Raising Hell

by S. K. Gregory

  This is why I don’t pursue mortals, well not anymore. Not since I got the one I wanted.

  My beautiful Persephone. She was top side at the moment, but in a few short weeks she would be home. I missed her so much when she was gone, but I complied with her wishes to see her mother. I only wanted her to be happy. Which was why I hadn’t told her about the God killer.

  Settling in my chair by the fireplace, I wondered if I had made a mistake. I did not want to worry her, but if there was anyone on this planet who could solve a puzzle like this, it was her.

  No, I can’t tell her. I won’t have her living in fear.

  Contingencies needed to be put in place, to protect not only Persephone, but all of us. I just wished I knew what was coming for us.

  4

  It was after midnight, and I was knee deep in ancient junk. While most of the stuff was worth money, nothing so far contained the power I was after. Items of power gave off an aura, kind of like an electrical charge that I could sense. Maybe Harris hadn’t been lying, maybe it wasn’t here, but then I had no idea what it looked like.

  Moving onto a new shelf, I discovered an emerald necklace, one that once adorned my own neck.

  “Our anniversary,” I said, holding it up to the light.

  Three perfect emeralds. One for each of us.

  Tears welled up in my eyes, but I refused to cry. I’d buried a lot about that time in my life, but some things would stay buried. They were just too painful. I put the necklace back on the shelf.

  Moving on, the next object was a cracked hand mirror, I recognized it too. Wiping the glass with my sleeve, I looked into it to see the face of a pig look back. I laughed. It was a trick mirror, enchanted so the user would only see the face of a pig instead of their own reflection.

  Aphrodite didn’t find it funny when I used it on her. She started shrieking in horror, dropping the mirror on the ground. That’s why it was broken. Poor Aphrodite, such a vain creature and so needy, constantly needing people to tell her she was beautiful. Sad, really.

  I stretched, arching my back, I really needed to get some sleep.

  Groaning, I waded out of the room to take a break and make myself some coffee instead. There had to be an easier way to do this. Maybe he kept records.

  I tackled the filing cabinet next. Once I could decipher Harris’ awful handwriting, I discovered that he did keep good records and more. A lot of the Greek stuff was procured by a Mrs. D. I couldn’t find her full name, but it appeared that she would send stuff to him to be appraised and he would take a percentage of the sale. There were records of payments, but he was definitely under paying her. Her address was a few towns over. I made a note of it, in case I had to visit her.

  He had collected research on the Gods too. Old stories, internet research, who knows if it was accurate or not. He was a busy little demon. It took some digging, but I found a short entry on the God killer. I settled at the desk to read it, sipping the crappy coffee I found in the cupboard. I was going to have to buy some better stuff in the morning, or maybe get a cappuccino maker.

  Rumors of the God killer were spreading fast, but the Gods in their arrogance chose to ignore them. They truly believed that they were unkillable. It was only with the death of Dionysus that they realized the end was near. Poseidon, Hades and Zeus worked together to hunt down the God killer, but they failed. Less than a year later, they were all dead.

  A year. Hades knew for a year and he said nothing. How could he lie to me like that? We were all in danger, I had a right to know. Instead, he stripped me of my God powers and left me alone. Surely, I deserved more than that.

  I should just raise my mother and leave him to rot.

  Sighing, I put my head in my arms and rested them on the desk. As much as I loved him, he had a way of infuriating me. Despite offering me the choice to be a God, I was never his equal. I had one foot in his world and another on Earth, pulled between the two. I remembered my dream from earlier. I never did make a choice. I had my husband on one side and my mother on the other and I couldn’t live without either of them, or at least I thought so at the time. The Godkiller proved that I could survive without them, although in those early days…I almost didn’t make it. The grief was too much. I roamed the land, barely able to function. I didn’t wash or eat, I barely slept. It felt like the world had disappeared beneath my feet and I was falling, endlessly falling.

  That old adage about time healing all wounds, its only partially true. I learned how to numb the pain, how to block it out. Bit by bit, I started seeing color again, I found things that I enjoyed doing. There was a whole world to see and experience.

