“Hades betrayed me.” Persephone’s voice shook.
“How? Because he chose not to tell you about his contract with Aphrodite? Given that you wrote a derisive article about him within a few days of meeting him, I’m not at all surprised he didn’t confide in you. He was probably afraid that if you found out, you would act like the child you are.”
Minthe was treading on thin ice.
“You should have been more thankful for your time in our world,” she said. “It’s the most powerful you will ever be.”
It was at that moment, Persephone knew how it felt to be truly wicked. A smile curled her lips and Minthe suddenly sobered, sensing something had changed.
“No,” Persephone said, and with a flick of her wrist, a vine shot out from the ground and curled around Minthe’s feet. As the nymph started to scream, another vine closed over her mouth, silencing her. “This is the most powerful I will ever be.”
She snapped her fingers, and Minthe shrunk and morphed until the curvaceous nymph was nothing more than a lush mint plant.
Adonis’s eyes went wide with disbelief. “Oh, my gods! You-you—”
Persephone approached the plant and plucked it from the ground, then she turned and kneed Adonis in the groin.
The mortal collapsed and writhed on the ground. Persephone watched him a moment, content to see him suffer.
“You will threaten me no longer or I will see you cursed,” she said, a deadly calm overtaking her voice.
He spoke between breaths. “You… can’t… have… Aphrodite’s… favor!”
Persephone smirked, and tilted her head to the side. It wasn’t until a slender vine reached around to caress his face that he started to scream. Persephone had turned his arms into literal limbs, and they were quickly growing foliage.
His pain forgotten, he shrieked at her to turn him back.
When he saw she was not moved by his demands, he turned to pleading.
“Please.” Tears spilled from his eyes. “Please. I’ll do anything. Anything.”
“Anything?” Persephone asked.
“Yes! Just turn me back!”
“A favor,” Persephone requested. “To be collected at a future time.”
“Whatever you want! Do it! Do it now!”
But Persephone didn’t, and when Adonis realized she was making no move to reinstate his arms, he grew quiet.
“Do you know what a corpse lily is, Adonis?”
He glared at her and didn’t speak.
“Do not make me repeat myself, mortal. Yes or no?”
She dropped her glamour and took a threatening step forward.
Adonis’s eyes widened, and he wiggled away, whimpering, “No.”
“Pity. It is a parasitic flower that smells like decaying flesh. I am sure you are wondering what this has to do with you. It’s a wager. If you touch any woman without consent, I will turn you into one.”
Adonis went pale but managed to glare at her. “A wager usually implies I get something in return.”
She shook her head at his stupidity.
“You do,” she said, leaning close, “your life.”
For emphasis she held Minthe—the newly transformed mint plant— aloft, examining its green leaves. “She will make a fine addition to my garden.”
She snapped her fingers, and Adonis’s arms were restored. He floundered for a moment during the transition, but once he was on his feet again, she turned on her heels and walked away.
“Who the fuck are you?” he called after her. Persephone paused, and then turned to look at Adonis over her shoulder.
“I am Persephone, Goddess of Spring,” she answered, and disappeared.
***
Persephone stood outside her mother’s greenhouse. It was just as she remembered. An ornate metal structure covered in glass, nestled in the rich woods of Olympia. It was two stories, the ceiling was rounded, and at this moment, the sun shown in a way that made the whole thing look like gold.
It was a shame she hated being here, because it was breathtaking.
Inside, it smelled like her mother—sweet and bitter, like a bouquet of wildflowers. The scent made her heart ache. There was a part of her that missed her mother and mourned how their relationship had changed. She had never wanted to be a disappointment, but more than that, she didn’t want to be a prisoner.
Persephone spent time walking the paths, passing colorful beds of lilies and violets, roses and orchids, and a variety of trees with plump fruit. The flutter of life was all around her. The feeling was growing stronger and more familiar.
She stopped along the path, recalling all the dreams she’d had when trapped behind these walls. Dreams of sparkling cities and exciting adventures and passionate love. She’d found all of that and it had been beautiful and wicked and heartbreaking.
And she’d do it all again just to taste, to feel, to live again.
“Kore.”
Persephone cringed, as she always did when her mother used her childhood name. She turned and found Demeter standing a few feet away. The goddess looked proud, her face cold and unreadable.
“Mother.” Persephone nodded.
“I have been looking for you,” said Demeter, and her eyes fell to her wrist. “But I see you have come to your senses and returned to me of your own volition.”
“Actually, Mother, I came to say that I know what you did,” she said.
Her mother’s expression remained cold and distant.
“I don't know what you mean.”
“I know you kept me hidden here to prevent my powers from manifesting,” she said.
Demeter lifted her head a fraction. “It was for your own good. I only ever did what I thought was best.”
“What you thought was best,” Persephone repeated. “Didn't you ever consider how I might feel?”
“If you had just listened to me, none of this would have happened! You didn't know any different until you left. That’s when you changed.”
She said it like it was a horrible thing—like she resented who she had become, and maybe that was true.
