Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Eunomia, not the one to disrespect fellow immortals, descended from her seat to meet her visitor halfway.
"Hades."
"Eunomia."
Both spoke briefly but courteously, with neither of them the type to waste time on trivialities.
Eunomia handed him the scroll. "Now that the Aspirant is awake, here are the rules that the Moirai decreed you must be bound to."
The Lord of the Underworld
Is not to use his powers in aid of the Aspirant
Is not to wield his influence over his subjects in aid of the Aspirant
Is not to reveal his prior connection to the Aspirant until the test has been completed
Hades only nodded. "Any other rules?"
"The Moirai has enlisted Zetes, son of the North Wind, to serve as watcher."
"A spy, you mean," Hades said coldly.
"A watcher," Eunomia repeated firmly, "to ensure that no rules are broken. The watcher's testimony will prevent anyone from questioning the Aspirant's completion of the test—-"
"The Moirai can send a battalion of watchers for all I care," Hades dismissed. "She will pass this test, and once she does..."
Eunomia inclined her head in acknowledgment. "The Fates always keep their word. If the Aspirant passes her test, she shall be recognized as the new Lady of the Underworld."
Chapter One
Everyone called her 'Nana', she told me. She was silver-haired and sturdily built, like that granny who was lucky enough to have Tweety Bird as pet. She even had the same adorably dorky pair of glasses, and it went rather well with the polka-dot blouse she wore under her white coat. It must be her favorite, too, since I never saw her wearing anything else.
Nana had been keeping me company since I came out of my coma, always ready to lend an ear even to my silliest gripes. Jon killed Danaerys, and Bran is king? Oh! Come! On!
And to Nana's credit, she had respected my very legit grief as I shed tears over the death of my favorite Game of Thrones character. Khaleesis were supposed to rule the world, dammit.
But...anyway, moving on.
Nana was also the only one who cared to tell me things that my other doctors preferred not speak of, like the fact that the blood samples they've taken from me had consistently yielded the same results: a never-before-seen abnormal mutation which could be interpreted in one or two ways.
The half-cup-full diagnosis: the mutation might be the possible reason behind my unprecedented recovery.
The half-cup-empty version: the mutation could eventually kill me.
(All things considered, I get why they'd rather shut up about it.)
Another thing that Nana alone had the guts to tell me was the unvarnished truth about my personal life. My douchebag of an ex had only cared to visit me once, and the last person to check on me was a high school friend who lived out of state..and that was six months ago.
I know that should've made me feel like the saddest loser in town, but when I thought about how I had also been a human vegetable for two-plus years before being given a second chance in life...
"It kinda puts things in perspective, doesn't it?"
Nana nodded agreeably. "It does, indeed."
It was my last night in Roger Hills, and Nana and I were celebrating my discharge with mocktails (I was banned from drinking alcohol until the doctors could figure what went right - or wrong - with me). Nana's chilled concoction had spinach and lemons mixed with half a glass of soda. Didn't make any gastronomic sense, but I appreciated it all the same. It couldn't have been easy for Nana to sneak these drinks past the nurse station.
'Want another one?" Nana asked.
"Yes, please." Nana refilled my glass, and as soon as she turned away to refill hers, I knocked the whole thing back with a single swig. That was the trick with all things you didn't want to taste, you guys. Have it go down your throat fast enough, and anything you've swallowed down might as well have been air.
"Do you plan on going back to work as soon as you're out?" Nana asked as she settled back in her seat.
"That's the plan," I confirmed. "But I'm not holding my breath about getting my old job back."
"How can they not want you back?" Nana fumed. "Didn't you say you were one of the most in-demand makeup artists before?"
"Before being the operative word."
"You had an aneurysm, not amnesia," the older woman scoffed. "Don't these folks know the difference?"
I loved how Nana sounded so offended on my behalf, but it also made my heart ache the tiniest bit. If my parents hadn't died in 9/11, I had a feeling Mom would be just like Nana, who was like a gentle Mama bear...until she thought one of her cubs needed defending, and that's when she'd turn into a terrifying old grizzly.
"It's okay, Nana. Image is everything in the business I'm in - or was. My clients were mostly models and celebrities, and they can't be "cool" if their makeup artist is being touted as a has-been who's been dumped by her boyfriend for a 25-year-old itch."