I’m not sure what someone is supposed to feel when they’re on their way to threaten and possibly kill their own mother. I feel nothing at all. Instead, I keep getting flashes of memories I thought long buried.
At eight, finding my mother crying on the couch. How she sobbed and told me the entire city was out to get her. I promised her that I would always protect her.
At thirteen, being able to perfectly detail all of my mother’s enemies, the ones she told me wanted her dead. I parroted their personal details and supposed sins back to her, and she smiled at me as if I was her favorite person in the world.
At seventeen, when my mother asked me to do her a favor, just a tiny little thing. It was so godsdamn easy to ask the right questions that led to the truth about Apollo and Daphne. And then she showered her attention on me like the summer sun.
At eighteen, the first time I told her I wouldn’t do what she asked. How quickly she withdrew her attention, her very presence, from me. How ruthlessly she punished me by withholding herself for days, weeks, until I finally buckled and did as she asked. My mother might be a monster, but she’s the only family I have. I wasn’t strong enough to withstand her icing me out. I had no one else.
At twenty-one, when I realized the lesson I should have years earlier: she doesn’t really love me. I doubt she’s actually capable of it. She sees me as a convenient tool to pick up and set down as the situation calls for it. All the soft moments, the tears, the hurt feelings, they were all weapons she wielded against me. Understanding that killed something in me, something I didn’t think I’d ever reclaim, not until I met Psyche.
After that, Aphrodite resorted to stronger measures to bring me back in line whenever I pushed back against her.
Even with all the years of love and resentment that slid right into hate, the truth is that she’s been the one constant in my life. Foil or guiding light, she’s always been there. It never really occurred to me that one day she wouldn’t be.
That one day mine would be the hand that brought her demise.
It takes me forty minutes to make it to her building. Though my mother spends most of her time in the area around Dodona Tower, she actually lives in the outskirts of the theater district. I’ve never been able to figure out if she actually likes the theater or if she just likes being a patron and muse to performers. Either way, it was her dragging me out to shows that eventually led to me finding the Bacchae.
She lives in a town house rather than one of the many skyscrapers that litter Olympus. It even has a small, fenced yard, and that’s how I enter the property, letting myself in through the gate that borders the back alley. There should be security people watching over the space—at my insistence—but it seems she’s dismissed them again. She hates having an entourage of armed people, and so she slips them off every chance she gets. It used to frustrate me to unspeakable levels.
Now, it works in my favor.
I pause in the yard. In the spring, it’s an explosion of color and flowers, all perfectly curated and picture-ready. I never understood that. Aphrodite entertains endlessly, but she rarely does it in her home. She barely posts pictures of this space, either. It’s almost as if all this beauty is just for her, but I can’t think about that now.
I use my key to unlock the back door and slip inside without announcing myself. It’s Sunday, so she should be home. Aphrodite ascribes to no church, and she likes lazy Sundays where she’s not on display to the public.
Except the house feels strangely empty.
I wander from room to room, hating the cascade of memories each one brings. This was my childhood home, and if that childhood was often devoid of softness and safety, it wasn’t all bad. I pause in the doorway to my old room. It’s a relic from the past, exactly the way I left it when I moved out at eighteen, desperate to put some space between myself and my mother. A king-sized bed, ridiculously high-thread-count sheets, exactly one pillow occupying the great expanse of mattress.
Despite myself, I step into the room and look around. There are no posters on the walls, but I do have two framed paintings that my mother gifted me during a particularly angsty stage. Their artist’s moniker is Death, which felt particularly apt at the time, and they show close-ups of battered hands drenched in color, giving the impression of violence just committed.
My desk holds a scattering of papers and pictures and random bullshit that teenagers accumulate. Notes from Helen. Old school assignments that I never got around to tossing. Notebooks filled with comments and insight gained during my first fledgling attempts at surveillance.
I open my closet and eye the gun safe tucked within. That’s something I’d wager most teenagers don’t accumulate. I crouch down and key in the combination more through force of habit than anything else. While I keep various weapons and poisons in my penthouse, using the stash Aphrodite keeps under her roof is better for this scenario. My mother won’t feel a thing; she’ll just get sleepy and then know nothing at all.
I can’t think about the fact that it’s the same poison I intended to use on Psyche.
There are a lot of things I can’t think about right now.
I open the safe and frown. “What the fuck?”
