He was right. She hated it.
“I’m not getting in that thing.”
‘That thing’ was a tilt truck full of garbage.
She was wrong when she said she didn’t want the smell of oil and piss. She’d take it, so long as it didn’t mean bathing in rancid trash.
The janitor led her to the basement, a trek that had her feeling uneasy and clutching her apartment keys tight. This is how people are murdered, she thought, and then quickly reminded herself that she watched too much true crime.
The basement was full of various things—extra furniture and artwork, a laundry room, an industrial kitchen, and a maintenance room where she stood now, staring at her ‘get-away vehicle’, as the man had started to refer to it.
He seemed pretty amused now.
“It’s either this or you walk out the door,” he said. “Your choice.”
“How do I know you won’t wheel me into that waiting crowd?”
“Look, you don’t have to get in the cart. I just thought you might like to go home sometime tonight. As for me outing you, I’m not really interested in seeing anyone get hurt for their association with the gods.”
There was something in the way he spoke that made her think he’d been wronged by them, but she didn’t press. She stared at him for a moment, biting her lip.
“Okay fine,” she grumbled finally.
The man helped her into the cart, and she settled into the space he’d created for her.
Holding a bag of trash aloft, he looked at her questioningly.
“Ready?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Persephone said.
He arranged the bags over her, and suddenly she was in the dark and the cart was moving. The rustle of plastic grated against her ears and she held her breath so she didn’t have to smell rot and mold. The contents of the bags dug into her back, and each time the wheels hit a crack in the floor, the cart jostled, and the plastic grazed her like snake’s skin. She wanted to vomit but held it together.
“This is your stop,” she heard the janitor say, lifting the bags he used to hide her. Persephone was greeted by a blast of fresh air as she rose from the dark pit.
The man helped her out, awkwardly grasping her waist to set her on her feet. The contact made her cringe, and she stepped away, unsteady on her feet.
He had taken her to the end of an alleyway that let out onto Pegasus Street, from here she could get to her apartment in about twenty minutes.
“Thank you…” she said. “Um…what was your name?”
“Pirithous,” he supplied and held out his hand.
“Pirithous,” she took his hand. “I’m Persephone…I guess you already knew that.”
He ignored her comment and just said, “It’s nice to meet you, Persephone.”
“I owe you, for the getaway car.”
“No, you don’t,” he said quickly. “I’m not a god. I don’t extract a favor for a favor.”
He definitely has a history with the Divine, she thought, frowning. “I just meant that I would bring you cookies.”
The man offered a dazzling smile, and in that moment, beneath the exhaustion and the sadness, she thought she could see the person he used to be.
“See you tomorrow?” she asked.
He gave her the strangest look, chuckling a little and said, “Yeah, Persephone. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
***
By the time Persephone arrived home, the apartment smelled like popcorn and Lexa’s music blared throughout the house. It wasn’t the kind you could dance to—it was the kind that could summon clouds and rain and darkness. The music cast its own spell, drawing on darker thoughts—revenge against Kal Stavros.
Lexa was waiting in the kitchen. She had already changed into her pajamas—a set that showed off her tattoos—the phases of the moon on her bicep, a key wrapped in hemlock on her left forearm, an exquisite dagger on her right hip, and Hecate’s wheel on her left upper arm. Her thick, black hair was piled on top of her head. She had a bottle of wine in hand, and two empty glasses waiting.
“There you are,” Lexa said, pinning Persephone with those piercing blue eyes. She indicated to the bottle of wine.
“I got your favorite.”
Persephone smiled. “You’re the best.”
“I thought I was going to have to file a missing person’s report.”
Persephone rolled her eyes. “I’m only thirty minutes late.”
“And not answering your phone,” Lexa pointed out.
She’d been so distracted trying to get out of the Acropolis and make it home unnoticed, she hadn’t even bothered to retrieve her phone from her purse. She did so now and found four missed calls and several texts from Lexa. Her best friend had started by asking if she was on her way, if she was okay, and then resorted to sending random emojis just to get her attention.
