After a few hours of restless sleep, I head down to the kitchen in search of coffee only to find Hermes perched on my kitchen island, eating ice cream out of the carton. I stop short, faintly alarmed by the fact that she’s dressed in a pair of cutoff shorts and an oversize T-shirt that she was most definitely not wearing last night. “You keep clothes at my house.”
“Duh. No one wants to wear the aftermath of their drunken adventures home.” She motions behind her without looking. “I put on coffee.”
Thank the gods for small favors. “Coffee and ice cream is one way to deal with a hangover.”
“Shhh.” She makes a face. “My head hurts.”
“Imagine that,” I murmur and walk around to grab us both mugs. I pour hers two-thirds of the way full and pass it over. She promptly drops a giant dollop of ice cream into the coffee, and I shake my head. “You know, I seem to remember locking up last night. And yet here you are.”
“Here I am.” She gives me a slightly rumpled version of her usual wicked grin. “Come now, Hades. You know that there isn’t a lock in this city that can keep me out.”
“I’ve become aware of it over the years.” The first time she showed up was a mere month after she earned the title of Hermes, some five or six years ago now. She startled me in my office and almost ended up with a bullet in her head as a result. Somehow, that interaction translated into her deciding that we’re great friends. It took me a year to figure out that it didn’t matter what I thought of the so-called friendship. Then Dionysus started appearing with her about six months after that, and I gave up fighting their presence.
If they’re spies for Zeus, they’re completely ineffectual and aren’t gaining any information I don’t want him to have. If they aren’t…
Well, it’s not my problem.
She takes a long drink of her ice-cream-dosed coffee and makes a disturbingly sex-like sound. “Are you sure you don’t want some?”
“I’m sure.” I lean against the counter and try to decide how to play this. I can’t really trust Hermes. No matter that she seems to consider us friends, she is one of the Thirteen and I’d be a fool ten times over to forget that. More, she makes her home in the shadow of Dodona Tower and answers directly to Zeus—at least when it suits her. Showing my hand before I have a concrete plan is a recipe for disaster.
But the cat’s out of the bag in every way that matters. Zeus’s men will have reported Persephone’s location to him already. Hermes confirming it changes nothing.
Dionysus stumbles through the door. His mustache is a mess and his pale skin is nearly green. He waves vaguely in my direction and makes a beeline for the coffee. “Morning.”
Hermes snorts. “You look like death.”
“You’re to blame. Who drinks wine after whiskey? Villains, that’s who.” He contemplates the coffeepot for a long moment and finally pours himself a mug. “Just shoot me in the head and put me out of my misery.”
“Don’t tempt me,” I mutter.
“Yes, yes, you’re very broody and terrifying.” Hermes spins on the island to face me. Her dark eyes light up with mischief. “All these years I thought it was an act, but then you stalk in, carrying your kidnapping victim.”
I start to clarify that I didn’t actually kidnap anyone, but Dionysus barks out a laugh. “So I didn’t hallucinate that. Persephone Dimitriou always seemed a bit of a sunny bore, but she just got interesting. She stepped out of that party less than thirty minutes after Zeus announced their engagement, and then she turns up on the other side of the River Styx, where good upper-city girls most definitely don’t go? Very, very interesting.”
I frown, unable to stop myself from focusing on the least important part of what he just said. “A sunny bore?” Admittedly, we hardly met under ideal circumstances, but the woman is anything but a bore.
Hermes shakes her head, sending her curls bouncing. “You’ve only seen her in her public persona when her mom drags her to events, Dionysus. She’s not too bad when she’s not locked down, especially when she’s hanging out with her sisters.”
Dionysus opens one eye. “Darling, spying is highly frowned upon.”
“Who said I’m spying?”
He opens the other eye. “Oh, so you’ve been spending time with the Dimitriou sisters, have you? The four women who hate the Thirteen with a passion that’s truly outstanding considering who their mother is.”
“Maybe.” She can’t even keep a straight face. “Okay, no, but I was curious because their mother is so determined to match them up with as many powerful people as she can get her hands on. It pays to know these things.”
I watch this play out with fascination. Hermes, being one of the Thirteen, should be someone I dislike on principle, but her role edges her into the shadows in a number of ways. Private messenger, the holder of secrets I can only begin to guess at, a thief when it suits her. She’s nearly as much a patron of the darkness as I am. It should make her even less trustworthy than the rest of them, but she’s so damned transparent that sometimes it makes my head ache.