  My first trip was to Italy, then further west. I’ve circled the globe several times. It was four hundred years before I got up the nerve to return to Greece. It had changed so much yet remained the same somehow.

  My mother’s house was long gone. I tried to find the entrance to the Underworld, but all I found was a stone wall in the side of a mountain. Locked out.

  I’ll admit, as more time passed and more options became available, I considered going back with dynamite and blasting my way in, but what would I find?

  I closed my eyes, feeling exhaustion wash over me. I would just rest my eyes for a minute.

  I awoke to someone pounding on the store door. Sitting up, I checked the clock on the wall. It was morning. I quickly closed the hidden door, checking to see that there was nothing lying around that would raise any questions. Whoever it was banged on the door again.

  “Who is it?” I yelled through the door.

  “Police.”

  5

  “What do you want?” I yelled, worried that someone had reported the noise from the fight, although they took their sweet time getting here, considering the police station was only up the street. What about the kid? Gavin, was it?

  “Open the door, please. We would like to talk to you about Harris Johansen.”

  That little shit! He went to the cops. Okay, act normal, he doesn’t know anything.

  Swearing, I opened the door to find Deputy Tom Carlisle on the other side. At least it wasn’t Clark, although he might be easier to lie to. Carlisle was tall with dark hair that was starting to thin on top. He always wore a sneer on his face, or at least he did when he looked my way.

  “Hello, Officer, what can I do for you?”

  “Deputy. You can start by telling me where Harris is.” He walked into the store, eyes surveying the room.

  Carlisle was a total asshole. I’ve seen him strutting around town, thinking he’s untouchable. Even Clark doesn’t have good things to say about him and he’s his colleague. He looked down at me, gauging my reactions. I tried to keep my face as passive as possible.

  “Harris left town. He said he had urgent matters to attend to, and no he didn’t elaborate.” I crossed my arms. At 5’9, I wasn’t short, but Carlisle was at least 6’3. I wasn’t going to be intimidated by him though. I’ve taken down bigger and uglier than him.

  He raised an eyebrow. “And he left you in charge?”

  “Actually, he sold the store to me. My lawyer is finalizing the details.”

  Carlisle walked slowly around the store, his eyes taking in everything. “Did you clean in here?”

  “Yes, the place is in a frightful state.” There was no point in lying about it, the whole place reeked of bleach. Which couldn’t look any more suspicious.

  He faced me. “Your accent is a little muddled. Where are you from?”

  “All over. Look, I’m happy to supply the paperwork once I get it back from my lawyer.”

  It was his turn to fold his arms. “Miss…? What is your surname again?” This close to him, I could smell his aftershave. I didn’t recognize it, but it was nasty, whatever it was.

  “Smith.”

  He nodded slowly. “Miss Smith. You have a nasty cut on your face.”

  Damn, I forgot about that.

  “I tripped while I was cleaning, fell into a shelf.”

  “Awful clumsy
of you.”

  “What can I say? I’m a klutz.”

  “And the broken shelves?”

  “Spring cleaning.”

  He smirked at me. “I think you need to come with me down to the station.”

  “Am I under arrest?”

  “Not yet. Come with me.”

  If I resisted I would look even more guilty. I thought of the bag of skin I had hidden under the counter. I planned on taking it with me when I left and burying it somewhere. If they found it, they would think I was some kind of serial killer.

  Forcing a smile, I said, “Let me grab my coat.”

  I followed Carlisle to the station. I just hoped that Jean-Pierre could get me the paperwork, but it might not even hold up. I learned to avoid the authorities over the years. I couldn’t afford to go to prison. They would discover that my identity was a fake and if I did go to prison, they would see that I didn’t age. Next step, being dissected by some government scientists.

  Adrenaline coursed through me, I should run, right now. Get my car and get the hell out of Bedford. I could leave the country. But if I did then I could kiss goodbye to anything in that store.