“If you really thought I was in trouble, I doubt you’d have sent me a million emojis.”
Lexa smirked as she uncorked the wine. “Or, I cleverly thought to annoy your kidnapper.”
Persephone took a seat opposite Lexa at the kitchen bar and sipped her wine. It was a rich and flavorful cabernet, and it instantly took the edge off her nerves.
“Seriously though, you can’t be too careful. You’re famous now.”
“I’m not famous, Lex.”
“Uh, did you read any of the news articles I sent you? People are obsessed.”
“Hades is famous, not me.”
“And you by association,” she argued. “You’re all anyone at work wanted to talk about today—who you were, where you were from.”
Persephone groaned. “You didn’t say anything about me, did you?”
It was no secret that Lexa was Persephone’s best friend.
“You mean that I’ve known you’ve been sleeping with Hades for about six months and that you’re a goddess masquerading as a mortal?”
Lexa’s tone was light.
“I haven’t been sleeping with Hades for six months.” Persephone felt the need to defend herself.
It was Lexa’s turn to narrow her eyes. “Okay, five months, then.”
Persephone glared.
“Look, I’m not blaming you. There are few women who wouldn’t jump at the chance to sleep with Hades.”
“Thanks for the reminder,” Persephone shot back, rolling her eyes.
“It’s not like he will. It’s his fault your relationship is such big news, anyway. As far as the media is concerned, you are his first serious partner.”
Except the reality was much different, and while Persephone knew there had been other women in Hades’ life, she didn’t know the details. She wasn’t sure she wanted to. She thought of Minthe and shuddered.
Persephone took a sip of her wine. “I want to talk about you. How was your first day?”
“Oh, Persephone,” she gushed. “It really is a dream. Did you know the Halcyon Project is projected to treat five thousand people in its first year?”
She didn’t, but that was amazing.
“And Hades gave me a tour and introduce me to everyone.”
Persephone couldn’t really explain how that made her feel, but it didn’t feel good. The best way to explain it was…she felt embarrassed. She felt like she should have known Hades was going to be there on Lexa’s first day, but the God of the Dead hadn’t said anything about that this morning when he helped her get ready.
“That was nice of him,” she commented distractedly.
“Apparently he does it for every new employee. I mean, I knew Hades wasn’t like other gods, but to greet his staff the way he did?” Lexa shook her head. “It’s just…so evident he loves you.”
Persephone’s gaze rose to meet hers. “Why do you say that?”
“Everywhere I looked today I could see how he was inspired by you.”
Persephone knitted her brows. “What do you mean?”
Lexa shrugged. “It’s…a little hard to explain. He just…uses some of the words you use when he talks about helping people. He talks about hope and forgiveness and second chances.”
The more Lexa talked; the more pressure Persephone felt in her chest.
Her best friend giggled. “Then there are the…physical things.”
Persephone raised a brow, and Lexa burst into laughter.
“No, not that! Physical things like…pictures.”
“Pictures?”
It was Lexa’s turn to look confused. “Yeah. He had pictures of you in his office. Didn’t you know that?”
No, she didn’t know Hades had an office at The Cypress Foundation, much less pictures of her.
Where did he get pictures of her? She didn’t have pictures of him. Suddenly, Persephone wasn’t interested in talking about this anymore.
“Can I ask you something?” Lexa said.
Persephone waited, and sort of dreaded the question.
“You’ve always wanted notoriety for your work, so what’s the problem with all this attention?”
Persephone sighed.
“I want to be respected in my field,” she said. “Now I just feel like a possession of Hades. Every article is Hades this and Hades that. No one even uses my name. They call me mortal.”
“They would use your name if they knew you were a goddess,” Lexa supplied.
“And I would have recognition for my Divinity and not my work.”
“What’s so wrong about that?” she asked. “You might be known for your Divinity initially, but it could lead to being known for your work.”
Persephone couldn’t explain why it was important for her to be known for writing, it just was. She’d spent her whole life being horrible at the one thing she was born to be, and despite that not being her fault, she’d worked really hard in college. She wanted someone to see that hard work, and not just because she wrote about and dated Hades.
