Alone, Persephone collapsed in tears. As she hit the floor, the thorns bursting from her skin were jarred and she cried out in pain.
“Oh, my love,” Persephone felt Hecate’s hand on her back. She didn’t look at the goddess, sobbing into her blood-covered hands.
“I messed up, Hecate.”
“Shh,” the goddess soothed. “Come, on your feet.”
Hecate lifted Persephone, careful to avoid touching the thorns sprouting from her body and teleported to her cabin. She sat Persephone down, placed her hands over the thorns that had broken her skin, and began to chant. Warmth emanated from her palms. Persephone watched as the barbs began to grow smaller until nothing of the malady was visible. When the wounds were healed, Hecate cleaned the blood away and sat down opposite Persephone.
“What happened?”
Persephone burst into tears again, guilt and agony warring in her mind. She told Hecate everything—the conversation she’d overheard about taking Lexa off life support, her mother’s visit, and her trek to the Pleasure District.
“When it came down to losing her…I couldn’t.” She choked on a sob. Hecate reached out and covered Persephone’s hand with hers. “And my mother just made it all worse. There may not be consequences for gods but there are consequences for me.”
“There are always consequences. The difference between you and other gods, is that you care about them.”
Persephone was silent for a moment and then repeated what Hades had told her. “I have condemned Lexa to a fate worse than death,’ she paused. ‘I just wanted her with me.”
“Why do you hold onto the mortal realm?”
Persephone looked at Hecate. ‘Because it is where I belong.”
“Is it?’ she asked. ‘What about the Underworld?”
When Persephone didn’t respond, Hecate shook her head.
“My dear, you are trying to be someone you’re not.”
“What do you mean? All I have been trying to do is be myself.”
And that had been more difficult than she could ever imagine.
“Are you?” she asked. “Because the person who sits before me now does not match the one I see beneath.”
“And who do you see beneath?” she asked, her voice verging on sarcasm.
“The Goddess of Spring,” she answered. “Future Queen of the Underworld, wife of Hades.”
Those words made her shiver.
“You are holding onto a life that no longer serves you. A job that punishes you for your relationships, a friendship that could have blossomed in the Underworld, a mother who has taught you to be a prisoner.”
Persephone bristled at those words.
“And if you need any more evidence that you are denying yourself, look no further than the way your magic is manifesting. If you do not learn to love yourself, your powers will tear you apart.”
Persephone’s brows knitted together. “What are you saying, Hecate? That I should abandoned my life in the Upperworld?”
She shook her head. “You think in extremes,” Hecate said. “You are either a goddess or a mortal, you either live in the Underworld or the Upperworld. Do you not want it all, Persephone?”
“Yes,” she said, frustrated. “Of course, I want it all, but everyone keeps telling me I can’t!”
A slow smile crept across Hecate’s face. “Create the life you want, Persephone, and stop listening to everyone else.”
Persephone blinked, absorbing Hecate’s words.
Create the life you want.
Up until this point, she thought she knew what kind of life she wanted, but what she was realizing now, is that things had changed since meeting Hades. Despite her struggle to accept herself and understand her power, he had shifted something inside her. With him came new desires, new hopes, new dreams and there was no way to attain those without letting go of old ones.
She swallowed hard, her eyes watering.
“I messed up, Hecate,” she said.
“As we all do,” the goddess replied, standing. “And as we all will. Now let’s channel some of that pain and clean up the mess you made in the grove. Consider it practice.”
Persephone didn’t argue, finding that she was strangely motivated.
The two left Hecate’s cottage for the grove. Persephone knew when they were close because she could smell rotten fruit—a terrible mix of sugar and decay.
“The goal is to collect all the dead pieces and make them into ripe pomegranates,” Hecate said.
“How do I do that?”
“The same way you destroyed it—except you want to control how much power you use.”
Persephone wasn’t sure she could, but she remembered the time she spent with Hades and how he taught her to focus her power. That memory made her chest ache in a way she never thought possible.
Magic is balance—a little control, a little passion. It is the way of the world.
“Imagine the pomegranate whole, a delicious crimson color.”
Hecate’s voice faded away as Persephone focused on her task.
Close your eyes, she heard Hades whisper in her ear, and she obeyed as her breath caught in her throat. She could have sworn she felt the scrape of his cheek against hers.
He continued to whisper.
Tell me what you feel.
Warmth, she thought.
Focus on it.
As before, it started low in her stomach, and she fed it, tortured by thoughts of Hades.
Where are you warm?
