PART II
“The descent into Hell is easy.”
― Virgil, The Aeneid
Persephone stayed calm and collected despite the anxiety eating away at the bottom of her stomach. Jaison’s voice echoed in her head, the words he’d spoken felt distant and untrue.
Lexa’s been in an accident. They aren’t sure she will make it.
He had to be mistaken. There was no way their Lexa—her Lexa—was fighting for her life.
“Persephone,” Jaison’s voice shook as he said her name, rooting her in the reality of what he’d just told her. She shook her head and said into the receiver,
“That can’t be true. I just saw her this morning.”
His voice sounded strangled, as if someone were pushing on this throat, stealing his air.
“It happened in front of the Alexandria Tower. She was on her way to work. They said she was crossing the street and someone hit her.”
She felt unsteady. Her body shook uncontrollably.
“I’ll be there as soon as possible.”
She was out of her chair before she hung up the phone, racing from the Acropolis.
Asclepius’ Community Hospital was a modern building made of mirrored glass, blending with the azure sky and dense, white clouds. Inside, the hospital looked more like a hotel than a medical facility. It was bright, clean, and beautiful, but nothing could hide the smell. It was what Persephone always thought of as the smell of sickness—it was the tang of chemicals, the metallic scent of stale water, and the bitter odor of latex. It filled her head and made her dizzy.
She found Jaison on the second floor in the waiting room. He sat in one of the stiff, wooden chairs, leaning forward with his head cradled in his hands, his face shielded by his hair.
“Jaison,” she said his name as she approached. He looked up; eyes wide. Persephone understood his expression because she shared it—they were shocked, helpless, confused.
“Persephone.”
Jaison stood and embraced her. She held him as tight as she could, like she thought he might disappear, too.
“Is she okay?”
It seemed like a ridiculous question given his earlier report, but Persephone wasn’t willing to imagine a world without Lexa, so she asked anyway.
He pulled away; face drawn.
“She’s in surgery. That’s all they’ll tell me. Her parents are on their way. We’ll know more then.”
“How did this happen?”
“She was crossing the street. The driver claims he didn’t see her. Guess he didn’t see that fucking red light either. He was probably texting.”
He sat down then, as if he could no longer stand under the weight of what happened to Lexa, and Persephone joined him. She wasn’t sure what to say because she couldn’t think straight. It was like her mind couldn’t decide how to assess the situation. Part of her wanted to prepare herself for the worst.
If she dies, then it will be your fault. You’ll have manifested it, she scolded herself quickly. She can’t die. She won’t. She’s too young. She has too much to live for.
Except that Persephone knew death personally. It did not discriminate, and anyone could be prey. It all depended on a thread and sometimes a gamble.
“What if…we lose her? What will we do?” Jaison’s question stole Persephone’s breath, and she looked at him.
He leaned forward in his chair again like he might get sick. Instead, he scrubbed his face with his hands. She thought he might be trying to keep his tears at bay, and she could see his eyes were growing red, and his face was splotchy and pink.
She reached for his hand. It was clammy and cold, and hers were shaking. “We won’t lose her.”
Her voice was fierce and as she spoke, she understood all those desperate pleas mortals made to Hades—she was making one now. Don’t take her from me. I will give you anything.
She closed her eyes against her thoughts, and spoke again, more uncertain than she’d ever been, “We won’t. We can’t.”
Torturous hours ticked by with no updates. Persephone stepped outside to call Sybil and let her know what happened. The oracle made it to the hospital within thirty minutes. Between the three of them, they’d walked the entire hospital and been to the cafeteria close to ten times for coffee and water. It was about the only thing any of them could stomach.
When Lexa’s parents arrived, Jaison hurried outside to meet them and show them the way. During his absence, Persephone turned to Sybil.
“Have your powers returned?” she asked.
“Yes,” the oracle whispered, giving Persephone a knowing look. They still hadn’t had a chance to talk about Persephone’s agreement with Apollo.
Persephone only had one question for the oracle. “Do you know if she will live?”
“I do not know. The gods are merciful that way. I do not carry the burden of knowing my friends’ fates.”
Persephone frowned. “Do you think Apollo had something to do with this?”
Isn’t that what Sybil had said? That Apollo would punish by hurting those closest to her?
Sybil shook her head. “No, Persephone. I think this is exactly what it looks like…a mortal accident.”
Persephone wasn’t sure why, but that wasn’t what she wanted to hear.
Then Sybil asked, “Maybe you can ask Hades if…she will survive.”
The goddess swallowed thickly. She could, but what if the answer was no? She tried to imagine going to the Underworld every day and finding Lexa walking the streets of Asphodel, arm in arm with Yuri.
She couldn’t do it.
She couldn’t explain why it was such a terrifying thought, either. It was just that…if Lexa was in the Underworld it meant that she was dead. It meant that she wasn’t in the Upperworld anymore. That her existence had ceased, and Persephone couldn’t stomach that.
