Lexi nodded and let Cerberus lead the way.
There was too much to process, and her mind whirred out of control. Hades was bringing people back to life? And now he was responsible for telling a man to kill a building-full of people?
Or was that last bit the delusion of an injured and grieving man? He recognized Lexi, so the blame fell to her?
She swore her body was ready to snap from the tension winding through it. This was almost worse than watching Actaeon and Heracles fight Prometheus and Hades. Then, the outcomes were limited and obvious—someone would win, and someone would lose.
She didn’t know if this situation was related to any of the other strange happenings—to Hades, to her—or if it was all randomly unfortunate.
She and Cerberus stepped into Icarus’ pocket reality of a workshop. Nausea filled her, carried on a fight-or-flight reflex with no outlet.
The instant the rest of the world was closed on the other side of the door, she gave in to the weakness pulsing inside. She leaned against a nearby wall and tried to breathe.
Cerberus paced a few feet away.
“Don’t do that.” She needed to step outside her head, and that meant speaking aloud. “Please? I need...” What? Comfort. An ear. To not feel so completely out of her fucking depth.
To learn how to cope with the world she was a part of.
He stood in front of her and rested a hand on her cheek. The touch helped calm her. “You only ever have to ask.” Cerberus’ reassurance ran through her like a salve.
“Thank you.” How had she survived for so long without something like this? How did anyone?
“Talk to me. Even if the words don’t make sense to you, it’ll help, to get them out,” he said.
“That man out there... What he said... What if he’s right? What if this is my fault?”
“It’s not. I promise. You don’t even know these people.”
That was exactly what she wanted to hear. So why didn’t it comfort her? “But Hades—”
“What?” Cerberus searched her face.
The door opened, but she didn’t pay attention. There was no threat in the air. It was Actaeon or Icarus, or both.
“Given that people are using his name, odds are good that Hades is behind a lot of this.” She needed to sort out her concerns enough to vocalize them. “Especially if people are sacrificing themselves in his name.”
“Which we haven’t seen, but either way, that’s him. Not you.”
Not reassuring. “But it’s like Actaeon says—so much of this stuff is self-fulfilling prophecy. I went after Mom with you and him, because everyone was working so hard to either make some bit of fate happen or prevent it.
“If you hadn’t been there, if he hadn’t been there, if we hadn’t found Persephone... Cassandra wouldn’t have decided Actaeon wasn’t coming for her, she wouldn’t have let Hades use her as a vessel—”
“And if Aphrodite hadn’t wiped your memory, you wouldn’t have gotten in Actaeon's cab.” Icarus interrupted. “If Cassandra hadn’t worn the siren earring to suppress her visions, she wouldn’t have been assaulted by them once they came back, and she might have kept a grip on her sanity. If Persephone hadn’t run... If Hades, Zeus, and Poseidon weren’t massive dicks... Do you see how this is a destructive path to go down?
“It doesn’t matter if you’re the butterfly or the ripple of air its wings cause. You can’t take responsibility for the world’s woes because you made what you felt was the best decision at the time.”
Lexi stared at him, words gone. The edge in his retort dug under her skin. And the matter-of-fact nature of his words anything but soothing.
It helped her feel better anyway.
He gave her a dry smile. “That being said, this Hades thing is right on the cusp of growing out of control. He needs to be eliminated.”
“So you’ll build him a new prison?” She let relief fill her.
“No.” Icarus’s response shattered her hope. “I’ll help you find a way to kill him, but I won’t build another prison.”
Her frustration surged forward full force. “What if death isn’t an option? Zeus said it wasn’t.”
“Zeus is a lying sack of shit. Everyone can be destroyed. We’ll find a way. No prison. Period. End of story. No room for discussion.”
She clenched her fist until her knuckles ached. How did this reasonable man flip to being the exact opposite?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Icarus didn’t want to explain this. There was the risk of someone else plucking the knowledge and using it in less-than-pleasant ways.
But after spending a few hours with Lexi, he had a much bigger concern—she was going to insist he do it anyway, despite the threat to her.
He didn’t want to put anyone through what Persephone went through. He’d hated doing it once, but it was supposed to be a sure thing. Persephone was never supposed to be in danger.
Now that the labyrinth had been destroyed and he saw flaws in its construction that he didn’t know how to fix, he couldn’t ask that of someone again. Especially Lexi. He didn’t know why, but he was drawn to her. It was a little maddening.
“Why are you being so stubborn about this?” Lexi was watching him.
He couldn’t vocalize his answer. “Why are you? I’m offering death. A way to be done with this entire thing.”
“Hades can’t be killed,” Cerberus said.
“Because no one has done it yet? If that were proof, then any god still alive would be unkillable.” Icarus moved away from the group and deeper into his workroom. He didn’t like the three sets of eyes watching him. “I’m saying let’s put our heads together and figure out how to make it happen. We have the man who was his most loyal servant for millennia, one of the most powerful heroes out there, an actual magical genius, and his own flesh and blood. Between us, we should be able to find an answer.”
