A Change of Heart

Sunrise on Monday April 12, 1490

Having committed Thoren's diary to memory, I chose to launch Operation Hades exactly five years to the day that Thoren led his cabal into Athens and changed my city and my life forever. The anniversary seemed auspicious (or at least no more inauspicious than any other day), and I figured that I could use all the morale-boosting I could get. Unfortunately, the tight deadline meant that Ynez and I had to rush our preparations. Thanos, of course, had much to say — none of it complimentary — on the foolhardiness of charging into a war zone with only rudimentary understanding of the factions and forces at play, and Zoe muttered deprecations about superstitiousness that endangered not only earthly lives but also immortal souls. Nevertheless, she informed Ynez that she'd accompany us to provide spiritual guidance.

"I'd appreciate that, Soror Zoe," Ynez said, her relief obvious. (Zoe blushed and Ynez missed it, as usual. No one even bothered to comment anymore. The two would just turn matching shades of crimson and insist that they were sisters within the Catholic Church and then lecture us on how pagans could not possibly comprehend the depth of that bond.)

Later, to Thanos and me, Ynez confided, "If the head of the Spanish Inquisition is coming, then we must be doing the right thing."

Neither of us disabused her of this notion.

And so it was that just before sunrise on chilly spring morning, dressed in our sturdiest travel clothes and weighed down by extra Foci, Ynez, Zoe, and I tramped out to an empty field that Tessa deemed a sufficiently safe distance from House Bjornaer's encampment and crops. Accompanying us was everyone who either cared enough about us to say goodbye, or was curious enough to observe a portal to the underworld. (Neither category included that many people.)

Inhaling deeply, Ynez planted the spear's butt firmly on the grass, raised a mirror in her other hand, and reflected the sun's first rays onto the tip of the spear. The iron devoured the light but, instead of glowing, grew darker and darker until it seemed less like a spear tip and more like a hole in reality, and the very air around it vibrated with notes beyond human hearing. Instead of the black iron and adamantine gates that Thanos had summoned, Ynez's portal to Hades materialized before us as a sturdy oak door, carved with plain rectangular panels — the kind of nondescript, sensible door that might open into any respectable family home in Europe. Slowly, a brass plaque appeared in the center, engraved with a single word in flowing script: Murillo.

"It's your house in Seville, isn't it?" Zoe whispered in Spanish. "I'd recognize your front door anywhere. The number of prayer meetings your father hosted...."

"Hey!" exclaimed Tel at the same time (in Greek). "Ynez, isn't that your last name? Why does the door know your name?"

Verrus' stern shake of the head silenced him.

As if in a trance, Ynez placed a trembling hand on the doorknob, turned it, and pushed gently. At her touch, the door swung soundlessly inward, revealing an endless hallway that stretched on and on until walls, floor, and ceiling alike vanished into darkness. Shadowy paintings formed on the walls, still blurry but sharpening right before our eyes.

Since Ynez seemed to have lost all powers of speech, I gave a little wave to our audience and bade them farewell. "I'm sure we'll be back soon," I told Tessa. "And then we'll collect our House and be on our way."

"Travel safely. The earth's blessings go with you," she responded, with very little effort (even for her) at sincerity.

"Well," said Tel, missing her lack of enthusiasm entirely, "good luck. Come back alive, or I'll tell Mel to haunt you."

Although he'd directed that sentiment at all three of us, Ynez turned as pink as Zoe's dress anyway and stammered something eloquent about returning in one piece.