“If I were you, I’d leave this life without a second thought,” Lexa said.
Persephone blanched, surprised. “It’s way more complicated than that, Lex.”
“What’s so complicated about immortality and wealth and power?”
Everything, Persephone wanted to say. Instead, she asked, “Is it really so wrong to want to live an unassuming, mortal life?”
“No, except that you also want to date Hades,” Lexa pointed out.
“I can have both,” she argued. She’d had both until a few days ago.
“That’s when Hades was your secret,” Lexa said.
And even though she and Hades had neither confirmed nor denied media speculation, she was going to have to reveal her relationship if she wanted to keep her job.
Persephone frowned.
“Hey,” Lexa said, pouring more wine into Persephone’s glass. “Don’t worry about it too much. Pretty soon they’ll become obsessed with some other god and some other mortal. Maybe Sybil will decide she actually loves Apollo.”
Persephone wasn’t so sure about that. The last time they’d talked about it, Sybil had expressed that she wasn’t interested in a relationship with the God of Music.
“I’m going to shower,” Persephone said.
The thought of scalding hot water sounded better and better. She didn’t want to feel this day on her skin any longer, not to mention, she still felt like she was surrounded by trash.
“When you’re finished, we’ll watch a movie,” Sybil said.
Persephone took her wine and purse into the bedroom. Dropping her bag on the bed, she moved into the bathroom and turned on the shower. As the water heated, she sipped on her wine before setting the glass aside so she could unzip her dress.
She paused when she felt Hades’ magic surround her. It was a distinct feeling—a tinge of winter on the air. She closed her eyes and prepared to vanish. It wouldn’t be the first time Hades had taken her to the Underworld without any notice, but instead, a hand touched beneath her chin and lips closed over hers. He kissed her like they hadn’t made love into the early hours of the morning, and when he pulled away, Persephone was breathless, the stress of her day forgotten.
Hades palm was warm against her cheek, and he brushed her lips with his thumb, dark eyes searching.
“Troubled, darling?”
She narrowed her gaze, suspicious.
“You followed me today, didn’t you?”
Hades didn’t even blink. “Why would you think that?”
“You insisted Antoni take me to work this morning, most likely because you already knew what the media was reporting.”
Hades shrugged. “I didn’t want to worry you.”
“So you let me walk into a mob?”
He raised a knowing brow. “Did you walk into that mob?”
“You were there!” She accused. “I thought we agreed. No invisibility.”
“I wasn’t,” he answered. “Hermes was.”
Damn you, Hermes.
She’d forgotten to extract a promise from the God of Mischief not to tell Hades about the crowd. He’d probably waltzed into Nevernight with a smile on his face to report what happened.
“You could always teleport,” Hades offered. “Or I can provide an Aeg—”
“I don’t want an Aegis,” she stopped him. “And I’d rather not use magic not…in the Upperworld.”
“Unless you’re exacting revenge?”
“That’s not fair. You know my magic has become more and more unpredictable. And I’m not eager to be exposed as a goddess.”
“Goddess or not, you are my lover.”
She didn’t mean to, but she wasn’t a fan of that word. She stiffened, and she knew by the way Hades’ eyes narrowed, he had noticed.
He continued, “It is only a matter of time before someone with a vendetta against me tries to harm you. I will keep you safe.”
Persephone shivered. She hadn’t thought about that.
“You really think someone would try to harm me?”
“Darling, I have judged human nature for a millennium. Yes.”
“Can’t you…I don’t know…erase people’s memories? Make them forget about all of this.” She waved her hand between them.
“It is too late for that,” he paused a moment and then asked, “What is so terrible about being known as my lover?”
“Nothing,” she said quickly. “It’s just…that word.”
“What’s wrong with lover?”
“It sounds so…fleeting. Like I am nothing but your sex slave.”
One corner of his lips curled. “What am I to call you, then? You have forbidden the use of my queen and my lady.”
“Titles make me…uncomfortable,” she said.