Then the rest of their words penetrate. “So it’s true. She’s set to marry Zeus.”
“They announced it last night. It would have been sad if I had any room in my heart for pity. She was trying so hard to keep her smile in place, but the poor thing was terrified.” Dionysus closes his eyes again and leans back against the counter. “Hopefully she lasts longer than the last Hera. It’s enough to wonder what game Demeter is playing. I thought she cared more about her daughters’ safety than that.”
I’m aware of Hermes watching me closely, but I refuse to show my interest. I have too many years of locking everything away until there’s a thick wall between me and the rest of the world. Tolerating these people in my house does not translate to bringing them into my confidence. No one earns that. Not when I’ve seen how spectacularly it can backfire and get people killed in the process.
Hermes inches to the edge of the island and kicks her legs out, a study in casualness. “You’re right, Dionysus. She didn’t agree to it. A little birdie told me that she had no idea it was happening until they dragged her to the front of the room and put her in a position where she had to agree or piss Zeus off with the entire Thirteen present—well, the Thirteen minus Hades and Hera. We all know how well that goes over.”
“You work for Zeus,” I say mildly, forcing down the instinctive anger that rises every time that fucker’s name comes up.
“Nope. I work for the Thirteen. Zeus just happens to take advantage of my services more often than the others—including you.” She leans forward and gives me an awkward wink. “You should consider utilizing my skills to their fullest extent. I’m rather outstanding at my role, if I do say so myself.”
She might as well dangle the bait right in front of my face and give it a good shake. I raise my brows. “I’d be a fool to trust you.”
“He’s right.” Dionysus burps and looks even greener, if that is possible. “You’re tricksy.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m the very paragon of innocence.”
Hermes plays a deeper game than anyone else. She has to in order to maintain her balance of a vaguely neutral party in the midst of all the politicking and manipulation and schemes of the other Thirteen. Trusting her is like putting my hand in a tiger’s mouth and hoping it’s not in the mood for a snack.
Still…
Curiosity sinks its fangs into me and refuses to let go. “Most people in Olympus would happily give their right hand to become one of the Thirteen, marriage to Zeus or no.” The tabloids paint a picture of Persephone as a woman with more money than sense—the exact kind of person who’d jump at being married to a rich and powerful man like Zeus. That Persephone is nothing like the strong yet terrified person who fled across the bridge last night. Which one is real? Only time will tell.
Hermes’s smile widens as if I’ve just given her a gift. “One would think, wouldn’t they?”
“Put him out of his misery and share the gossip.” Dionysus groans. “You’re making my headache worse.”
Hermes pulls her legs up, and I have to bite back the urge to tell her to get her goddamn feet off my counter. She cups her mug in both hands and holds it in front of her mouth. “Demeter’s daughters aren’t interested in power.”
“Right.” I snort. “Everyone’s interested in power. If not power, then money.” I can’t count how many times the Dimitriou daughters have been photographed shopping for things they certainly don’t need. At least once a week.
“That’s what I thought, too. Which is why I feel I can be forgiven for snooping.” She shoots a look at Dionysus, but he’s too lost in his hangover misery to notice. “Not a single one of them cares about their mother’s ambitions. The youngest has even let Calliope’s favorite son tempt her into a relationship.”
That gets my interest. “Apollo’s little brother?”
“The very one.” She laughs. “The ultimate fuckboy.”
I let that pass, because it doesn’t really matter what I think of Orpheus Makos. His family might not be a legacy one in Olympus, but they’ve had plenty of power and fortune through the generations, even before Orpheus’s older brother became Apollo. From the rumors I’ve heard of the guy, he’s a musician on a permanent quest to find himself. I’ve heard his music, and it’s good, but it doesn’t quite excuse the excess he indulges in to pursue his various muses. “You have a point.”
“Do I?” She waggles her eyebrows. “I’m just saying that you might want to sit the woman down and ask what she wants.” She shrugs and hops off the counter, only weaving a little on her feet. “Or you could just play to expectation and lock her up in a dungeon. I’m sure Zeus would love that.”
“Hermes, you know very well that I don’t have a dungeon.”
“Not a dank and dark one.” More eyebrow waggling. “We’ve all seen the playroom, though.”
