Coils

by Barbara Ann Wright

  Cressida thought along Persephone’s story again, searching for answers. “When she ate the pomegranate, she was bonded to Asphodel by the Fates, so can’t they let her go?”

  “What are you—” Adonis said.

  She waved him to be quiet, waiting for the gods to answer. They told her that the Fates weren’t holding her anymore. She was holding herself. Her belief in her own prison was so strong, she wouldn’t let herself be released. They said the only reason they could heal the harpe’s damage was because Persephone also wanted it gone.

  “When she ate the fruit of the Underworld,” Cressida said slowly, “she got caught, and she’s forever looping herself back to that moment, so she’s trapped here.”

  Adonis and Narcissus glanced at each other. “Maybe if she ate some ambrosia?”

  Adonis offered her some from the bag Cressida had given him, but she pushed it away. “Mother,” she said. Demeter’s comforting presence surrounded her, but only through Cressida. The gods were stuck where they were, too, left in the last home available to them, far even from the Isles of the Blessed, and they couldn’t leave it anymore. They didn’t have the power.

  And Cressida couldn’t give it to them. They were only speaking through her as if she was a version of the shade network, but it clearly wasn’t enough. Persephone needed to go home, or she’d be stuck in this endless circle of loneliness and impotent power.

  Persephone looked to Cressida with a stare so weighty it seemed to carry eternity. Cressida wanted to look away but couldn’t. Her eyes were drawn to the crown of the Underworld: a tool, the gods whispered, that should have let Persephone shape the Underworld as Cressida was doing, but she’d fallen too far inside herself to really use it.

  Adonis stroked her arm, tears dribbling down his cheeks. “She’s caught herself here, and we’re not helping. Everyone else believes she’s caught, too, so she’s doomed.”

  Persephone mumbled something about killing the ones you loved. She frowned hard before a few glowing white tears slipped down her cheeks.

  Cressida shook her head. “There are rules, even when someone’s doomed. The gods believe in deeds, and that means Persephone does, too. If someone makes a great enough sacrifice to free her, that should do it. She just has to be part of a different story.”

  June wriggled. “Cressi, what are you thinking?” More traces of Perseus left her face. “Let me up, Medusa, please!”

  “A new myth,” Cressida said. If June had the blood of gods inside her, that had to mean a bit of it floated in Cressida’s veins. “Like, the woman who traded places with Dread Persephone?”

  June’s eyes widened. “No!”

  “What?” Medusa asked.

  Cressida bent over Persephone again. “Is that what you want?”

  Persephone’s mouth worked for a moment. “I want to go home, Mother.” She trailed a touch as soft as flower petals down Cressida’s arm. “Home in time for tea.”

  Like so many other women of myth, she’d been done wrong, and Cressida had the opportunity to stop it, really stop it instead of just offering revenge. Well, hadn’t she been bashing heroes for their lack of nobility? This was a chance for real heroics, and if she didn’t step up, she’d forever call herself a hypocrite.

  June grabbed for her arm. “Stop! Medusa, stop her!”

  Medusa was looking at her in horror and fascination and something that might be pride. “Are you sure about this?”

  Cressida wanted to reassure them, but she didn’t want Persephone to wait any longer. Her wrong could be righted so easily.

  “Ye—”

  The ground exploded upward, cutting off Cressida’s air and her voice as she slammed into the pavement several yards away, everyone else scattered around her. The landscape twisted, making everyone cry out as buildings sprouted tentacles, and the streets became valleys of broken glass. Wild laughter echoed around them, and by the dread of the three visiting gods, Cressida knew two things: Medea had returned, and she’d brought Hecate with her.

  Chapter Sixteen

  As Medusa slammed into the ground, she felt she really should have seen this coming. Her team had seemed to gain the upper hand or at least stopped a big fight, and even though it sounded as if Cressida had been contemplating taking Persephone’s place as dread queen of the Underworld, it sounded like they were winning. And now, before she’d even had a chance to think about the fact that Cressida was claiming godhood or that she’d be around forever or even if Medusa should encourage her to take the job or leave it, they’d all been blown up.

  At least she could put off the decision a little longer.