Actaeon stepped in front of him. The man had menacing down on a good day, and all he had to do was stand there. Today, with half his suit burned away and irritation marring his face, he was borderline terrifying. “What aren’t you saying?” he asked. “And why?”
“If you knew what, you’d know why.” Icarus didn’t have a problem telling him. They disagreed on a lot of things, but Actaeon could keep a secret. This wasn’t the time or place to discuss it, though.
“You’re going to explain eventually, anyway.” Lexi’s voice was clear and calm, and when he looked up, she held his gaze. “So we can keep running in circles, or I can say, please, and you can tell us what the issue is.”
He chuckled at how simple she made it sound. As if the situation were a matter of black and white. Then again, he was making it that, forcing them to choose between death or capture for Hades. “Fine. Here’s the deal. The reason the labyrinth worked was Persephone.”
“Who was the key.” When Lexi said the words, Cerberus flinched.
“And it wasn’t because I sat in here and thought, how can I make this entire setup more convoluted? It takes a lot of energy to bind a god, and Hades is as strong as anyone. I couldn’t figure out a way to guarantee the box would hold him, unless I had someone with his power running through them, to help me make the seal.”
Icarus paused and watched as the collective Oh, spread through the room. “The harpies don’t serve him. Persephone is gone. Cerberus is no longer his.”
“And that leaves me.” Lexi let out a long sigh. “There’s no issue, then. Let’s do it.”
“No. Definitely not.” Cerberus spat out his disagreement before Icarus could.
That was an easy sell. Icarus still had to convince Lexi, who was glaring at Cerberus, though.
“Not your decision,” she said.
Actaeon shook his head and stepped forward. “They’re right. You can’t do this.”
Icarus was grateful for the backup. “Even if you put your foot down and insist, it doesn’t happen unless I make it happen.”
Lexi looked between all three of them. and let out a
bitter chuckle. “Hi. I’m sorry. Did every single one of you miss the part of the last hour or so, where some guy tried to blow up an entire apartment building because Hades told him to? Have you forgotten that when Hades was here, at full strength, he wiped out thousands, to prove he could? I’m one person. A person who’s tired of sitting on my fucking ass and being helpless, while a god I helped free kills off the population.
“If the solution is to bind him through me, if that saves more than one other person, it’s worth it.” The conviction and sincerity in her voice was as alluring as the rest of her.
Icarus didn’t agree with her logic, though. “Persephone wasn’t the only seal, she was the”—he fumbled for the right word—“glue holding the spell together. The trials were there to distract, in case a well-meaning hero came along. But they were never meant to trap anyone, just to point you in the wrong direction.” He fixed a pointed glare at all of them.
“It did,” Actaeon said. “Until Aphrodite deposited us at Death’s door, to get us out. Perhaps your biggest issue was a breakdown in communication.”
Icarus let his stare turn withering. “Thank you for the vote of confidence.” Sarcasm dripped from his voice. “Perhaps I’m not stupid enough to think any god was honest with me about what they put in place or their reasons for it. None of that changes my core point. Killing Persephone should have weakened the prison, not destroyed it.”
“And...?” Cerberus let the word hang in the air.
This part was harder than letting Lexi know she was a solution. “And I was wrong. I don’t know where I fucked up. I can’t tell you why it didn’t work.”
“That’s lovely.” Cerberus sounded snide. “Lot of help any of this is.”
Icarus didn’t need anyone reminding him he’d screwed this up. “Fuck you. I’ll get it.”
Lexi stepped in the middle of all of them, arms crossed. “In the meantime, if I may—how about we don’t take any options of the table? Zeus was hiding something when he said Hades can’t be killed. Let’s figure it out. If all else fails, put the cell in place and let me seal it, to buy us a little more time.”
“Sure. Sounds like a plan.” Icarus was willing to say anything, even lie, if it meant he could put off binding her to a new prison.
Lexi pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. It was as if she saw right through him. “Next time, mean it.” Her tone was cold.
He had a feeling he’d crossed the wrong line, and searched for a way to sidestep rapidly. “Go back to what you said about figuring things out. Zeus isn’t exactly going to put up with intense questioning.”
“No, but between the three of you, how many gods, servants, heroes, and scholars do you know? Someone has to have information about why Zeus would say what he did. And even if it’s pieces here and there, we can build a bigger picture, right?”
And she was back to being sexy.
Actaeon seemed to consider her words. “What if we don’t get enough pieces?”
“We don’t get any if we don’t look,” Cerberus said.
Icarus clapped. “Great. It’s settled, then.”
LEXI WAS BEYOND FRUSTRATED. She didn’t think there was a word for what raged inside. It was a sour cocktail of powerlessness, irritation, and fury. Would she be like these three in a century? Would it take two, before mortal life wasn’t valuable?
That wasn’t quite fair of her, but the way they were acting...
She swallowed the feeling. “Who do we talk to? What can I do?”
Cerberus winced, and her heart sank further. “We’re going to need a lot of help with research. Here or back at the house,” he said.
“You can hang out here.” Icarus nodded at a doorway on a far wall. “That’s a kind of electronic version of a siren gate. It sits at the apex of a ley line, and it’ll take us anywhere else that has one. That makes this a good place to check in. I have a lot of access to information. We need eyes on that.”