I refuse to acknowledge that. The parties I host from time to time are as much part of my role as Hades as anything else. A carefully crafted persona that is designed to inspire the darker emotions and, as a result, ensure the few people who know about my existence in the upper city don’t fuck with me. If I happen to enjoy this particular part of said persona, who can blame me? Persephone would take one look at that room and run screaming for her life. “Time for you to go home.” I nod to the hall. “I can have Charon take you.”
“Don’t bother. We’ll catch our own ride.” She pops up onto her tiptoes and presses a quick kiss to my cheek. “Have fun with your captive.”
“She’s not my captive.”
“Keep telling yourself that.” Then she’s gone, dancing out of the room in her bare feet as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. The woman exhausts me.
Dionysus seems to have no intention of leaving my mug behind, but he stops in the doorway. “You and the sunshine girl might be able to help each other.” He grimaces at my look. “What? It’s a perfectly legitimate thought to have. She’s probably one of the few people in Olympus who hates Zeus as much as you do.” He snaps his fingers. “Oh, and I’ll have that shipment for you by the end of the week. I didn’t forget.”
“You never do.” As soon as he walks out the door, I snag Hermes’s abandoned coffee cup and put it in the sink. The woman leaves mess wherever she goes, but I’m used to it at this point. Last night was relatively tame on the Hermes-Dionysus scale. Last time they broke in, they brought a chicken they’d found gods alone knew where. I was finding feathers for days afterward.
I stare at the coffeepot, pushing away thoughts of those two troublemakers. They aren’t the ones I need to be worried about right now. Zeus is. I’m honestly surprised he hasn’t contacted me already. He’s not one to sit back and wait when someone takes away one of his toys.
It’s so fucking tempting to reach out first, to rub his nose in the fact that this little socialite was willing to run to me rather than marry him. Doing so is too impulsive and petty. If I intend to use Persephone to actually get some measure of revenge…
I’ll be just as bad as he is.
I try to push the thought aside. My people have suffered from Zeus’s machinations. I have suffered, have lost just as much as anyone. I should be jumping at this chance to get a measure of revenge. And I do want revenge. But do I want it at the expense of this woman who has already played a pawn to both her mother and Zeus? Am I cold enough to push forward despite her protests?
I suppose I could ask her what she wants. What a novel thought.
I grimace and pour a second cup of coffee. After a moment’s consideration, I find the cream and sugar and dose it. Persephone doesn’t seem the type to drink her coffee black. Then again, what do I know? The only information I have on her is what’s written in the gossip columns that follow the Thirteen and the people in their sphere. Those “journalists” adore the Dimitriou women and follow them around like a pack of dogs. I’m actually kind of impressed Persephone made it out of that party without acquiring an entourage.
How much is real and how much is creatively put together fiction? Impossible to say. I know better than most that reputation often has little to do with reality.
I’m stalling.
The second I realize it, I curse and stalk out of the kitchen and up the stairs. It’s not late, but I’d half expected her to be up and terrorizing someone in the household by now. Both Hermes and Dionysus managed to stir from the drunken coma they call sleep and leave before Persephone woke.
I hate that tendril of concern that worms its way through me. This woman’s mental health is not my business. It just fucking isn’t. Zeus and I already dance on the edge of a sword every time we’re forced to interact. One wrong move and I’ll be sliced in two. More importantly, one wrong move and my people suffer the consequences.
I’m putting myself and my people in danger for this woman who’s probably just as power hungry as her mother and will likely wake up realizing that her best way to that power is with Zeus’s ring on her finger. It doesn’t matter what she said on the phone last night to her sisters. It can’t matter.
I knock on the door and wait, but no sound emerges. I knock again. “Persephone?”
Silence.
After a quick internal debate, I open the door. There’s the slightest bit of resistance, and I push harder, making something crash on the other side. With a long sigh, I step into the room. It takes one look around the room—to see the tipped-over side table and the missing comforter—for me to come to the conclusion that she hid in the bathroom all night.
Of course she did.
She’s in big, bad Hades’s house so she just assumes that she’ll be harmed in some way while she’s defenseless in sleep. She barricaded herself in. It makes me want to throw something, but I haven’t allowed myself that kind of loss of control since I was barely out of my teens.
I set down the coffee mug and pick up the side table, taking a moment to put it back exactly where it belongs. Satisfied with the placement, I stride to the bathroom door and knock.