  She’d managed to keep hold of the aegis while June had fallen off the back of it. That was a checkmark on the positive side. Medusa dragged herself upright, proving she had all her limbs, and they worked. Another plus. A few yards away, Cressida was standing. Check. And she had the harpe. Check, check. Persephone didn’t look to be getting up anytime soon, which could be a minus or a plus, depending on whether she turned her attention to them or if she focused on the sleek red Lamborghini Aventadore that had appeared in their midst.

  No flaming chariot for Hecate. Medusa briefly wondered if she actually drove the Underworld’s one car around its twisting streets or if it just appeared where she wanted it. Then all thought was driven away as Hecate stepped out in high-heeled sneakers that looked as if they’d been molded from solid gold. She wore a reimagined chiton, a one-shouldered number with an asymmetrical hem that hung past her knees on one side and stopped at mid-thigh on the other. Green silk, it fluttered behind her as she stepped forward and lifted mirrored sunglasses on top of her head, pushing back a mass of curls that fluttered through the color spectrum as she walked, matching the irises of her eyes.

  Medusa was at a loss for words or anything else. If they’d met in a bar, she would have offered to buy the whole place just for the chance of a smile from that beautiful face. Hecate’s figure made Medusa scroll through all her various pick-up lines and find all of them wanting. If Hecate had said, “I win this fight,” Medusa feared the first words out of her own mouth would have been, “Okay.”

  Hecate smiled, and her eyeteeth shone like diamonds. “Looks as if I’m late to the party.”

  Medea swaggered to her side from the other car door, smug look firmly in place.

  Hecate tsked as she surveyed the gathered people, the Elysian Fields bare for everyone to see, and Persephone laid out on the ground. “Someone’s going to have a hell of a cleaning bill.”

  She strode toward Persephone. Medusa looked for Aix and found her hovering over her spectral daughters. Good, they were out of the way then. Medusa hurried to Cressida, ready to do whatever she wanted and was relieved to see that her mouth stayed closed this time, though Medusa didn’t know how she managed it. Good that one of them had some decorum, she supposed.

  “Did you finally find someone willing to give you the story you were looking for, darling?” Hecate nudged Persephone gently with one gold-plated toe. “Poor, sad, little thing.”

  Persephone frowned. “I didn’t order this.” Adonis struggled to her side and leaned over her as if to shield her. Narcissus held tightly to Adonis’s shoulders as if he wanted to yank him away but couldn’t move. Hecate ignored both of them.

  Cressida took a step forward. “You were supposed to be her ally!”

  Hecate lifted a silvery eyebrow. “I heard you kowtowed just to the image of me. Where’s your worship now, mortal?”

  Cressida lifted the harpe.

  Hecate laughed, the sound as delightful as a tinkling bell. “Everyone’s tired of having her in charge.” She nodded to Persephone. “But a mortal will only take the throne…well, over my dead body.”

  Everyone moved at once. Medea hurled a ball of fire, but Aix shot forward and swallowed it. Cressida, lovely fool that she was, charged Hecate. Medusa, also a fool, charged with her.

  Hecate turned her gaze Medusa’s way. Medusa lifted the aegis, ready to channel her former power,
but the street turned to gelatin, and she sank to her knees. Cressida slapped the ground, turning it back to normal. Hecate chuckled and stepped away when Cressida swung the harpe wildly; all the grace she’d shown with the Hecatonchires appeared to have vanished.

  Medusa pulled herself out of the jelly and thought hard on what powers Hecate truly possessed. She could manipulate the fabric of the Underworld, but Cressida seemed to have tapped into that, too. She couldn’t obliterate them, or she would have done it already, and Medusa wondered if that was why she wanted the crown of the Underworld, if her power had slipped so much that only a relic like the crown could bring it back. Hecate retained more power than the other gods because she lived smack in the middle of those who’d once worshipped her. The other gods removed themselves, and so their power waned, but Hecate seemed as vital as ever.

  But appearances could be deceiving.

  Medusa reached Cressida’s side, and they advanced together, Medusa covering each of them with the shield.

  Hecate laughed. “Come on! Think what fun it will be with magic back in the world.”