  Carlisle opened the door to the station and I hesitated for a moment, before going inside. I would try to front it out and hope for the best. I had a good lawyer. Failing that, I knew a few people who owed me favors. I wondered how they were at jail breaks.

  As I was led into one of the interview rooms, I saw Clark at his desk. His head whipped around when I came in, his brown eyes widening in surprise. He stood up, watching as Carlisle led me through to the back.

  “Don’t I get a phone call?” I asked.

  “Only if you are arrested.”

  “Well I would like to have my lawyer present anyway.”

  “Do you have something to hide?”

  I was getting sick and tired of his attitude. “Can I call him or not?”

  Carlisle led me to the phone. Clark looked like he wanted to speak, but he said nothing. This was Carlisle’s bust but I’m sure he was dying to know what was going on.

  I called Jean-Pierre, knowing that Carlisle was listening to everything I was saying.

  “Hello, it’s me. Look, the police want to talk to me about Harris leaving town. They don’t believe me when I say he is selling me the store. Can you send the paperwork to the Bedford Sheriff’s station?”

  “Uh, I’m going to guess someone’s listening in, but you know I need more time.”

  “Quick as you can.”

  I hung up the phone. Jean-Pierre would know to contact my lawyer, Sully. Hopefully I wouldn’t have any use for him, but it was better to be prepared.

  “Shall we?” Carlisle said, motioning to the interview room. For the next hour, I answered questions about Harris and the store. Carlisle liked to repeat himself. I kept my answers short, so I wouldn’t say the wrong thing.

  “Look, Deputy Carlisle, the man wanted to retire, he was 73. He left town for a while, I’m not sure when he will be back. Surely someone has his cell number? He can clear this all up.”

  “I don’t believe Mr. Johansen owned a cell phone,” Carlisle said.

  I threw my hands up. “Well I don’t know what else I can do. I’m sure he will be back soon.”

  “We will be checking your story and Mr. Johansen’s bank accounts. Do us a favor and don’t leave town.”

  I forced a smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Can I go now?”

  As I was leaving, Gavin came stalking in. “Did you get the truth from her? What have you done with him?”

  Carlisle put a hand on his chest. “Calm down. We are handling it.”

  I tried to get by them to leave, but Gavin started yelling and Carlisle took a step back, swinging his arm out of the way and his elbow connected with my face. Without thinking, I acted on instinct, kicking out Carlisle’s leg. He fell to his knees and I realized my mistake.

  Carlisle got up, turning to face me, his face livid. “Persephone Smith, I am arresting you for attacking a police officer.”

  “It was a reflex,” I protested, but he already had the cuffs out. I was led into a cell in the back.

  “I hope your lawyer is good,” Carlisle said, slamming the cell door.

  *

  Clark

  “What’s up with that chick?” Carlisle asked.

  I glanced up from my computer. “You did hit her in the face,” I said.

  Carlisle glared at me. “Are you banging her, or something?”

  “What? No,” I said. “We’re…friends.”

  Carlisle snorted. “Yeah, right. I’ve seen the two of you together.”

  I sighed. “We’re not dating.”

  “Who the hell said anything about dating? There is no way you didn’t tap that.”

  Ignoring him, I turned back to my computer. Persephone certainly was an enigma. I’d been trying to figure her out for weeks.

  She told me that her husband had died a few years ago but didn’t go into detail. She was obviously still dealing with that.

  When she asked me to show her around town, I figured she was lonely. I asked her out, but she seemed to be against that idea, but she was also incredibly awkward around people, so who knew?

  “Well look at that,” Carlisle said.

  “What?”

  “Your little beauty queen doesn’t exist before three years ago.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just what I say. Bitch is probably a Russian spy.”

  I didn’t answer him. The truth was, I already had her file open in front of me. If she had a false identity, she must have her reasons, reasons that didn’t have to be criminal in nature. I wondered what her story was.

  6

  Fifty-four minutes. That’s how long I had been in this jail cell and I was starting to lose my mind already. I HATE being locked up, unable to move around. It reminds me of the early days in the Underworld when I was confined to my room. Mostly because I was always trying to escape. I didn’t want to be a queen, I just wanted to go home.