One of the guns is missing. I hover my hand over the empty space. It was here two weeks ago when Aphrodite required my presence for dinner. Where the fuck is it now?
The small hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Something’s very wrong. I’ve let my emotions get the best of me, and they’ve clouded the one thing I should be thinking about. Or, rather, the question I should be asking.
Where the fuck is Aphrodite?
My phone buzzes in my pocket as I push to my feet. I fish it out, see Helen’s name, and reject the call. I’ll talk to her later. Except my phone starts vibrating before I can put it back in my pocket. Helen again. I frown and answer. “I’m busy.”
“Eros, I think Psyche is in trouble. Or maybe your mother is. I’m honestly not really sure, but something’s going on and you need to know about it.”
The feeling of dread weighing me down only gets worse. “Slow down and explain properly.”
She takes a large breath as if she’s been running. “Like an hour ago, Psyche called me and said she needed Aphrodite’s number to keep you from doing something you couldn’t take back. Which…I thought she was going to… Gods, I don’t even know what I thought, but MuseWatch just reported seeing Psyche in the university gardens in one post and Aphrodite driving toward the university district, looking dressed to kill. I’m so sorry I took so long to put two and two together, but I think they’re meeting, probably soon.”
She wouldn’t.
Except, as I picture the determined look on my wife’s face, I realize she most definitely would. “You gave my mother’s phone number to Psyche.”
“I didn’t know what else to do. Your mom is a bitch, but she’s your mom. You can’t… I can’t sit by and let something happen to her. You’ll regret it for the rest of your life.” Because Helen’s mother is dead, and there’s no coming back from that. “I thought Psyche had a plan, but I didn’t realize the plan would be confronting Aphrodite directly.”
“There’s no way you could have known.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
I bite back the sharp retort that she’s done enough. It’s not Helen’s fault Psyche and I are in this mess. She just did what she thought was best, and I can’t blame her for that. “Keep an eye on MuseWatch and let me know if there are any updates.”
“I will.” She hesitates. “Eros, I really am sorry.”
“I know.” I hang up, thinking hard.
If Psyche was seen at the university gardens and my mother is heading in that direction, that’s where they’ll meet. I’ll have one chance to control this situation, and bringing in more people adds too many uncontrollable elements. I consider my options. If I drive, there are going to be added minutes trying to find a parking spot, and it will take time I can’t afford.
I drag in a breath. No doubt my mother is driving. She never would have walked there from her house. That gives me time.
I start to run.
As my pounding strides eat up the blocks between me and the gardens, I can’t help the frantic circling of my thoughts. Why would Psyche do this? Why would she risk this?
Except… I know why, don’t I?
Love makes fools of us all. I never realized that would be so literal. We’re both so intent on saving each other from pain and harm, we’re throwing ourselves right into those very things. Psyche is cunning and so intelligent it drives me up the walls, but my mother is a different breed entirely. And she has a gun. I never would have thought she’d go so far as to dirty her own hands, but Psyche has outmaneuvered her at every turn. When cornered, Aphrodite won’t hesitate to strike out.
To strike Psyche.
I can’t lose her. I just fucking found her.
I’m panting and sweating by the time I reach the gardens. Where will Psyche have gone? I frantically think back to when we walked them. Was that just a few days ago? It feels like a lifetime. We walked deep enough down the paths that we couldn’t be seen from the street, to what she said was her favorite part of the garden. I bet that’s where she’s at.
My body aches as I pick up my pace. My shoes weren’t meant for running, but I barely feel the pain. Especially when I round a corner and find Psyche facing off with my mother. Aphrodite has my gun held in two hands, her stance shitty but it’s not like she can miss at that range. My wife is all but cowering against those fucking twigs she told me are flowers.
I force myself to stop, to slow down to avoid surprising my mother into pulling the trigger, and lift my hands. “That’s enough, Mother.”
She doesn’t look at me. “Turn around, Eros. I have this perfectly under control.” Her voice is so perfectly controlled, she might have been commenting on the weather.
“I can’t let you do this.” I can’t think, don’t know how to play this to ensure she puts down the gun without pulling the trigger. All I have is panic, and panic will get Psyche killed. I inch closer. “Go home, Psyche. I’ll deal with this.”
“She has a gun!” Her voice shakes and she’s half-crouched, her arms lifted as if that would be enough to stop a bullet. She’s panicking, too, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. “She’s going to kill me!”
“She won’t kill you. I won’t let her.” I desperately hope I’m not lying.