  “A world of Titans and gods?” Cressida asked. “No, thank you. I’ve read the old tales.”

  And if Hecate couldn’t blink them out of existence, how the hell could she bring magic back to the mortal world? Did she really think ruling the Underworld would make her that powerful? It hadn’t made Persephone or Hades that powerful, and it couldn’t just be because Persephone was stuck as she was.

  Hecate waved a hand, and the pavement erupted around them again, pulling itself into a monster of asphalt and manhole covers. Cressida fell back, Medusa with her.

  “I can’t hear Cronos!” Cressida said. “It’s as if he doesn’t want me to win.”

  “I guess he believes her,” Medusa said.

  “What the hell am I doing?” Cressida said. “I don’t know how to fight like this.”

  June stepped up beside her, her shoulders squared. “I do.” She grabbed the harpe from Cressida’s hands and faced the asphalt monster. “Fight with your belief, Cressi. Let me take care of this.”

  Cressida eyed her warily for a moment, and Medusa made a fist, ready to punch her lights out if even a trace of Perseus shone through. June gave them a wink, and Cressida smiled. Without the need to win paradise, maybe Perseus had sunk back into her soul. But even as herself, June was still a hero. She charged the monster.

  Hecate went for Persephone again. Cressida frowned, and a wall of sidewalk reared up to stop Hecate’s progress. She stuttered to a halt, sighing, but before she could turn their way, the ground moved like a shaken sheet, and Cressida lashed a hand out. The pavement monster hurtled toward Hecate just after June cut a chunk out of it.

  Hecate blinked out of its way, and her expression went from amused to annoyed. “Enough of this mortal bullshit. Cerberus!” The air shimmered and stretched, twisting itself into a long tunnel. Darkness reached from it, and a running shape appeared in the middle, small but growing larger by the second.

  Medusa and Cressida dove to the side as Cerberus rocketed from the tunnel, his three heads slavering. “I didn’t know she could summon Cerberus!” Cressida called.

  “Me neither!” Medusa said.

  Hecate laughed at them. “Dogs are part of my portfolio, darling. How did you think you got past him in the first place? Did you think you were just lucky? I’ve been waiting for a plucky mortal or a returning hero for a long time, but if you’re not going to kill Persephone, you’ve outlived your usefulness. Now, Cerberus, my pet, do your duty and return this annoying mortal to the land of the living.”

  Cerberus darted forward, and Medusa lifted the aegis, but he closed his six eyes; he didn’t need them to find his way around when he had three noses. He reached for Cressida with one mouth, but she ducked. Another head dipped for her, and Medusa batted it away with the aegis, but that left one more, and there was nothing to stop his jaws from closing over Cressida’s body.

  June leapt in front of her, uttering a war cry she probably hadn’t used since her days as Perseus. Cerberus’s mouth closed around her, but he didn’t clamp down, and Medusa nearly cried out in relief that Cerberus was always a good one for following orders: Hecate had instructed him to return a mortal to the living world. Once he had June in his teeth, he disappeared, and the harpe clattered to the ground.

  *

  Cressida cried out as June disappeared, worry for her aunt warring with pride and love, though she’d noticed that Cerberus hadn’t bitten June in half. June had won in the struggle between who she’d been and who she was, but Cressida had always known June would be victorious, or that’s what she’d tell her aunt if they ever saw each other again.

  Which wouldn’t be anytime soon if Hecate had her way. Cressida’s power of belief couldn’t rival Hecate’s. Every change she made was unmade or redone in moments. Even with the help of the three spectral gods, Cressida wasn’t as powerful. Persephone probably was, but she seemed content to lie in the street and mope. Her belief that she was stuck as she was had no doubt prevented Hecate from removing her before. And maybe Hecate volunteering to be the new dread queen wasn’t a story Persephone could accept. Since it would have stuck Hecate in Asphodel, Hecate probably couldn’t accept it either.

  “This is impossible!” Medusa yelled as the street turned to butter.