“Everywhere,” she whispered, and imagined all that warmth in her hands, the energy growing so bright she could barely look at it, like a sun in the palm of her hands, or a dying star.
Open your eyes, Persephone. She swore his breath caressed her skin.
She did, and the shimmering image of a pomegranate sat between her hands. She took a deep, deliberate breath, guiding her hands to the earth, and as she did, pieces of rotting flesh rose from the ground and gathered. Before long, the grove smelled of fresh, ripe fruit, and several whole, red pomegranates lay at her feet.
When she looked at Hecate, the goddess was clearly surprised.
“Very good, my love,” she said.
Persephone would have smiled, but she found that her success at reconstructing the pomegranate was overshadowed by an acute sadness. It made the world feel heavy and her body feel sluggish. She blinked rapidly, hoping to keep her tears at bay.
She wasn’t sure if Hecate could sense her turmoil, but the goddess was quick to distract her.
“Come, I will teach you to make poisons as promised.”
The two returned to her cottage, and Persephone sat beside Hecate, who had picked and bound several varieties of plants.
“What is all this?”
“The usual. Hemlock, daphne, deadly nightshade, death cap, angel’s trumpet, curare.”
The goddess explained which parts of each plant were deadly, and how much it would take of each to kill a target. She also seemed to delight in explaining how the plant would kill.
“What would poison do to a god?” Persephone asked.
A ghost of a smile touched the goddess’s lips.
“Thinking of poisoning Apollo?”
Persephone could feel her cheeks redden. “N-no!”
Hecate laughed quietly. “Do not feel guilty for contemplating murder, my dear, most gods have done far worse.”
Persephone knew that was true.
“Poison would likely have little impact on Apollo, except to make him very sick, which would be just as fun. Talk about no consequences.”
Persephone laughed, and filed that bit of information away for later.
They spent a while crushing leaves and oils into powerful concoctions until Persephone’s hands hurt from using the mortar and pestle and her eyes stung from the potency of the plants. At one point, she started to rub her eyes, when Hecate’s hand clamped down on her wrist.
Persephone yelped, mostly from surprise. She didn’t know Hecate could move that fast.
“Don’t.”
Hecate led Persephone to a basin. She washed her hands and waited for Hecate to finish up before they made their way to the Asphodel Fields.
“I have finalized your gown for the Summer Solstice,” Hecate said. Persephone’s stomach felt unsettled. She knew what the goddess was trying to do. She’d already commissioned a new crown for Persephone to wear for the occasion. She was trying to turn her into some sort of queen, and on the heels of her fight with Hades, that made her anxious.
When Persephone and Hecate arrived, the souls swarmed. She wasn’t sure why, but today, their excitement, kindness and clear devotion to her brought tears to her eyes. Maybe it had something to do with her conversation with Hecate. She’d always known the people of the Underworld considered her a goddess, more than that, they’d immediately accepted her as part of their world, and hinted at her potential to become Queen of the Underworld and all she’d ever done was resist.
She was afraid.
Afraid she would somehow disappoint them like she had disappointed her mother, like she had disappointed Hades.
She took a deep breath, forcing down the emotion thick within her throat and pretended like everything was fine. She helped finalize decisions for the solstice celebration, tasted samplings of various meals, approved decor, and played with the children before returning to the Upperworld.
When she arrived home, she broke down.
Sybil didn’t ask any questions, more than likely, she had already guessed what had happened. The oracle just held her as she cried herself to sleep.
Before work the next day, Persephone stopped by the hospital only to find that Lexa was asleep.
“She woke up briefly,” Eliska said. “But she was very confused. The doctor gave her a sedative.”
“Confused?”
Persephone’s anxiety spiked, making her stomach feel sick.
“They think it’s temporary psychosis,” she explained. “It isn’t unusual for patients who have been in the ICU.”
Psychosis. Temporary.
Her relief was immediate. It was probably too much to expect that Lexa would bounce back. Still, Persephone had let her hopes rise. She’d thought that Divine magic would work differently from traditional medicine. That when Apollo talked about miracles, it would mean skipping the recovery, too.
“Persephone, are you alright?” Eliska asked.
The goddess met the mortal’s gaze and nodded. “Yes, I’m fine. Will you…text me when Lexa wakes up?”
“Of course, dear,” she paused, studying her. Whatever Eliska was seeing in Persephone’s expression had her suspicious because she asked again, “Are you sure you’re okay?”
No, Persephone thought. My whole world is falling apart.
She nodded. “Yeah, just…tired.”
She felt silly saying that. Eliska was tired, too. “I understand. I promise to text you as soon as Lexa wakes.”