I take another slow step forward, but Aphrodite shakes her head. “No closer or I pull the trigger.”
That stops me short, my heart lunging into the back of my throat. I have to find the right words to say, but my brain is pure static. I’m not close enough to lunge for the gun, though, so I have to try. “You’d risk Zeus’s fury for this?”
“I’d do that and more.” She doesn’t take her gaze from Psyche. “But I’m not the one killing Demeter’s daughter, Eros. You are.”
Understanding dawns as I take her in. The old coat that I haven’t seen on her in years. The leather gloves that will remove any trace of gun residue if she fires—and her fingerprints. Which means the only fingerprints on the gun registered to me are mine.
Fear, true fear, coats me in ice. She’s really going to do it. She’s not bluffing. “Why would I shoot my wife? I love her.”
“Don’t lie to me.” Her pretty face twists into something horrible. “You don’t love this little bitch. You’re not capable of love. She was supposed to be dead, Eros. Her heart on a fucking platter. What the fuck is wrong with you that you would marry her?”
Psyche isn’t crying, but she looks damn close. “Why would you want to kill me? I’ve never done anything to you!” She’s shaking so hard, she has to clutch her hands in front of her chest.
Aphrodite turns her body a little to keep me in her line of sight as she glares down at my wife. “Your mother’s done plenty. She needs to be taken down a few notches. She doesn’t get to pick the next Hera. I do.”
Psyche sniffles. “But that has nothing to do with me.”
“It has everything to do with you.” She leans down, sneering. “Demeter really thinks that you’re good enough to be married to Zeus. Look at you. You’re nothing but a fat girl playing pretend.”
“I didn’t ask for this!”
“Wake up, little girl. No one asked for it in Olympus.” She laughs, the sound wild and unhinged. “You don’t get to swim with sharks and then cry about getting eaten. You tried to play the game and you lost.” She shifts her stance, lifting the gun an inch. “Now you’re going to pay the price.”
“That’s enough.” I start forward, but she stops me with her finger on the trigger. If she were pointing it at me, I wouldn’t hesitate. I’d take my chances. But I will not risk Psyche’s life. “You don’t get to talk to her like that. You don’t get to attack her because she’s better than you, prettier than you, both inside and out. Put the fucking gun down, Mother.”
“We’re done talking!”
Psyche sighs. “Yes, I suppose we are. I’ve got more than enough. So has the rest of Olympus.” All the quiver is gone from her voice, her fear tucked away as if it never existed, leaving only cold calm and steely determination in its place. She reaches into the flower bed and extracts a phone from the space behind her. She holds it up to her face, and just for a moment, the calm flickers and she gives a trembling smile. “So, you see, everything is not okay. It’s not okay at all. Aphrodite wants to kill me and frame my husband.”
Aphrodite’s jaw drops. “You’re livestreaming us.”
“One hundred thousand viewers and counting. Before the end of the day, all of Olympus will have heard you confess to trying to kill me.” Psyche’s trembling smile goes sharp. “Sharks aren’t the only predators in the ocean, Aphrodite.”
Holy fuck. Holy fuck. There will be no sweeping this under the rug, no pretending it never happened. She’s just paved the way for a bloodless changing of power with the title Aphrodite; there’s no way my mother will retain the role after this. Relief makes me giddy. “It’s over. There’s no coming back from this. It’s finally over.”
“It’s not over until I say it’s over!” Aphrodite turns fully to face Psyche, her expression going ugly and hateful. “If I go down, you’re going down with me!”
“No!” I sprint forward, moving faster than I ever have. Even as I do, I know I won’t be fast enough. There’s too much distance between me and Aphrodite, too little distance between her finger and the trigger.
I don’t count on Psyche.
She surges up, grabbing Aphrodite’s wrists and shoving them up toward the sky as the gun goes off. She stomps on my mother’s foot and yanks the gun from her hands, flinging it in the opposite direction. Aphrodite curses, but Psyche shoves her to the ground. The whole thing took two seconds.
I grab Psyche and pull her into my arms. I know she didn’t get shot, but I can’t help searching her body for wounds despite that. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine. I’m safe. We’re both safe.”
“Thank fuck.” I point down at my mother, currently trying to sit up. “Do not move.”
In the distance, sirens sound. Psyche presses her forehead to my chest for a long moment and then moves away. “Now, it’s time for the final act.”