  I had already done a sweep of the cell, looking for any weaknesses that I could exploit and use to escape. So far, I hadn’t found any. My only choices were to wait to be released or when someone came to open the door I could knock them out and make a run for it. Carlisle would probably shoot me.

  “Hungry?”

  I looked up to find Clark holding out a sandwich. It was such a Clark thing to do, I realized. He was a pain in the ass, but you could always rely on him to do the decent thing.

  I took it from him, realizing that I hadn’t eaten since yesterday. I was starving. Sometimes I can be a little obsessive and I forget things like eating or common sense.

  Clark jammed his hands into the pockets of his khakis. The uniform suited him, I bet a lot of women in town spent their time fantasizing over him with his dark hair and chiselled face. His broad shoulders and well-defined arm muscles were straining against the navy blue shirt. I’m not blind, he is good looking, very good looking, but I’m working on getting Hades back which meant I could look, but wouldn’t touch.

  I unwrapped the sandwich to find that it was ham and cheese. Not my favorite, I was a meatball sub kind of a girl, but it was better than nothing.

  Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, unless you are the people of Troy!

  Clark was still watching me, a frown on his face. “Thanks,” I said, hoping he would take the hint and leave.

  “What are you playing at?” he asked.

  “I didn’t mean to hit him, you saw what happened, he hit me in the face. What I did, it was just a reflex. I used to take self-defense classes,” I lied. In truth, I had been taught by expert martial artists several centuries ago. You’d be surprised how often skills like that came in handy. Of course, I had been living the civilised life for the last few decades, so I was a little rusty. It was more yoga nowadays than kicking people in the head.

  Clark stared at me. “Is that true? Because Carlisle ran a search on you and he can’t find
anything older than three years.”

  Damnit, I knew this would happen.

  “I move around a lot and I changed my name.” Why do people change their name? What sounded plausible?

  “Your married name? Because we can’t find anything about that either. No marriage certificate.”

  Probably because it was two thousand years ago.

  “I was married a long time ago.” To him and everyone else, I look like I’m in my late twenties at most.

  “Well I have a theory. Living out in the middle of nowhere, big dog, potentially fake records. Are you in WitSec? Maybe on the run from that husband of yours?”

  I laughed at the thought. “No, nothing like that.”

  I had no answers for him and I was tired of lying. Better to stay quiet.

  “Carlisle wants to charge you. He thinks it’s suspicious that you have no past. I need something to convince him otherwise.”

  “I don’t know what you want me to say. Besides don’t I have the right to remain silent?”

  He gave me a frustrated look. “I’m on your side, Persephone.” He turned and left.

  Maybe he was trying to help me, but I didn’t want it. What could I tell him anyway? Yeah, I’m two thousand years old and I have to take on new identities every twenty years or people will get suspicious. I’d be locked up in the nut house by night fall.

  Leaning back against the wall, I ate the sandwiches, remembering the last time I was locked up. It was 1503, and I had been accused of witchcraft. Women of wealth were often looked at with suspicion, especially unmarried ones. At times I would hire someone to pretend to be my husband, just so I could travel freely. This was not one of those times.

  I was locked in a dungeon in England with five other women. I remember the dirt floor, the smell of waste. The only thing we had to lie on was a pile of straw. It was hell on earth, and considering where I was from, that was really saying something!

  There was one woman, well a girl really, barely seventeen, they had beaten her and cut off all her hair. Her crime was that she liked to gossip. She said the wrong thing about the wrong person and she was locked away like an animal. It wasn’t the first time it happened, and it certainly wasn’t the last. What surprised me was her spirit. She always had a smile for everyone and would help the other women if they were injured. I sat in the corner for the first few days, ignoring everyone, trying to figure a way out. My bruises and broken bones healed a lot faster than the others, but if our jailers discovered that, they would definitely burn me as a witch. Or hang me. Whatever the fashion was at the time.