Persephone entered the dark mouth of the cave and the others followed. Theseus kept Sybil nearby, a hand constantly on her forearm, a reminder that if Persephone messed up, her friend would bear the consequences.
The cave was large and each sniffled, whimper, and sob echoed in Persephone’s ears, feeding her fury. She had to think up a plan and began to wonder if this entrance to the Underworld was like the one in Nevernight. Was it a portal that would take her anywhere she envisioned?
They walked until they came face to face with a rock wall that appeared to block their entry.
“What is this?” Theseus demanded.
“This is the entrance to the Underworld,” Persephone explained quickly. She reached forward, hands sinking into the wall. The portal was cold and the magic swirling around her skin was like the flutter of wings. It was comforting because it was Hades’ magic, and it made her chest ache.
Where was Hades? She’d bound him in the Upperworld only to ensure he granted Theseus’s favor, which had been fulfilled the moment she’d left Alexandria Tower.
Perhaps he is waiting for us in the Underworld, she told herself.
“I will step through first,” she said.
“No,” Theseus commanded. “Demeter will go.”
“That is not wise,” Persephone argued. “Monsters guard these gates.”
“Worried for me, my flower?” Demeter asked, her voice thick with sarcasm.
“No,” Persephone said. “I worry for my monsters.”
For Cerberus, Typhon, and Orthrus specifically.
“I will not risk Sybil’s pain,” Persephone said. “You have nothing to worry about from me.”
“Fine,” he said, the word slipping between his teeth like a curse. “Just remember, I’m a little bored cutting fingers.”
With that, Persephone entered the portal. It was like wading through water and she moved slow, basking in the feel of Hades magic, before coming out on the other side in Hecate’s meadow. It seemed so bright after experiencing the night in the Upperworld and the dark of the cave.
“Persephone,” Hecate said. “What’s wrong?”
She blinked turning toward the Goddess of Witchcraft who stood dressed in dark robes with Nefeli at her side.
“Hecate,” Persephone began, but quickly slammed her mouth shut as Theseus, Sybil, Demeter, and Harmonia entered behind her. As they appeared, a deadly growl erupted from around them. It came from Nefeli and from Cerberus, Typhon, and Orthurus who crept out from between the trees.
“No, Cerberus!” Persephone commanded.
The dogs halted, still tense, still poised for attack, but did not growl.
“What is this?” Theseus asked. “A trap?”
“No!” Persephone said. “No. It is not a trap!”
She stared at Hecate, her eyes wide and desperate, communicating what she could, knowing the goddess could read her mind. She showed her what had happened in the last several hours—from the time Sybil had gone missing, to finding her severed finger at work, the avalanche and battle between the Olympians, to Theseus’s favor.
Persephone turned to face the demi-god.
“Hecate is my companion. She only came to ensure I was well.”
“Yes, of course,” Hecate managed a tight smile, then her eyes shifted to Demeter. “What a treat. The Goddess of Harvest in the Realm of the Dead. Come to pay your respects to the hundreds you’ve murdered in the last month?”
Demeter offered a cold smile. “I have no desire to dwell upon the past.”
“If only that were true,” Hecate replied. “Are you not here because of the past?”
Demeter scowled and spoke to Theseus. “She is a powerful goddess—perhaps you should choose a limb from the mortal, so Persephone behaves.”
“No,” Persephone said, her voice dark. “Hecate will not bother us, will you? She will remain in her meadow while we travel to the palace.”
“Of course, I will do as my Queen commands,” Hecate replied. “However, it would be quicker for you to teleport.”
“No teleporting,” Theseus said. “I cannot trust that we will end up where we should.”
“If my lady commands it, you can trust I will take you exactly where you want to go,” Hecate said, her voice pleasant, but Persephone sensed the undercurrent of darkness within.
Persephone looked to Theseus. He hesitated, uncertain.
“Do not trust this goddess’s magic. She is evil,” Demeter said.
“Shut up!” Theseus commanded.
Demeter’s eyes narrowed.
“Command her,” he said. “But remember, I hold your friend’s life within my hands.”
“Hecate, takes us to Hades’ arsenal.”
As Hecate’s magic surrounded them, Persephone shivered. She remembered fighting the goddess in this very meadow, feeling the strength and age of her power. It left a darkness upon the heart that was hard to shake, but right now, it was comforting—comforting because she knew Hecate would fight, and the results would be deadly.
They appeared outside the arsenal. The door to the vault was round and gold, inlaid with thick, clear glass that showed all the locks and gears.
Theseus whirled upon Persephone and Hecate, his fingers biting into Sybil’s arm.
“I thought you said you would take us to the arsenal.”
“I have,” Hecate said calmly. “But even I am prevented from teleporting inside. The queen or king himself, are the only two who can open the vault.”
Persephone started to protest, but Theseus once again threatened Sybil.
“Open it!” He screamed, his madness returning—he was so close to what he wanted, he could barely contain himself.
Persephone looked at Hecate, desperate.
I don’t know how.
You don’t have to know, she said.
Persephone stepped forward and placed her hand upon a pad beside the door. Once it had scanned her handprint, the door began to grind, winding open like a wheel to reveal Hades’ arsenal. Persephone stepped into the familiar, round room with its black marble floor and walls covered in weapons, but her eyes—like Theseus’s—went to the center where Hades’ armor loomed and the Helm of Darkness rested at its feet.
Theseus pushed Sybil toward Demeter as he entered.
“Hold her!” He barked.
Hecate hovered near Harmonia.
