Persephone did not return to work after her visit to the museum. Instead, she teleported to the Underworld and went in search of Hecate, finding the goddess in her meadow, waiting. She was dressed in black robes today, matching Nefeli who sat, poised behind her, like an omen. She slowed upon seeing them, anxiety erupting in her chest. Hecate never waited for her—she was always doing something—gathering herbs and mushrooms, making poisons or cursing mortals.
She halted at the edge of the meadow and stared at the goddess.
“I felt your rage the moment you entered the Underworld,” Hecate said.
“I am changing, Hecate,” Persephone said, her voice broke.
“You are becoming,” Hecate corrected. “You feel it, don’t you? The darkness rising.”
“I do not wish to be like my mother.”
It was her greatest fear, something she’d thought about since the night she’d asked Hades to take her to Tartarus so she could torture Pirithous.
“I do not flinch at torture,” Persephone said. “I wish for vengeance against those who have wronged me. I would kill to protect my heart. I don’t know who I am anymore.”
“You are Persephone,” Hecate said. “The Fated Queen of Hades.”
Her chest rose and fell with heavy breaths.
“You should not feel ashamed of hurting people who hurt you,” Hecate said. “It is the nature of battle.”
They had spoken of combat and of war—they were words that had been threaded through conversations over the last few months—battle with Demeter, war with the gods.
“But does it mean I am no better than those who hurt me?”
Hecate offered a sarcastic laugh. “Whoever said so has never been hurt—not like you have and not like I have.”
Persephone wanted to ask Hecate more questions—how had she been hurt? But Persephone also knew the kind of sorrow those questions unleashed, and she did not wish to bring that upon the goddess.
“Your mother wages war on the world above,” Hecate said. “Do you wish to defeat her?”
“Yes,” Persephone hissed.
“Then I will teach you,” Hecate said, and her words were followed by a terrible surge of power as black fire gathered into her hands, casting shadows on her face. She looked terrifying, her face ashy and drained of color.
“I will fight you like your mother will fight you,” she said. “You will think I never loved you.”
Before Persephone could think too long on those words, Hecate unleashed her shadow-magic. When it hit, she was thrown back, into the trunk of a tree. The pain was unbearable, a sharp ache that made her feel like her spine had broken into pieces. She couldn’t move, so she immediately called up her magic, working to heal herself, but Nefeli’s sudden bellow turned Persephone’s blood to ice. She’d forgotten about the grim who barreled toward her.
She wasn’t completely healed as she rolled to her feet and flung out her hand, using her magic to teleport the creature to another part of the Underworld. Across the meadow, Hecate stood still, and for the first time since Persephone met the Goddess of Witchcraft, she realized she had never truly felt Hecate’s magic. She’d sensed it in bursts—like ghostly lights igniting in the dark, guiding her intermittently and smelling of sage and earth. This magic, the kind she’d summoned to fight was different. It was ancient. It smelled bitter and acidic like wine but left a tang in the back of her throat—a metallic taste akin to blood. Sensing it left a feeling of dread embedded in her heart and suddenly, its irregular pounding was the only thing she could focus on—that and Hecate’s rapid approach.
She focused on healing and gathering her power, recounting words that Hades had used while he’d fought her in the grove.
If you were fighting any other Olympian—any enemy—they would have never let you up.
Hecate played by this rule, sending more shadow-magic barreling toward her. Persephone raised her hand, and for the slightest of seconds, everything slowed—but unlike the other times she had managed to freeze time, Hecate’s magic pulsed—as if she were only using a fraction of it before, destroying her spell. The shadows crashed into her again, sending her flying backward. Persephone landed hard, the wind knocked from lungs, the earth piling up around her as she came to a sliding stop.
As she lay there, the ground began to tremble and groan. She felt the earth yawn beneath her, and she scrambled to her hands and knees, nails digging into the dirt to keep from falling into the chasm that had opened beneath her. She looked up, finding Hecate only a few feet away. Her eyes were all black. She had broken the earth without lifting a finger. She had used powerful magic and was not lethargic. She had Persephone on her knees and she’d only used an ounce of her abilities.
Persephone tried to pull herself up, but she only managed to fall a little further.
“Hecate—” The goddess’s name fell from her lips, but she was not moved by her plea. Instead, her answer was to hurl more flame. Persephone fell, screaming into the chasm. It was dark for only a few seconds before she landed in the battle-worn clearing once more. She crashing several feet into the ground before coming to rest at the bottom of a crater.
She lay there for a second, blinking up at the Underworld sky. It was hazy and bright.
Again, she recalled Hades’ teachings.
How do I fight when I do not know what power you will use against me?
You will never know.
She teleported, appearing behind Hecate, magic stirring in her blood. As soon as she landed, the Goddess of Magic turned, and this time, instead of throwing shadow, black, thorny vines erupted from the ground. Persephone’s eyes widened before she vanished once more. As she appeared a few feet away, she dug deep, calling her magic forth—a similar thorny vine burst from the ground, thicker, sharper, with red-tipped spikes. It tangled with Hecate’s, a barrier between the two goddesses.
“Finally,” Hecate said, and a wicked smile cut across her face.
Persephone felt Hecate’s magic erupt, an energy so fierce and deadly, it made her heart rattle in her chest. Then the tangle of thorns exploded, and Persephone hit the ground, covering her head as spikes scattered across the clearing. She felt several sharp stings as her body was lanced with thorns. She roared through the pain, her magic sweeping through her, pushing the splintered wood out of her body and sealing the wounds.