She wasn’t sure how else to explain why she’d asked him not to call her my queen or my lady, but it added up to the fact that they were two labels she could get used to, and that meant she was setting herself up for potential disappointment. The thoughts made her guilty, but the echoes of the heartbreak she’d experienced while they were separated made her cautious.
“It’s not that I don’t want to be known as your lover…but there has to be a better word.”
“Girlfriend?” Hades supplied.
She couldn’t suppress the laugh that tore from her throat.
“What’s wrong with girlfriend?” He asked, glowering.
“Nothing,” she said quickly. “It just seems so…insignificant.”
Their relationship was too intense, too passionate, too ancient for her to merely be his girlfriend.
But maybe that was just how she felt.
The tension eased from Hades’ features, and he drew his finger under her chin.
“Nothing is ever insignificant when it comes to you,” he said.
They stared at each other, and the air was heavy. Persephone itched to reach for him—to bring his lips to hers, to taste him. All she had to do was close the gap between them and they would ignite—fall so deep in their passion, nothing would exist beyond their skin.
A knock at her door tore her from her thoughts and sent her heart into a frenzy.
“Persephone! I’m ordering pizza. Any requests?” Lexa called.
She cleared her throat. “N-no. Whatever you order is fine,” she replied through the door.
“So, pineapple and anchovies. Got it.”
Her heart was still hammering in her chest. There was a long pause on the other side of the door, and for a moment, Persephone thought Lexa had left, until she asked, “Are you okay?”
Hades’ chuckled and leaned in, pressing his lips against her skin. Persephone exhaled, her head rolling back. “Yes.”
Another long pause. “Did you even hear what I’m going to order?”
“Just get cheese, Lexa!”
“Okay, okay, I’m on it.” Persephone could tell by the tone of her voice, she was smiling.
Persephone pushed against Hades’ chest and met his gaze.
“You shouldn’t laugh.”
“Why not? I can hear your heart beating. Are you afraid to be caught with your boyfriend?”
Persephone rolled her eyes. “I think I preferred lover.”
His laugh was a deep rumble. “You are not easy to please.”
It was her turn to smile. “I would give you the chance, but I’m afraid I don’t have time.”
Hades eyes darkened, and his hold on her tightened.
“I don’t need a lot,” he said, hands twinning in her dress as if he wished to rip it from her body. “I could make you come in seconds. You won’t even have to get undressed.”
She almost took the bait and challenged him to prove it, but then she remembered how he’d left her in the dining room the day before, and despite returning and making up for it, she wanted to punish him.
“I’m afraid seconds will not due,” she said. “I’m owed pleasure—hours of it.”
“Allow me to give you a preview, then.” He held her close, his arousal pressing into her softness, but she kept him at a distance, palms pressed against his hard chest.
“Perhaps later,” she offered.
He smiled. “I’ll take that as a promise.”
With that, he vanished.
Persephone showered and changed. When she left the room, Lexa was curled up on the couch. Persephone sat beside her, sharing Lexa’s blanket and the popcorn.
“What movie are we watching?”
“Pyramus and Thisbe,” she answered.
It was a movie the pair had watched over and over, an ancient tale about forbidden love retold in modern times.
“I’m just glad you didn’t say Titans After Dark.”
“Hey! I like that show.”
“The way they portray the gods is totally inaccurate.”
“We know,” Lexa said. “They don’t do Hades justice, but if he has a problem with it, tell him it’s his own fault. He’s the one who’s refused to be photographed …well, until recently.”
They started the movie, and it opened by introducing the feuding families, locked in a war for territory. Pyramus and Thisbe were young and eager for fun. They met at a club, and under those fierce and hypnotic lights, they fell in love, later learning they were sworn enemies. They were in the middle of a tense scene between the families, the one where Thisbe’s brother dies, shot and killed by Pyramus, when the doorbell rang, surprising Persephone and Lexa. They exchanged a look.
“It’s probably the pizza guy,” Lexa said.
“I’ll get it,” Persephone was already throwing off the blanket. “Pause the movie!”
