along," he says – the arrogance creeping back into his gravelly tone. "It's rude to keep our host waiting. And there's no knowing what he'll do to pass the time."
I release a breath. And I follow.
"You shouldn't have left them there, you know?" I say as we reach the bottom of the stairway.
"My brothers? I've told you, Lila. They weren't my priority."
"Well they should have been. You can't get out of the Underworld without them. Cal has the obols. So, now we're both stuck here." I pause. "I mean...until they break out, anyway."
He looks over his shoulder at me and smirks. "I can think of worse things than us spending some time together before they get here. Can't you?"
I grit my teeth, looking away from him as we cross the shadowy space – the air thick with dust and the musty scent of mausoleums. Then Valentine leads us through an arched doorway into another windowless corridor.
"What if...what if Charon doesn't free them and they don't come, though?" I say – trying to scramble together some semblance of a plan for escape. "How are you going to get back to earth for whatever dastardly plan you seem to be working on if they don't?"
Valentine chuckles – the low noise echoing off the high ceiling as he leads me onwards through this maze of a building. "Dastardly plan... You're so dramatic, Lila."
"You martyred yourself so that you could be some kind of supervillain cupid on Valentine's Day, and then rode around on the Ferry of the Dead for a month sending weird cryptic cards about stealing hearts so I hardly think you can call anyone else dramatic..." I say.
He continues to laugh.
"Look," I say. "Maybe we should go and free them? Just in case."
Valentine wafts a hand dismissively.
"Charon will free them," he says.
I chew on my bottom lip. Even if Charon does free them and keeps his end of the bargain– I highly doubt I can rely on him to remind them what they were in the Underworld for in the first place. In fact – it might be worse if they are freed. They might leave the Underworld altogether.
"But..." I start.
Valentine stops suddenly – looking me in the eye. A flash of suspicion crosses his face. "You seem awfully concerned, Lila," he says.
I force myself to hold his gaze but my heart beats faster. "Of course I'm concerned. The Furies have Cupid and Cal."
He looks at me intently. Then he rolls his eyes.
"Fine. If my tedious brothers aren't here in a couple of days, and you still want me to - I'll go rescue them. Happy?"
"We'll rescue them." I narrow my eyes. "I'm not trusting you on your own."
"Whatever you say."
I nod.
It's not a good plan – but at least it's something. Until I think of something better. And in the meantime, I can find out what I can about this box Valentine has. Maybe I could even steal it.
We head into a small candlelit study. Faint jazz music echoes around the empty space but I'm not sure where it's coming from.
"What are we doing?" I say. "I thought we were meeting this Morpheus guy?"
Valentine strides up to the bookcase and pulls out a thick leather volume.
"We are," he says.
The bookcase slides open – revealing another stairway behind it and releasing the jazz tones into the room. Valentine looks over his shoulder an offers me a devilish grin.
"The God of Dreams waits for you down there." He gestures with a big hand.
"Um...OK." I look warily into the ominous jazz filled darkness. "I'm right behind you," I say.
Valentine's smile widens – deepening the dimples in his cheeks. "Ladies first."
I tense my jaw and gesture at the doorway myself. "Age before beauty."
He chuckles. "You're not scared, are you, Lila?"
I meet his gaze defiantly. Then, reluctant to show weakness I walk past Valentine and begin the descent into the darkness. "Fine. I'll go first," I mutter.
I'm not ashamed to admit to myself I am a little afraid – of course I am – I'm in the Underworld about to meet a God, and my last meeting with an Ancient deity didn't exactly go so well...
But it's a little harder to admit to myself my overpowering emotion is curiosity. I'm curious about the kind of guy that Valentine would be friends with. I'm curious about someone who has access to my subconscious.
And - thinking about the tornado of darkness I saw in the center of my mind's labyrinth -I'm curious about what the God of Dreams might have seen inside my mind.