A shuffling on the other side. Then her voice, so close she has to be pressed against the door. “Do you often break into people’s rooms without permission?”
“Do I need permission to enter a room in my own house?” I don’t know why I’m engaging in this. I should just open the door, drag her out, and send her on her way.
“Perhaps you should have people sign a waiver before crossing the threshold if that’s how you think home ownership works.”
She’s just so strange. So…unexpected. I frown at the whitewashed wood. “I’ll consider it.”
“See that you do. You woke me rather abruptly.”
She sounds so damn prim that I want to rip this door off the hinges just to get a good look at the expression she’s wearing right now. “You were sleeping in a tub. Hardly the recipe for a good night’s rest.”
“That’s a very narrow worldview you have.”
I glare, though there’s no way she can see it. “Open the door, Persephone. I’m tired of this conversation.”
“You seem to do that a lot. If you find me so tiresome, you shouldn’t be breaking down my door at ungodly hours of the morning.”
“Persephone. The door. Now.”
“Oh, if you insist.”
I step back at the click of the lock and then she’s there, standing in the doorway and looking deliciously rumpled. Her blond hair is a mess, there’s a crease pressed into her cheek from her pillow, and she’s got the comforter wrapped around her like a suit of armor. A very fluffy, very ineffective suit of armor that requires her to shuffle into the room with tiny steps to avoid falling on her face.
The ridiculous urge to laugh rises, but I smother it. Any reaction will only encourage her, and this woman already has me set back on my heels. Get her sorted out. Either use her or get her out. That’s all that matters. I wave at the mug. “Coffee.”
Persephone’s hazel eyes widen the tiniest bit. “You brought me coffee.”
“Most people drink coffee in the morning. It’s really not a big deal.” I make a face. “Though Hermes is the only one I know who doses it with ice cream.”
If anything, her eyes get wider. “I can’t believe Hermes and Dionysus have known about you this entire time. How many other people know that you’re not a myth?”
“A few.” A nice, safe, noncommittal answer.
She’s still staring at my face as if searching for evidence of someone she knows, as if I’m somehow familiar to her. It’s disconcerting in the extreme. I have the irrational suspicion that she’s fisting that comforter so tightly to avoid reaching out and touching me.
Persephone tilts her head to the side. “Did you know there’s a statue of Hades in Dodona Tower?”
“How would I know?” I’ve only been to the tower once, and Zeus hardly gave me the full tour. I never want to repeat the experience, unless it’s to end that bastard once and for all. That particular vengeful fantasy has gotten me through more rough days than I want to number.
She continues on as if I didn’t respond, still studying my features too closely. “There’s these statues of each of the Thirteen, but yours has a black shroud over it. I guess to signify that your line has ended. You’re not supposed to exist.”
“Yes, you keep saying that.” I consider her. “It certainly seems like you’ve spent a lot of time studying this Hades statue. Hardly the kind of man Demeter would want you chasing down.”
Just like that, something shutters in her eyes and her smile brightens to blinding levels. “What can I say? I’m an eternal disappointment as a daughter.” She takes a step and winces.
She’s injured. Fuck, I forgot. I move before I have a chance to consider the wisdom of it. I scoop her up, ignoring her squawk, and set her on the bed. “Your feet are hurting you.”
“If they’re hurting me, I will happily sit down under my own power.”
I look down at her, meeting her eyes, and realize exactly how close we are. An unwelcome frisson of awareness pulses through me. I sound too harsh when I manage to speak. “Then do it.”
“I will! Now get back. I can’t think with you so close.”
I take a slow step back and then another. Setting her on the bed was a mistake, because now she’s looking deliciously rumpled on the bed, and I’m far too aware of other bed-related activities that would accomplish the same look. Fuck, but she’s beautiful. It’s the warm kind of beauty that feels like summer sunlight on my face, like if I get too close, I’ll smudge it. I stare at this beautiful, baffling woman, and I’m not sure I can go through with using her, even to punish Zeus for all the harm he’s caused me and mine.
I slip my hands into my pockets and strive for a neutral tone. “It’s time we spoke about what comes next.”
“Actually, I was thinking the same thing.” Persephone carefully dismantles her blanket armor and gives me a long look. It’s all the warning I get before she smashes through the wall of my good intentions. “I believe we can help each other.”