“You’ve seen this a hundred times!”
“Pause it!” then she threatened playfully. “Or I’ll turn you into basil.”
Lexa cackled but paused the movie. “That actually might be cool.”
Persephone opened the door.
‘Sybil!’ She smiled wide, but excitement quickly gave way to suspicion.
Something was wrong.
Even dressed in pajamas and sporting a top knot, the blonde was a beauty. She stood under the pallid porch light, looking exhausted and like she’d been crying, mascara streaked down her face.
“Can I come in?” It sounded like she had something stuck in her throat.
“Yeah, of course.”
‘Is it the pizza?’ Lexa called, walking into view. “Sybil!”
That was when the girl burst into tears.
Lexa and Persephone exchanged a look and quickly wrapped their arms around her as she sobbed.
“It’s okay,” Persephone whispered, attempting to soothe her.
She thought she could sense Sybil’s pain and confusion, something she had never perceived in another person before. The emotions were like shadows grazing her skin, flutters of sadness, strikes of jealousy, and an endless cold.
Strange, Persephone thought. She pushed the feelings down, quashing them to focus on Sybil.
The three stood like that for a while, embracing one another in a tight circle until Sybil began to collect herself. Lexa was the first to break form and poured Sybil a glass of wine while Persephone directed her to the living room and gave her a box of tissues.
“I’m so sorry,” she finally managed to say, accepting the wine with shaking hands. “I had no other place to go.”
“You’re always welcome,” Persephone said.
“What happened?” Lexa asked.
Her mouth quivered, and it took her a few moments to speak. “I’m…I’m not an oracle anymore.”
“What?” Lexa asked. “How can you not be an oracle anymore?”
Sybil had been born with certain prophetic gifts, including divination and prophecy. Persephone also knew that Sybil could see the Threads of Fate, which she had referred to as ‘colors’ when she’d told Persephone she and Hades were meant to be together.
Sybil cleared her throat and took a deep breath, but even as she spoke, her voice broke. “I told myself I wouldn’t cry over this anymore.”
“Sybil,” Persephone reached for her hand.
“Apollo fired me and took my gift of prophecy away,” she explained. She laughed humorlessly, wiping her eyes as more tears slide down her cheeks. “Turns out you can’t continue to reject a god without consequences.”
Persephone couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She recalled Sybil’s comments about her relationship with Apollo. Everyone, even her close friends Xeres and Aro, had assumed they were lovers, but Sybil had told her and Lexa that she wasn’t interested in a relationship with the God of the Music.
“He wanted more from me than friendship and I refused. I’d heard about his previous relationships, all of them ended in disaster. Daphne, Cassandra, Hyakinthos…”
“Let me get this straight,” Persephone said. “This….god-child got a little pissy because you wouldn’t date him and took your power away?”
“Shh!” Sybil looked around, clearly afraid Apollo would appear and smite them. “You can’t say things like that, Persephone!”
She shrugged. “Let him try to take revenge.”
“You are fearless because you have Hades,” she said. “But you forget, gods have a habit of punishing those you care for most.”
Sybil’s words made her frown and she suddenly felt less confident.
“So you don’t have a job anymore?” Lexa asked.
Because of her gifts, Sybil had been enrolled the College of the Divine. There, she’d learned to hone her power and had been chosen by Apollo specifically to become his public relations manager. Without her gift, the job Sybil had spent the last four years training for was not attainable. Even if she had retained her powers, Persephone wasn’t sure anyone would hire a disgraced oracle, especially one Apollo had fired. Apollo was the golden god. He’d been named Delphi Divine’s God of the Year seven years in a row, only losing the title once after Zeus struck the magazine’s building with lightning in protest.
“He can’t do that!” Persephone exploded. She didn’t care how beloved the God of Music was, he didn’t deserve that respect if he punished people just because they didn’t want to date him.
“He can do anything,” Sybil said. “He’s a god.”
“That doesn’t make it right,” she argued.