“It is more magnificent than I could have imagined,” Theseus said as he stepped toward the display. Persephone’s gaze held Hecate’s, unwavering.
Get them out here, she begged.
Of course, the goddess said.
When Theseus touched Hades’ helm, Hecate’s magic was like a thrust, sweeping Harmonia and Sybil out of the arsenal to safety. Theseus’ hands slipped and Hades’ helm fell from its place upon the pedestal, rolling onto the ground with a loud crack.
“No!” Theseus growled.
Persephone’s magic erupted, thorns rose from gashes in the marble, sealing exits. Demeter’s lips peeled away from her gleaming teeth as she smiled wickedly.
“I will teach you a final lesson, daughter. Perhaps it will keep you complacent.”
If magic was a language, then Demeter’s confessed hatred. Immediately her power gushed in a wave of fierce energy, knocking Persephone back into a wall, which crumbled beneath her weight. She landed upon her feet, only to find Theseus armed with a blade from Hades’ collection.
“God-fucking bitch!” he growled as he swung.
Persephone lashed out; the tips of her fingers spiked with black tips that released like bullets into the demi-god’s chest. He stumbled back, his shirt darkening with blood, his eyes flashed, glowing unnaturally bright. Then he struck the ground with his fist and the earth began to tremble, jarring the weapons on the wall and causing Persephone to lose her footing.
At the same time, Demeter called forth another blast of energy. It struck her hard, sending her flying once again. As she landed, Theseus lifted his weapon over his head to strike. Persephone held up her hands and as his blade met the energy she had gathered there, he crashed into Hades’ armor. Persephone called forth vines that restrained him where he landed.
Then Persephone turned her full attention to Demeter. Their magic clashed—each burst of energy met and exploded, each vine and thorn, tangled and crumbled. The Goddess of Harvest threw out another blast, this one stirred the air, causing it to gust, tangling Persephone’s hair and clothing. Demeter reached for the blade Theseus had used during his attack, swinging it at Persephone. She countered with her magic—with whatever she could summon fast.
“The gods will destroy you,” Demeter said. “I would have kept you safe!”
“What good is safe when the rest of the world is under threat?”
“The rest of the world doesn’t matter!” she seethed.
It was the first time Persephone saw Demeter’s true fear for her, and for a brief second, they both ceased to fight. They stared at one another, both on edge, but the words that came out of Demeter’s mouth were broken, and they broke Persephone.
“You matter. You are my daughter. I begged for you.”
There was a raw truth to those words, and while Persephone could understand her mother’s action to a point, there were some things she would never agree with. Hades, too, had begged for her. Hades, too, wanted to protect her—but he was willing to let her fight, to watch her suffer, if it meant seeing her rise.
“Mom,” she said, shaking her head.
“Leave with me,” she said, desperate. “Leave with me now and we can forget this ever happened.”
Persephone was already shaking her head. “I can’t.”
For her mother to suggest this was actually insane, but Persephone had grown to understand something about the goddess. Despite how long she’d lived, she was no longer well. She was broken and she never would be whole again.
Demeter’s features hardened, and she threw out her hand, sending a bolt of magic toward her while lifting her blade. Persephone blocked the magic, and summoned her own, calling to the darkness which manifested in shadow—the wraiths charged Demeter and as they shuddered through her, she stumbled, falling to her knees.
When Demeter met Persephone’s gaze again, her eye glowed. She rose, screaming her anger, her magic gathered fast like a screaming wind.
“You were right about one thing, mother,” Persephone said.
“And what is that?”
“Revenge is sweet.”
In the next second, the sharpest weapons rose to Persephone’s call—spears and knives and swords—and descended, striking Demeter, pinning her to the ground.
A horrible silence followed as the wind died suddenly. Persephone dropped to her knees, breathing hard.
“Mom,” she rasped, crawling toward her.
Demeter did not move and did not speak. She lay with her arms spread wide, her fingers still clasping her blade. Her eyes were wide, as if she were in shock, and blood dripped from her mouth.
“Mom,” Persephone breathed.
She managed to stand and start to pull the weapons free. When she was finished, the goddess lay on the cold, marble ground and Persephone sat with her, waiting for her to heal.
But she never moved.
“Mom,” Persephone grew frantic, rising onto her knees, shaking the goddess. She had wanted a lot of things from Demeter—for her to change, to be a mother, to let her live her life but never death. Never this.
Then she remembered something that Hades had said about the weapons here—that some were relics and could prevent a god from healing.
“Mom, wake up!”
“Come, Persephone,” Hecate said, appearing behind her. She hadn’t even felt the goddess approach.
“Wake her up!” Persephone demanded. She placed her hands upon her body, which was now growing cold, attempting to use her own magic, willing her mother to breathe again, but nothing worked.
“Her thread is cut, Persephone. There is no bringing Demeter back.”
“This isn’t what I wanted!” Persephone cried.
Then Hecate placed her hands upon Persephone’s face, forcing her gaze to hers.
“You will see Demeter again. All dead come to the Underworld, Persephone, but right now Sybil and Harmonia need you.”
Persephone took a few deep breaths, her eyes stinging. Finally, she nodded, and let the goddess help her to her feet, but as they started toward the door, she halted.
“Theseus!”
She whirled to where she’d restrained him earlier and found that he was gone.
“The helm!”
The two goddesses started to search the arsenal when the Underworld shook violently and there was a horrible cracking sound.
Persephone’s heart pounded in her chest, and when her gaze connected with Hecate’s, the goddess was pale.
“What was that?” Persephone whispered.
“That,” Hecate said. “Is the sound of Theseus releasing the Titans.”