She reached for Persephone, hugging her close. “I’m so thankful Lexa has a friend like you.”
Persephone swallowed hard, and her eyes watered. Again, Hades words erupted in her mind.
You should know that your actions have condemned Lexa to a fate worse than death.
They’d attached themselves to her, like a leech, hungry for blood. They made her head and heart ache. They made her want to scream.
I am not a good friend. I am not a good lover. I am not a good goddess.
***
Work was awkward.
Persephone didn’t feel comfortable around Demetri since learning about the bargain he’d made with Apollo. To make matters worse, he had resorted to assigning her menial tasks like making copies, verifying another co-worker’s work, and delegated some research he was supposed to do on a privacy law. He’d sent her the to-do list in an email with an end of day deadline, which meant she couldn’t work on any of the stories she had in her queue.
She rapped on Demetri’s open door.
“Have a moment?” she asked when he looked up from his tablet.
“Not really,” he said. “Another time?”
“It’s about the to-do list.”
Demetri took off his glasses and stared at her. “It’s three things, Persephone. How hard can it be?”
His comment flustered her. “It isn’t,” she snapped. “But I have other stories—”
“Not today,” he cut her off. “Today, you have three things to accomplish by five.”
Persephone set her teeth so hard, she thought her jaw might break.
“Close the door as you leave.”
She slammed it. Probably not the best move, but it was better than filling the guy with holes from the thorns she wanted to throw at him. She took a few breaths, deciding it would be best if she just got through the tasks Demetri had assigned.
When she was finished, she could comb through the information she’d received over the last few weeks trying to decide on her next story.
She had several options available to her and a million lines of inquiry, but the information she gravitated toward always included her mother. The Goddess of Harvest should be renamed the Goddess of Divine Punishment because she was definitely fond of torture and her methods were vicious, often forcing mortals into starvation or cursing them with an unquenchable hunger. Now and then, when she was really pissed off, she would create famine, killing off whole populations.
My mother is the worst, Persephone thought.
By the time lunch rolled around, Persephone was entertaining herself with thoughts of writing about Demeter. She could see the headline in black, bold letters:
Nurturing Goddess of Harvest Deprives Whole Populations of Food.
Then she cringed, imagining the fallout.
It was likely Demeter would take revenge and probably in the most devastating way Persephone could imagine—revealing that she was actually Demeter’s daughter.
With that thought, Persephone left the Acropolis and met Sybil at Mithaecus’ Cafe for lunch.
Her mind was chaotic, going in several directions—dwelling on Lexa’s healing and Hades anger, making it hard for her to focus on anything the oracle was saying, which made her feel guilty because Sybil had news.
“I had a job offer this week,” she was saying, which got Persephone’s attention. “From the Cypress Foundation.”
Persephone lit up. “Oh, Sybil! I’m so happy for you.”
“I should be thanking you,” she said. “I’m sure you’re why they picked me.”
She shook her head. “Hades knows talent when he sees it.”
The oracle didn’t look so certain.
Persephone couldn’t explain why, but her excitement for Sybil dwindled quickly, as a heavy feeling settled on her chest. It was a combination of feelings—guilt, hopelessness, and a ton of unspoken feelings.
“I have to hang out with Apollo,” she said abruptly.
Sybil stared at Persephone.
“That was the bargain,” Persephone explained. “I just…want you to know.”
“I’m glad you told me,” she replied, and Persephone couldn’t help thinking she was too nice, too understanding.
“Do you remember at the Gala, when you told me my colors and Hades colors were all…?”
Her voice faltered; the question poised on her tongue. Sybil’s eyes were searching, and she pressed her lips together. Persephone wasn’t sure if it was because she was trying to keep from saying something she would regret, or if she was trying not to smile, either way, Persephone had to ask.
“Are they still…tangled up?”
“They are,” she said quietly. “I wish you could see it. It is beautiful, sensual and chaotic.”
Persephone offered a humorless laugh. “Chaotic is right.”
She smiled. “Well, I did say it was a tangle.”
Persephone gave her a questioning look.
“It is what happens when two powerful people meet.”
“Discord?” Persephone asked.
“And passion and bliss,” Sybil was smiling completely now.
Persephone looked away. She and Hades definitely had all of those things, but were they possible to reclaim? After all she had done?
Sybil placed a hand on Persephone’s.
“You were always meant for greatness, Persephone, but getting there will be war.”
She shivered.
“Not literal war, right?”
Sybil didn’t say.