“You’re wrong,” Persephone argued. “I wanted adventure. I wanted to live outside these walls. You knew that. I begged you.”
Demeter looked away.
“You never gave me a choice—”
“I couldn't!” she snapped, and then took a deep breath. “I suppose it didn't matter in the end. It all happened as the Fates had predicted.”
“What?”
Her mother glared. “When you were born, I went to the Fates and asked of your future. A goddess had not been born in ages and I worried for you. They told me you were destined to be a Queen of Darkness, the Bride of Death. Hades’ wife. I could not let that happen. I did the only thing I could do—kept you hidden and safe.”
“No, not safe,” Persephone said. “You did it so I would always need you, so you would never have to be alone.”
The two stared at each other for a moment and then Persephone said, “I know you do not believe in love, Mother, but you had no right to keep me from mine.”
Demeter blinked, obviously shocked by Persephone’s words. “Love? You can’t...love Hades.”
She wished she didn’t, then she wouldn’t feel this aching in her chest.
“See, that’s the problem with you trying to control my life. You’re wrong. You’ve always been wrong. I know I’m not the daughter you wanted, but I am the daughter you have, and if you have any wish to be in my life, you will let me live it.”
Demeter glared.
“So, this is it? You have come to tell me you’ve chosen Hades over me?”
“No, I came to tell you that I forgive you...for everything.”
Demeter’s expression was one of contempt.
“You forgive me? It is you who should be begging for my forgiveness. I did everything for you!”
“I do not need your forgiveness to live an unburdened life, and I most certainly will not beg for it.” Persephone waited. She wasn’t sur
e what she expected her mother to say—maybe that she loved her? That she wanted a relationship with her, and they would figure out this new normal?
But she said nothing, and Persephone felt her shoulders fall.
She was emotionally exhausted. What she wanted now more than anything was to be surrounded by people who loved her for who she was.
She was tired of fighting.
“Whenever you are ready to reconcile, let me know.”
Persephone snapped her fingers, intent on teleporting from the greenhouse, except that she remained where she was, trapped.
Demeter’s face darkened with a devious smile.
“I am sorry, my flower, but I cannot allow you to leave. Not when I have just managed to reclaim you once again.”
“I asked you to let me live.” Persephone’s voice shook.
“And you will. Here. Where you belong.”
“No.” Persephone’s fists curled.
“In time you will understand—this moment in our lives will be forgotten in the vastness of your lifetime.”
Lifetime. The word made Persephone breathless. She couldn’t imagine a lifetime locked in this place—a lifetime without adventure, without love, without passion.
She wouldn’t.
“Things will be as they were before.”
But things could never be as they were before, and Persephone knew it. She had a taste—a touch of darkness, and she would crave it the rest of her life.
When Persephone began to shake, so did the ground, and Demeter demanded, “What is the meaning of this, Kore?”
It was time for Persephone to smile.
“Oh, Mother. You don’t understand, but everything has changed.”
And out of the ground shot thick, black stalks. They rose until they shattered the glass of the greenhouse above, effectively breaking the spell Demeter had placed upon the prison. From the stalks, silver vines twisted, filling the space, breaking the structure, flattening flowers, and destroying trees.
“What are you doing?” Demeter screamed over the sounds of bending metal and breaking glass.
“Freeing myself,” Persephone replied and vanished.
CHAPTER XXVI – A TOUCH OF HOME
Graduation came and went in a flurry of black robes, blue and white tassels, and parties. It was a bittersweet end. Persephone had never felt prouder as she walked across that stage...or more alone.
Lexa had been spending more time with Jaison, she hadn’t heard from her mother since she destroyed the greenhouse, and she hadn’t returned to Nevernight or the Underworld since she’d left Hades tangled in her vines.
Her only distraction was work. Persephone had started full-time at New Athens News as an investigative journalist the week after graduation. She arrived early and stayed late, and when she had nothing left to do, she’d spend the evening deep in the Garden of the Gods practicing her magic.
She was getting better. The instinct to reach for her magic was stronger, and the things she grew no longer resembled dead vines. She was happy with her progress, and she found herself wishing she could share it with Hecate.
She missed Hecate, the souls, the Underworld.
She missed Hades.
Now and then she considered returning to the Underworld to visit. She knew Hades hadn’t revoked her favor, but she was too afraid, too embarrassed, and too ashamed. How was she supposed to explain her absence, and would they forgive her?
Persephone sat at her usual table at The Coffee House. She had just completed revisions on her final article on the God of the Dead, focusing on his wish to make the Underworld a beautiful realm for his people.
The Underworld is a second chance at life. A place where souls come together, unburdened, to heal.
Writing the article had been more painful than she expected. She’d written through tears and clenched teeth. As a result, the publication was delayed.
She hadn’t expected to be so emotional, but she guessed she’d gone through a lot in the last six months. The worry and stress over fulfilling the terms of her contract with Hades had taken a toll in so many ways. Against her better judgment, she had fallen for the god, and she had slowly been trying to figure out how to put the pieces of her heart back together.
The problem was, it didn’t fit together the same way.