“Right, wrong, fair, unfair—it’s not really the world we live in, Persephone. The gods punish.”
Those words made Persephone shudder, and the worst part was, she knew it was true. The gods used mortals as their playthings and cast them aside when they got angry or bored. Life was nothing to them because they had eternity.
“I wouldn’t even mind being fired, but who will hire me now?” Sybil said, her voice desolate. “I just don’t know what to do. I can’t go home. My mother and father disowned me when I applied for the College of the Divine.”
“You can work with me,” Lexa offered, looking at Persephone as if to say, can’t she?
“I’ll ask Hades,” Persephone promised. “I’m sure they can use more help at the foundation.”
“And you can stay with us,” Lexa added. “Until you are on your feet again.”
Sybil looked skeptical. “I don’t want to inconvenience you.”
Lexa scoffed. “You would not be an inconvenience. You can keep me company while Persephone’s in the Underworld. Hell, you can probably have her room. It’s not like she’s here most nights anyway.”
Persephone gave Lexa a playful push and Sybil laughed. “I don’t want your room.”
“You might as well crash there. Lexa’s not wrong.”
“Of course, I’m not wrong. If I was sleeping with Hades, I wouldn’t be in my room, either.”
Persephone reached for a pillow and smacked Lexa.
It was the wrong thing to do.
Lexa shrieked like a banshee and reached for a cushion swinging wildly. Persephone dodged the blow, which left Sybil to take the brunt of it.
Lexa dropped the pillow.
“Oh, my gods, Sybil, I am so sorry—”
But Sybil took up a pillow, too, and smashed it into the side of Lexa’s face.
It wasn’t long before the three were locked in battle, chasing one another around the living room, delivering and taking hits until they collapsed in a heap on the couch, breathless and giggling.
Even Sybil seemed to be enjoying herself, the last few hours of her life momentarily forgotten. She sighed and said, “I wish all days were this happy.”
“They will be,” said Lexa. “You live with us now.”
By the time the pillows were returned to their place, the pizza had arrived. The delivery guy apologized profusely and explained that traffic had been backed up due to protests.
“Protests?” Persephone asked.
“It’s the Impious,” he said. “Protesting the upcoming Panhellenic Games.”
“Oh.”
The Impious were a group of mortals who rejected the gods, choosing fairness, freewill, and freedom over worship and sacrifice. Persephone wasn’t all that surprised that they’d showed up to protest the Games, but it was kind of unexpected, given that the Impious had kept a low profile for the last few years. She really hoped they stuck to peaceful protesting and didn’t escalate—a lot of people would be out and about for the festivities—Persephone, Lexa, and Sybil included.
The girl’s settled down to finish their movie, ate pizza, and kept their distance from topics that involved Apollo, though that didn’t keep Persephone from trying to figure out how to help Sybil.
Apollo’s actions were unacceptable, and didn’t she have an obligation to her readers to expose injustice? Especially when it came to the gods? And maybe, if the story was good enough, she wouldn’t need to write that exclusive.
Hours later, Persephone was still awake and unable to move. Sybil’s head rested in her lap, and Lexa snored, fast asleep on the couch opposite them.
After a moment, Sybil shifted and spoke in a sleepy whisper.
“Persephone, I want you to promise me you won’t write about Apollo.”
Persephone froze for a moment, holding her breath. “Why not?”
“Because Apollo isn’t Hades,” she answered. “He didn’t care what people thought and was willing to listen to you. That’s not Apollo. Apollo covets his reputation. It’s as important to him as music.”
“Then he shouldn’t have punished you,” Persephone answered.
She felt Sybil’s hands curl into the blanket around them. “I’m asking you to not fight in my name. Promise.”
Persephone didn’t respond. The problem was, she was asking for a promise, and when a god promised, it was binding, unbreakable.
It didn’t matter that Sybil didn’t know of Persephone’s Divinity.
She couldn’t do it.
After a moment, Sybil looked up, meeting her gaze. “Persephone?”
“I don’t make promises, Sybil.”
The oracle frowned. “I was afraid you’d say that.”
