“There!” shouted Ax. He pointed to a large metal door. Above it was an EXIT sign.
Amahté told us to stay on the path, that it would be revealed to us when we entered the Underworld, and we would be safe so long as we didn’t veer off it. Well, safe-ish. So was the club somehow the path? Or would going through the EXIT door take us to the path? And where was the ambrosia?
Ax pushed the long metal bar, and the door opened outward.
“Fuck!” Ax jumped back, and the door slammed shut. He looked at us over his shoulder. “Everything’s on fire out there,” he said. “That’s definitely not the way.”
We all gathered into a tight little circle.
“We should look for another exit,” said Ax. “There are probably several. My guess is that only one of them leads to the ambrosia.” He grimaced. “Splitting up isn’t an option. Even if one of us found the right door, there’d be no way to tell the others.”
“This is going to take forever,” said Larsa. “It’s good that time is not the same here as it is on the earthly plane.”
“What are we talking about, gang?” Red leather arms slinked around mine and Larsa’s necks. The demon with the horns and the terrible taste in clothing poked his head into our huddle. “You didn’t try going out that door, did you? Because you don’t have on enough sunscreen.” He snort-laughed, and then gave me a come-hither look. “Stick with me, kitten. I’ll show you what you want.”
Larsa and I shoved him off at the same time, and he stumbled backward, smacking into the backside of a huge green-skinned dude wearing a fur kilt and red boots. It was at least eight feet tall. The creature turned around, grabbed the demon by the throat, and tossed him. The demon sailed over the dancers, and plopped like a big red rock into their midst.
The creature looked at us, and snarled.
“We don’t even know that guy,” said Ax. “We’re leaving, all right?”
Once again Ax led the way, and Larsa followed. Drake snagged my hand, and this time he followed Larsa, keeping a tight grip on me as we once again wound through the crowd. We got bumped on all sides, but managed to stay together.
Ax led us to another door. This one was a plain wooden door. A sign above it said, RESTROOMS.
Ax was slightly more circumspect when opening this door. He took one quick look and backed away, gagging. “No. Fuck, no.”
I didn’t even want to know what he’d seen, and neither did anyone else. Frustration burned through me. Damn it. It wasn’t like I’d had any idea what the Underworld would be like, not really, but trying to navigate through a paranormal rave hadn’t even been on the list of expectations.
Ax wheeled around and started another push through the boogying Boogey Men. We reached another wall, another door—this one had peeling paint and what looked like bullet holes in it. Above it was the sign OFFICE.
“Oh, I wouldn’t go in there,” said a familiar voice. Red arms slipped around my waist and pulled me close. “The manager doesn’t like unexpected visitors.” I looked up into the face of the really persistent and idiotic demon. “Hi, there,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows.
The growl made us look at Drake. He curved his lips in a feral smile. “Take your hands off her, or I will remove your arms. Permanently.”
The demon let me go, stepped back and lifted his hands up in a gesture of surrender. Drake grasped my hand and pulled me behind him.
“You need a Xanax, my friend.” The demon reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a prescription bottle. “You want?” He looked Drake over. “Oh, right. Medicine doesn’t work on werewolves.” His gaze moved over Larsa. “And the undead are stress-free enough.” He grinned at me. “How about you, kitten? You look like you could use a chill pill.”
“Will you go away?” I was supremely irritated with this asshole. What was his deal? Everyone else in the place was ignoring us.
The demon actually looked hurt. “Amahté didn’t mention you were all such party poopers.” He sighed. “Look, I know I owe him for that whole Thira thing. Now, those Minoans, they know how to party.” He looked at us and tsked. “Unlike you.”
“Wait,” I said, fascinated despite everything. “You’re responsible for the volcanic explosion on Santorini?”
His expression turned sheepish. “My little shindig got a weensy bit out of hand . . . and well, we blew up the island. It happens, you know.”
We all stared at him, and he stared back.
“What?” he asked. “Do I have brimstone on my face?”