When Lexa’s parents, Eliska and Adam, arrived, they were given more information on the status of her injuries. The doctor wore a white lab coat and kept his hands in his pockets as he spoke. He was older, his eyelid shielded his drooping eyes, his nose was wide, his lips thin and formed a permanent frown. He sounded tired, but it was just his voice, a low, raspy baritone.
“She has two broken legs and a broken elbow. Lacerations to her kidneys, bruised lungs, and blood on her brain.”
Hearing the trauma Lexa’s body had sustained brought Persephone to tears.
He continued, “She is in critical condition and in a coma. We have her on a ventilator.”
“What does critical condition mean?” Jaison asked.
“It means that her vitals are unstable and abnormal,” the doctor answered. “The next twenty-four to forty-eight hours will be very important for Lexa’s recovery.”
The words broke down Persephone’s hope.
Lexa’s parents were let in to see her first. Persephone, Sybil, and Jaison waited.
“She’ll fight. She’ll pull through,” Jaison said aloud as if he was trying to convince them and himself.
It was Eliska who returned to get them and show them to Lexa’s room. As they followed her, Persephone couldn’t stop staring. Lexa looked a lot like her mother. They had the same thick, black hair and blue eyes and sometimes the same expressions.
When Persephone entered, her gaze went straight to Lexa. It was hard to describe how she felt seeing her best friend under all that equipment. It was a little like having an out of body experience. Lexa was still as stone and barely visible under layers of tubes and cords running into her like the Threads of Fate. They bound her in place and right now, they bound her to life. A thick white cloth lay across her forehead, and a neck brace propped her chin up high. Her ventilator sounded like a constant exhale and the heart monitor pulsed a steady beat. These were things that even this room—made up with colorful walls, monochrome flooring, and modern touches—couldn’t disguise. This was a place where people came because they were sick or hurt or dying.
Persephone reached for Lexa’s hand. She was cold, and for some reason, that surprised her. She noted all the ways her best friend didn’t quite look like herself, her swollen face, her bruised skin, her colorless lips.
While they were gathered around her, a nurse entered the room, checking monitors, tubes, and entering information into a computer.
“There’s nothing else they can do,” she heard Lexa’s mother saying. “It’s really up to her now.”
Persephone squeezed Lexa’s hand. She didn’t squeeze hers back.
She wasn’t sure how long she stood there watching Lexa, but there was a point when she realized she needed to leave. The room was too small, and Lexa’s parents needed privacy.
Once outside the room, Sybil turned to Persephone.
“Are you going to see Hades?”
She nodded.
“Will you ask him to save her?”
It was like someone had stabbed her in the stomach and twisted the blade.
“I will do what I can,” she answered.
Once Persephone was out of view, she risked teleportation and ended up in the alley beside Nevernight. It was dark and wet and smelled rancid. She rushed to the entrance where Mekonnen stood guard. When he saw her, he smiled, showing crooked and yellow teeth, but he quickly realized something was wrong. His grin vanished and he set his shoulders, seeming to grow larger, as if preparing to fight.
“My lady, is everything okay?” His words were rough, a hint of the monster he kept at bay.
“Hades,” she said, her breath was short. “I need him. Quickly!”
Mekonnen fumbled and opened the door. She rushed inside, immediately suffocated by the hot air and loud music.
She paused as she entered the club. She didn’t know where Hades was—he could be in the lounge, betting with mortals or in his office, sitting behind that pristine desk, or in the Underworld playing catch with Cerberus.
She hurried down the stairs and cut across the crowded floor. She felt frantic, like she was running out of time, but that was the problem. She didn’t know how much time she had. She nearly slammed into a waitress holding a massive tray of drinks. If it had been another day, she would have apologized, but she was on a mission. Instead, she continued through the crowd, pushing people aside, and ramming into shoulders. One man turned, scowling, and grabbed her arm, jerking her around to face him. “What the hell—?”
When he saw her face, he let her go as if she were venomous.
“Oh, fuck!”
A second later, an ogre materialized beside him and he was dragged from his table and into the dark of the club.
Persephone took the steps two at a time and decided to check Hades’ office first. When she threw open the doors, Hades was already across the room, as if he’d felt her distress and headed straight for it.
“Persephone.”
“Hades! You have to help! Please—”
She choked on a sob. She had thought she was okay, that she could at least get through this. It was the most important part, asking Hades for help. Except it wasn’t, and just as she started to speak, her emotions burst from her like a dam, raw and painful and untamed.
Hades caught her in his arms, holding her close as her whole body shook. His hands tangled into her hair, fitting against the base of her head. She’d have liked to stay there, sobbing in his arms, comforted by his strength and his heat. She was exhausted, but it was then she realized they weren’t alone.
There was a man bound to a chair in the middle of Hades’ office. He was gagged, his eyes were wide, and she got the impression he was trying to get her attention by screaming as loud as he could.
“Hades—”
“Ignore him,” Hades lifted his hand, and Persephone knew he was about to send the mortal away. She stopped him.
“Is that—is that the mortal who threw the bottle at me today?”
Hades jaw tightened.
“Why are you torturing him in your office and not in Tartarus?”
The mortal’s muffled cries increased.