“And you’re going to do best lying low. People aren’t reacting so well to you, and we don’t know which gods will be the same.” There was Actaeon, with the blunt reality of the situation.
Lexi wanted to pout. Stomp her feet, cross her arms, and throw a tantrum. A little whisper in the back of her head insisted she’d get her way if she did. And with more than just Cerberus.
She didn’t want them to yield because she demanded it. She was simply frustrated that they were right, and she didn’t have more to offer. That had to change. “All right. Reading, I can do. Where’s everyone else going?”
“Athena,” Actaeon said. “We want knowledge—”
“We start with the goddess of knowledge.” Cerberus finished the thought. “I’m going to go down my list of contacts.”
Lexi hoped they weren’t the same contacts that led him to her, because that took nearly forty years. She made sure the thought was tucked deep, away from him.
“And if there’s anyone I can take you to meet that won’t endanger the conversation, I will. We will.” Actaeon probably meant the words to be reassuring.
Instead, they were a reminder that she was an obstacle. Someone to be worked around, rather than with. She didn’t want the thought to make her bitter. Given they wouldn’t even let her do the one thing she was qualified for—locking Hades away from this world—it was difficult to hold onto good will.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Actaeon wasn’t letting Lexi become a key to a prison for Hades. It didn’t matter what he had to do, in order to stop her. He wouldn’t allow it.
If it was really as simple as hunting down an alternate answer, he’d make that happen. He’d apologize to people he’d wronged in the past. Beg for information. Be amicable to the gods. Whatever it took.
He had to admit Icarus’ gate was a neat trick. A control panel offered a list of all available destinations. He had a stop to make before Athena. Fortunately, it let him use the same gate.
He’d have to do a little traveling, but that would be the case anyway. It wasn’t like a bus line or even an airline, with stops in every major city in the world. There were frequently entire countries between two available points.
But it was faster than flying, and far less expensive than bartering with a god for the travel.
In Italy, he rented a car to get to the coast, then hopped a ferry back to Greece.
Given how things went with Cassandra last time, this could be a bad idea. But if Hades could bring back the dead, as with Steve Jobs, there was as good a chance as not that she fell into that category.
It took several hours to make the trip, and the time alone was disconcerting. Just a month ago, this was status quo for him. How did he already miss having others around?
One person, specifically.
That wasn’t quite true. He was even learning to enjoy Cerberus’ company. And it was good to see Icarus again.
The train of thought didn’t sit well with Actaeon, though he couldn’t say why.
The exterior of Apollo’s home, from the courtyard to the foliage, to the building itself, was a mirror image of Artemis’, but cast in warm-colored stone instead of cool.
In the mid-morning light it was stunning. As if it were built to bring the sun to life.
This was a bad idea. It would piss Lexi off. Actaeon didn’t want to confront Cassandra again. But he needed answers, and Cassandra had had Hades in her head. She had to remember something.
Actaeon knocked, and his uncle answered.
“I could do this the way you did, and slam the door in your face.” Apollo’s greeting was dry.
Actaeon gave him a grim smile. “I appreciate your being the bigger man.” He had to grit his teeth, to keep the sarcasm from building too sharply. “May I speak with Cassandra?”
“No.”
Actaeon should have expected this. He was too distracted, and that was bad. “Would you like to ask what she thinks?”
“Hmm... No. That came out wrong. She’s already said she’d rather not see you. I have a good idea of what she
thinks.”
This was ludicrous. Should Actaeon make this a demand, or say please? “Will you tell her I stopped by?”
“I will do that. But don’t hold your breath waiting for a call.”
Actaeon didn’t like this, but he tempered his irritation. He didn’t know how Cassandra would react if he forced his way into this house, and he needed her to talk to him.
Athena was his next stop. She owned one of the smaller islands, so it meant another ferry ride. Fortunately, she was a favorite local deity, so it was easy to find a boat heading in the right direction.
The trick would be getting her attention. It was her island, people made pilgrimages, and she even left portions of her home open for worship, but it was rare for her to make an appearance.
Between buying a ticket, waiting for the next ship, and the ride, it was early afternoon before he reached Donoussa.
He disembarked with the other passengers. Most of them followed the signs to the gift shop. From there, they could tour the island, pay homage to Athena, then come back here and buy woven trinkets and wooden statues.
Athena had a stronger base of worship than most of the gods. Subtle, but powerful. The sand and plants here almost hummed with faith. Every one of these tourists who bought something stamped with her name, who took it home and displayed it, was offering her a prayer.
He broke away from the group and followed a small path that wound away from the buildings.
There were other people back here—some tourists, but most employees. Signs marked the area, requesting that guests please be respectful and not disturb off-duty workers.
Athena had blessed each marker to carry the same suggestion as the words. Most visitors would read one, then felt compelled to head in the other direction.
Actaeon wasn’t here for an employee. He’d reached a row of cabins for those workers who chose to live onsite.
There was a cabin at the end that most people thought stayed vacant. That was his destination. He entered Athena’s house without knocking, and paused in the entryway.
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