  Cressida agreed as Hecate laughed. She couldn’t help feeling that the goddess was toying with them. As Cressida wasn’t really part of the Underworld, Hecate didn’t seem able to shift her, but Cressida felt a tingle as if Hecate was trying to move Medusa elsewhere, and only Cressida’s need was keeping her there. Cressida hoped the rest of their allies stayed out of the fight, or Hecate would just believe them somewhere else, and there they’d go. Maybe they knew that. Or maybe they were smarter than her and had decided not to get involved.

  She picked up the harpe again, but Cronos stayed silent, though she could feel his frustration. He wanted out, but he also really wanted to tell her where to slash. And even though Medusa wielded the power of the aegis, Hecate simply lowered her mirrored shades, and their reflective surface turned one hapless bystander to stone.

  This is stupid, this is stupid, her brain repeated. How did heroes manage this? Maybe they had more faith in their swords than she did. She was pretty sure Hecate could keep her busy forever. Maybe she was drawing this conflict out because she had nothing better to do. Maybe it was another way to alleviate her boredom.

  That made Cressida angrier than anything else. When a wall of cacti sprang up in front of her, she set it on fire.

  “When I say,” Medusa said, “run around the—”

  “No!” Cressida nearly threw the harpe to the ground. “This is idiotic. I can’t out-magic her, and you don’t do the whole swords and shield thing.”

  “Giving up already?” Hecate called. “Everyone will be so disappointed.”

  Cressida resisted the urge to chuck the harpe at her, but then her words sank in. “Everyone, now there’s an idea.” There had to be some people who didn’t want Hecate in charge of the Underworld and who also didn’t want Persephone to die. Someone had to believe that she couldn’t do what she promised, especially when Cressida had done more for the regular folk of the Underworld lately than any of their gods. Cressida looked at Persephone, who tapped the side of her head, just under the crown. Cressida didn’t know if it was a random movement or a hint, but she knew what she had to do.

  She sent a wave of glass at Hecate. “We need your sisters to tap into the shade network. Let’s battle belief with belief.”

  Medusa grinned wickedly. “Don’t die while I’m gone.” She pushed the aegis into Cressida’s hands. “Be careful where you aim this.”

  Oh yes, easy, not a tall order at all. Cressida faced Hecate again. She’d turned the glass into a shower of rose petals and watched the retreat of Medusa with a quirked eyebrow. Cressida brought the aegis up and tried to look as fierce as her aunt but couldn’t help feeling like a child playing dres
s-up.

  “So, now your friends and your aunt have abandoned you,” Hecate said.

  “My aunt will be safe in the living world.”

  “Leaving you all alone with me.” She smiled brightly. “There’s no reason we can’t be friends. You opened the gates to paradise, but if no one remembers you when you die, it won’t matter. I can remember you. I can keep you from becoming a shade. Worship me, and the rewards will be great.”

  “And all I have to do is kill Persephone?”

  “She’s weak, but she’s still stubborn. It’ll be easy for you, difficult for me. How’s that for a start to your new life, a god owing you a favor?”

  And it was tempting. Guaranteed power versus the slim chance of winning. She’d always imagined herself being one of the people who took the money on a game show rather than the ones who gave it all up for what was behind the mystery door.

  But not for the price of murder. Everything seemed to come back to that here.

  “Sorry,” Cressida said, “I won’t kill her for you. But if you want to leave now, no hard feelings.”

  Hecate laughed and lifted a hand then stopped, frowning. Cressida felt the air coalesce around her as if holding her tight. The shade fog drifted closer, and Cressida felt the landscape solidifying as Medusa’s sisters spread the word through the Underworld that the mortal who’d allowed them into paradise needed their help. Cressida couldn’t manage it alone, but the collective belief of the Underworld descended on Hecate and held her in place.

  Many wills surrounded them, including the heroes from the Elysian Fields. Even if they didn’t like defying the gods, they always seemed to appreciate moxie.

  Hecate was held fast, and Cressida could feel Cronos stirring, mumbling that now would be a good time to strike. Seemed he couldn’t ignore a helpless victim. The heroes around Cressida called to her to plunge the harpe into Hecate’s chest, but Cressida hesitated. She’d never killed anyone; she didn’t want to start with a god. If she was going to take Persephone’s place she didn’t want to start her reign with murder, no matter who thought it was justified.