“You are the only one who can stop your mother,” Hecate said. “Yet it seems to me you are waiting for the Olympians to intervene.”
Persephone flinched. Hecate was not wrong, but the difference was, the Olympians were far more powerful than she was.
“Perhaps more powerful then, but now?” Hecate asked.
“Get out of my head,” Persephone said between her teeth. The Goddess of Witchcraft ignored her.
“What if they do not side with you? What if they tear you and Hades apart?”
Persephone’s hands shook, and there was a shift inside her, a change to her magic. She was drawing from a well she had only accessed once before.
It was dark.
It was a part of her where she’d stored her anger and her doubt and her fear—every negative thought and experience she’d ever had. That energy seeped from her body and into the earth. All around them, the leaves and the grass wilted and withered, the limbs of the trees dropped as if melted.
She was draining Hades’ magic from the Underworld, stealing its life to feed her own.
If Hecate noticed, she did not hesitate in her speech.
“Zeus will take the path of least resistance. You are the least resistance. You are weak.”
“I am not weak.”
“Prove it.”
The earth at their feet was now barren. The trees that were once lush and emerald had turned to ash, the remnants carried away as a darkness gathered around Persephone, lifting her hair and tearing at her clothes.
“I am a Goddess of Life,” Persephone said. “A Queen of Death.”
As the shadows swirled, Persephone felt as though she herself were becoming darkness.
“I am the beginning and end of worlds.”
In the next second, she charged, moving faster than she’d ever moved in her life and as she neared Hecate, she brought her hands together. A dark energy pulsed there, shooting out and hitting the goddess in the chest. She flew back, her feet dragging along the ground, tearing up the earth. She came to land in a tangle of thorns Persephone had summoned, caging her wrists and her ankles.
As the dust settled, Persephone was left breathing hard, her body humming from the energy she’d managed to summon from the Underworld.
Hecate smiled.
“Well done, my dear,” she said. “Shall we have tea?”
Persephone felt something wet beneath her nose and as she touched her lips, they came away covered in blood.
Her brows knitted together.
“Huh,” she mumbled. “Yes, tea would be lovely.”
***
They retired to Hecate’s cottage, leaving the meadow drained of magic.
“Should I…restore it?” Persephone asked as they walked away.
“No,” Hecate said, nonchalant. “Let Hades sees your handiwork.”
Persephone did not argue. She was feeling tired, though not as exhausted as she had in the past when she’d used her magic. The blood was new, though, and as she sat down at Hecate’s table, the goddess handed her a black cloth.
“You used a lot of power,” Hecate explained. “Your body will grow used to it.”
An earthy, bitter scent filled the space as Hecate prepared tea.
“Have you thought anymore on the wedding?” Hecate asked. “The souls are eager to confirm a date.”
“I haven’t,” Persephone replied, staring down at her hands—her nails were broken, and her fingers were dirty. The wedding brought up other feelings—like blame. Suddenly, she wanted to fight again just so she didn’t have to face how she was feeling.
Hecate placed a steaming mug of tea in front of her along with a jar of honey.
“You’ll need to sweeten it,” she said. “It’s willow bark so it will be bitter.”
Persephone added the honey slowly and sipped the tea. She concentrated hard on the task, avoiding eye contact with Hecate, though she knew the goddess stared.
“Are you well, my dear?” Hecate asked, sitting across from Persephone.
She did not know how to reply, so she stayed quiet, but her eyes blurred with tears.
“My dear?” Hecate’s voice was low.
“No,” she whispered, and her voice cracked. “I am not well.”
Hecate reached across the table and covered Persephone’s hand with her own.
“Do you wish to tell me?”
Persephone swallowed, tears streaming silently down her face.
“It has been a long day,” she said in a hushed tone. She paused and then spoke. “I am afraid Hades will distance himself from me.”
“I do not think he would be able to stay away long,” Hecate replied.
“You do not know what I did.”
“What did you do?”
Persephone recounted what had occurred between them the previous night. She’d had to pause to take deep breaths, not expecting to have such a visceral response to merely recalling the experience, but even now as she thought about how they’d begun—with healing kisses that had slowly morphed into something more passionate—and how it ended, with the horror of reliving Pirithous’ abduction—she found that her heart raced, and her chest hurt.
“Dearest, you did nothing wrong.”
It had not felt that way when she had woken up alone.
“It might be true that Hades is distancing himself, it is likely he is doing so because he thinks he hurt you.”
She knew that was true. She would never forget how horrified he had looked after he had realized what had happened.
“I hurt him,” she replied.
“You scared him,” Hecate are clarified. “There is a difference.”
“I hate Pirithous for what he has done. First he invaded my dreams and now the most sacred part of my life with Hades.”
“Hate him if it helps,” Hecate said. “But Pirithous will not go away until you confront what happened to you.”
Persephone swallowed thickly. “I feel…ridiculous. So many people have experience worse—”
She thought of Lara who had been raped by Zeus.
“Do not compare trauma, Persephone,” Hecate said. “It will do no good. You will find a way to take back your power.”
“I feel powerful when I am with Hades. I feel most powerful when we have sex. I do not know why, only that I am in awe that this god worships at my feet.”
“Then take that power back,” Hecate said. “Sex is about pleasure as much as it is about communication. Talk to Hades. Tell him what you need.”
Persephone met Hecate’s gaze.
“I love him, Hecate. The world wants to take him from me, and I fear if I do not release him, there will be war.”
“Oh, my dear,” Hecate said, a note of melancholy in her voice. “No matter your choice, there is no avoiding war.”