“Because he’s not dead,” Hades responded, and then glared at the man. “Yet.”
“Hades, you cannot kill him.”
“I won’t kill him,” the god promised. “But I will make him wish he were dead.”
“Hades. Let. him. Go.”
The god’s dark eyes studied hers and it seemed like the longer he looked, the calmer he became. After a moment, he sighed and gritted out, “Fine.”
The mortal vanished. She would have to remember to follow up about where he actually sent the man. Persephone didn’t believe for a moment that Hades had given in so easily.
Hades sat and guided her onto his lap, his hand moved in soothing circles over her back.
“What happened?” He wasn’t demanding, but there was an edge to his voice that Persephone recognized as fear. She couldn’t blame him. She had burst into his office without warning, on the heels of a day when she’d been in the news after being attacked. She took a long time to answer, so long that Hades tilted her head back so he could search her eyes, a frown pulled at his lips.
Does he already know what happened to Lexa, she wondered?
She tried to tell him, but her mouth quivered so badly, she had to pause and take several deep breaths. After a few minutes of this, Hades summoned wine. She gulped it like water. The bitter drink coated her tongue but helped her nerves.
“Start again,” Hades said. “What happened?”
The words came easier this time.
As she spoke, his expression melted from concern into a mask of indifference. It was a strategic move in poker—a way to deceive another player by concealing feelings. But this wasn’t a game, and Persephone knew deep down that it was just Hades way of preparing to tell her he couldn’t help.
“She doesn’t look like Lexa anymore, Hades.”
A loud sob escaped her throat. She covered her mouth, as if that might keep all her feelings inside.
“I’m so sorry, my darling,”
She twisted to face him in the plush chair.
“Hades,” his name was a shaky breath. “Please.”
He looked away, his jaw working to quell his frustration.
“Persephone, I can’t,” his tone was harder this time. She stood, needing distance. The god remained seated.
“I won’t lose her.”
“You haven’t,” Hades pointed out. “Lexa still lives.”
She wanted to argue, but Hades didn’t let her.
“You must give her soul time to decide.”
“Decide? What do you mean?”
Hades sighed, and he pinched the bridge of his nose, as if he dreaded the coming conversation.
“Lexa’s in limbo.”
“Then you can bring her back.”
Persephone had heard of limbo before. Hades had brought a soul back from there for a grieving mother. Hope blossomed in her chest, and it was like Hades could sense it because he dashed it quickly.
“I can’t.”
“You did it before. You said when a soul is in limbo, you can bargain with the Fates to bring them back.”
“In exchange for the life of another,” Hades reminded. “A soul for a soul, Persephone.”
“You can’t say you won’t save her, Hades.”
“I’m not saying I don’t want to, Persephone. It is best that I do not interfere with this. Trust me. If you care for Lexa at all—if you care for me at all—you will drop this.”
“I’m doing this because I care!” she argued.
Hades scoffed. “That’s what all mortals think—but who are you really trying to save? Lexa or yourself?”
“I don’t need a philosophy lesson, Hades,” she gritted out.
“No, but apparently you need a reality check.”
He stood, shoving off his jacket and started to unbutton his shirt.
Persephone scowled.
“I’m not having sex with you right now.”
Hades glared at her but continued to unbutton his shirt. Then she saw black markings surfacing on his skin—they were all fine lines, tattoos that wrapped around his body like a delicate thread.
“What are they?” She started to reach out, but Hades’ stopped her with a firm hand clamped around her wrist. She met his gaze.
“It’s the price I pay for every life I’ve taken by bargaining with the Fates,” he said. “I carry them with me. These are their life-threads, burned into my skin. Is this what you want on your conscious, Persephone?”
Slowly, she pried her hand from his and brought it back to her chest, eyes following the lines on his golden skin. She remembered wondering how many bargains he’d made when they’d entered their own. She had no idea they were written into his skin. Still, she found this frustrating. Hades had spoken of balance before, but this had him chained. He was one of the most powerful Olympian Gods, and yet his power was limited.
“What good is being the God of the Dead if you can’t do anything?” The words spilled out of her mouth before she could catch them. She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
Hades offered a gruff laugh. “You meant it,” he said, and placed his hand on the side of her face, forcing her gaze back to his. When she looked into his eyes, her heart felt like it was going to break into pieces. How was it this immortal god seemed to understand her sorrow? “I know you don’t want to understand why I can’t help, and that’s okay.”
“I just…don’t know what to do,” she said, and her shoulder sagged. She felt defeated.
“Lexa isn’t gone yet,” Hades said. “And yet you mourn her. She may recover.”
“Do you know that for certain? That she will recover?”
“No.”
His eyes were searching, and she wondered what he was looking for. Persephone had come here for hope, for comfort in the knowledge that Lexa would be okay no matter what, and yet Hades wasn’t giving it. She let her head fall against this chest. She was so tired.
After a moment, Hades scooped her up into his arms and teleported to the Underworld.
“Do not fill your thoughts with the possibilities of tomorrow,” he said as he placed her in bed. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and everything went dark.