She was changed.
And it was both beautiful and terrible. She had taken control of her life, severing relationships as she went. The people she trusted six months ago were not the people she trusted now.
The most painful part of it all was her mother’s betrayal and subsequent silence. After she’d destroyed the greenhouse, Demeter had kept her distance. Persephone wasn’t even sure where her mother had gone, though she suspected she was in Olympia.
Still, she had expected something from her mother—even an angry text.
Nothing was a stab in the heart.
Her phone beeped and she found a message from Lexa.
Ready for tonight?
It was Lexa’s birthday weekend and they were going out tonight to celebrate with Jaison, Sybil, Aro, and Xeres. Persephone was exited. It was another distraction.
She texted back, You know it! Have you made a decision?
She hadn’t decided where to celebrate yet. They’d both agreed Nevernight and La Rose were out of the question.
I’m thinking Bakkheia or The Raven. Lexa said. Bakkheia was a bar owned by Dionysus and The Raven was owned by Apollo. What do you think?
Hmm. Definitely The Raven.
But you hate Apollo’s music.
It was true. Persephone dreaded every album the God of the Sun released. She wasn’t sure why—something about the way he pronounced his words irritated her, and it was the only music that played at his club.
But it’s your birthday. Persephone reminded her. And, The Raven is more your style.
It’s settled. The Raven it is! Thanks, Persephone!
Despite seeing less of Lexa, Persephone was happy for her. Lexa was thriving with Jaison and she would forever be indebted to the two mortals for their service to her—especially Lexa who had stayed with her for a whole week while she reeled from her breakup with Hades, and had managed to keep Minthe the Mint Plant alive after Persephone had promptly forgotten her existence in the kitchen window.
She’d had plans to return the nymph to the Underworld and offer her to Hades, but she didn’t have the courage to face him.
She texted Lexa that she was heading out and started to pack her things when a shadow fell over her. She looked up into a familiar pair of dark, gentle eyes.
“Hecate!” Persephone stood and threw her arms around the goddess’s neck. “I miss you.”
Hecate returned her embrace, and she heard the woman inhale, as if she were relieved.
“I miss you, too, my dear.” She pulled away and studied Persephone's face, her brows knitted together over her caring eyes. “We all do.”
Guilt slammed into her, and she swallowed. She’d essentially been avoiding everyone. “Sit with me?”
“Of course.”
The Goddess of Witchcraft took a seat beside Persephone. “I hope I'm not interrupting.”
“No, just...working,” Persephone said.
The goddess nodded. The two were quiet for a moment. She hated the awkwardness between them.
“How is everyone?” she hedged.
“Sad,” Hecate said, and Persephone's heart hurt.
“You're really not one to beat around the bush, are you, Hecate?”
“Come back,” she said.
The Goddess of Spring couldn't look at Hecate. Her eyes burned.
“You know I can't,” Persephone said quietly.
“What does it matter that you found each other through this contract?” Hecate asked.
Persephone’s eyes widened, and she looked at the Goddess of Witchcraft. “Did he tell you?”
“I asked.”
“Then you know he deceived me.”
“Did he? As I recall,
he told you your contract had nothing to do with Aphrodite’s wager.”
“You cannot tell me that he didn't consider I might help him fulfill his contract with Aphrodite.”
“I am sure he considered it, but only because he was already in love with you. Was it so wrong for him to hope?”
Persephone sat, stewing in her silence. Was Hecate only here to attempt to convince her to return to Hades?
She knew the answer—but it was more complicated than a yes.
She was here to convince her to return to the Underworld, to a kingdom of people who had treated her like a queen, to her friends.
She knew Hecate was right. Did it really matter that they had found love for each other because of a contract? People found love in all sorts of ways.
The hardest thing though, was that when she’d told Hades she loved him, he hadn’t said it in return. He hadn’t said anything at all.
She felt Hecate watching her, and the goddess asked, “How do you think you fulfilled the terms of your contract?”
Persephone looked at her, confused. “I...grew something.”
It wasn’t beautiful. She wasn’t even sure it could be called a plant, but it was alive and that’s what mattered.
The goddess shook her head. “No. You fulfilled the contract because you created life within Hades. Because you brought life to the Underworld.”
Persephone looked away, closing her eyes against the words. She couldn’t hear this.
Then Hecate whispered, “It is bleak without you.”
Hecate took Persephone's hand. “Do you love him?”
The question brought tears to her eyes, and she wiped at them furiously before uttering a breathless, “Yes.” She sniffed. “Yes. I think I have loved him since the beginning. That’s why it hurts.”
Hades had challenged her to look at the whole picture, to not be blinded by her passion—except when it came to her passion for him.
“So, go to him. Tell him why you hurt, tell him how to fix it. Isn't that what you're good at?”
Persephone couldn't help laughing at that and then groaned, rubbing her eyes. “Oh, Hecate. He doesn't want to see me.”
“How do you know?” she asked.
“Don’t you think if he wanted me, he would have come for me?”
A Touch of Darkness (Hades & Persephone #1) Page 29