They left, walking in opposite directions, Persephone to work and Sybil to the hospital to visit Lexa. Persephone hadn’t heard from Eliska so assumed Lexa had yet to wake up. The thought made her anxious. Did that mean Apollo’s magic hadn’t worked? She pushed those thoughts aside. Apollo was an ancient god, his magic well-practiced.
Lexa is still healing. She is tired, Persephone told herself. She needs her rest.
She took a shortcut back to the Acropolis. She was getting used to avoiding the attention of journalists and rabid fans of the Divine, and that meant avoiding the main roads in favor of narrow alleyways. While they weren’t as pleasant as the well landscaped sidewalks of New Athens, she’d learned it was the easiest way to get where she needed in the least amount of time because there were fewer people, and those she did encounter didn’t seem to care that she was there. Which was probably why she noticed a snowy cat with large, green eyes following her.
She knew by its mannerisms—strangely human and attentive—that the creature was a shapeshifter. Shapeshifters didn’t use glamour to mask appearances, their biology allowed them to change forms, which meant Persephone couldn’t see what they were beneath their animal form.
Persephone continued walking for a while, pretending that she hadn’t noticed the cat wandering the allies with her. When she was sufficiently out of sight of any onlookers, she stopped. The cat seemed surprised and halted, too.
Then, as if remembering it was supposed to be a cat, the creature began to lick its paw.
Gross, Persephone thought. This stone is not clean.
“Shift,” she ordered.
If it was sent, as she suspected, by Hades, the shifter would have no choice but to expose itself. Despite this, the cat attempted to run away. Clearly, it hadn’t expected Persephone to confront it.
Mid-run, its body straightened and grew, transforming into a slender female woman. She was tall and dressed in gold armor. Her dark hair was braided and fell over her shoulder to her waist. Persephone noted several weapons attached to her body—a long sword at her hip, a set of knives crossed on her back, a dagger around her bare thigh.
She was an Aegis and an Amazon—a daughter of Ares bred for brutality and war.
She knelt on one knee, pressing a hand to her chest as she did and said, “My Lady.”
“Don’t,” Persephone’s voice was sharp, and the warrior met her gaze, standing. “Hades sent you?”
“It is an honor to serve you, my lady.”
“I didn’t ask for this,” Persephone said.
“Lord Hades worries for you. I will keep you safe.”
She really hated the way those words made hope bloom in her chest.
“I don’t need you to keep me safe. I can take care of myself. I’ve lived in the mortal world for years and trust me, if an Amazon comes to my rescue, it’ll only make things harder for me.”
The woman raised her head, defiant. “I will do as Lord Hades commands.”
“Then I will speak with Lord Hades,” she replied, twisting on her heels.
“Please.”
Persephone was stopped by the shakiness in the Amazon’s voice. She faced the woman.
“I shouldn’t expect you to care, but I need this. I need this charge. I need this honor.”
“Why?”
Persephone was genuinely curious, but she didn’t like the change it inspired in the Amazon. The woman looked at her feet, her shoulders fell. Whatever her reasoning, it was a burden. Then she said, “I do not wish to expose my shame.”
A strained silence followed, and after a moment, Persephone asked, “What’s your name?”
The woman looked bewildered.
“You may call me Aegis, my lady.”
“I prefer to call you by your name,” Persephone answered. “Just as I prefer you call me Persephone.”
“Lord Hades—”
“I really wish Lord Hades’ staff would stop telling me what he dislikes or likes. Clearly, he hasn’t made that consideration for me.”
She regretted the outburst, because she was essentially, referring to the Aegis.
But the woman smiled. “It’s okay,” she paused. “I’m Zofie.”
“Zofie,” Persephone said her name. “If it is that important to you, I will not dismiss you.”
But she would have words with Hades…when she decided to talk to him again.
“Thank you…Persephone.”
“I’m running late,” she said, and began to back away, and then she pointed at what the woman was wearing. “We’ll talk about the armor later.”
Zofie advanced. “Lord Hades said not to let you out of my sight.”
Persephone rolled her eyes. “You’re a cat, Zofie. I can’t bring you into my office.”
“I’m content to wait for you outside,” she offered.
Persephone sighed. “Fine. We’ll talk about that later, too.”
Persephone left the alleyway, and her new Aegis followed. She had a lot of questions for the woman—namely, where was she from and why was it so important for her to keep this position? Persephone couldn’t refuse when she’d seen the look in her eyes because she had recognized it in herself. It was hopelessness.
She wondered if the God of the Dead had chosen her Aegis strategically, knowing Persephone wouldn’t be able to deprive someone of their dream.
