“Why aren’t you talking to him?”
“You don’t think I tried? He told me I had to go. He wasn’t going to risk losing you.”
“If he really meant that, he would apologize,” she muttered under her breath.
“Look, I know you don’t want to hear this but...Hades is an idiot. He’s probably thinking you want space and the more he gives you the better.”
“You’re just saying that because you want me to ask him for your job back.”
“And my home,” she said shamelessly.
Persephone lifted a brow. “Didn’t you call it a shithole last night?”
“It is a shithole, but it was my shithole and it had a bed,” she said. “Which was far better than the park bench I found last night.”
Hindsight is twenty-twenty, she thought.
The two stared at each other for a long moment before Persephone asked, “Why I should help you? You weren’t even thankful for what Hades gave you.”
Plus, you cheated on him.
“Because I’m an idiot, too. I guess I thought I had more...leverage. Turns out, I have nothing. I don’t even understand this world. I barely made it here because crossing your streets are almost impossible,” she paused, and looked away, and when she spoke again, her voice quivered. “Imagine waking up in a world that doesn’t even resemble the one you left. It’s...frightening. It’s...the worst punishment.”
Leuce’s shoulders fell and Persephone suddenly realized she could relate to her more than she had wanted to admit. She’d been in a similar situation four years ago. She sighed and checked her watch. She couldn’t believe what she was about to say.
“Look, I have a few more hours of work left. You can hang out in the lounge until I’m off. I can’t...promise I’ll talk to Hades today, but...eventually. Until then...you can stay with me.”
Leuce’s eyes widened. “A-are you sure?”
“You’ll have to sleep on the couch,” she said. “But...yeah.”
“Thank you. Thank you, Persephone.”
The goddess stiffened as the nymph threw her arms around her. After a moment, she pulled away.
“You won’t regret this, I promise.”
She sure hoped not.
Persephone didn’t return to working on the exclusive. Instead, she continued to research Apollo. At the end of the day, she copied everything she found into a word document and emailed it to herself before gathering her things and retrieving Leuce from the lounge. Together, they left the Acropolis through the front, braving the waiting crowd to find Antoni waiting outside Hades’ black Lexus. He opened the door as they approached, smiling.
“My lady,” he said.
Antoni’s eye become menacing as his gaze fell upon her Leuce.
“What’s she doing with you?”
Persephone’s brows rose and she looked from the cyclops to the nymph. “You know Leuce?”
“Yes,” he hissed. “Once a traitor always a traitor.”
Leuce rolled her eyes. “Don’t be dramatic.”
“It’s alright, Antoni,” Persephone interrupted. “I’m helping her.”
The cyclops pressed his lips tight and said nothing as the two women slid into the backseat. Once the door was shut, Leuce looked at Persephone.
“Does that crowd wait for you every day?”
“Yes.”
“All because of Hades?”
“Yes.”
The nymph looked out the window. “That’s insane.”
“It is insane,” Persephone agreed. “I hate it.”
“When I was...alive,” Leuce said. “In ancient times, the gods were feared and revered. Their worshippers were serious about honoring their gods. It wasn’t...this...false obsession.”
Persephone grimaced. “Welcome to the modern world.”
Antoni dropped them off at Persephone’s apartment. Before he left, the cyclops took Persephone aside, “I’ll have to tell him Leuce is with you. He will want to know.”
She shrugged. “Tell him.”
Antoni frowned. “You’ll talk to him soon, won’t you, my lady?”
Persephone was surprised by his question. She wondered how much Antoni knew about her fight with Hades.
Her frown matched his. “I don’t know,” she said. “Probably. Right now, I am angry.”
He nodded. “I’ll see you tomorrow, my lady.”
She didn’t say anything, and turned to lead Leuce into the apartment, finding Sybil at the kitchen bar. She drew her forearm across her nose and started wiping at her face as soon as they entered.
“Sybil, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Everything’s fine.”
But it was obvious she was lying. Her voice was thick, and her eyes were red. Persephone peered over her shoulder to find a rejection email for a job.
“Sybil,” Persephone said gently, placing a hand on her arm.
“I knew it would be hard, but I don’t think I realized how difficult. No one wants a god’s discarded...plaything.”
“You are no such thing, Sybil,” Persephone said quickly.
“That’s not how the world sees it,” she said. “My worth is equal to the desire a god had for me. It has been since my powers manifested. Now I don’t even have those.”
Sybil turned into Persephone and sobbed against her chest. The goddess stood there, soothing her friend.
“It’s going to be okay,” Persephone said. “I’ll help in any way I can. Let me talk to Hades. I’m sure they need more help at The Cypress Foundation.”
She’d been so angry about Leuce, she’d forgotten to ask about openings.
“I can’t ask that of you, Persephone,” Sybil said, pulling away.
“You’re not asking.” She offered what she hoped was a comforting smile.
Persephone introduced Leuce to Sybil and poured three glasses of wine. Persephone was starting to feel like she was running a home for displaced women. They sat in the living room, watching Titans After Dark and talking about life. At some point, the inevitable topic of Apollo made its way into their conversation, and the longer they spoke, the angrier they became.
“He’s as horrible as I remember,” Leuce commented.
“Oh, girl, you don’t even know,” Sybil said, she took a drink from her glass. “He is so controlling. He punishes his lovers for being independent! It’s pathetic!”
“Can you believe Hades told me I couldn’t write about him?” Persephone said.
“If you want to write about Apollo, you write about Apollo!” Leuce said.
They were all on their fourth glass of wine. Despite this, Persephone expected Sybil to protest. Instead, she said, “Get the laptop, Seph!”
Persephone grinned and ran into her room to grab her computer. When she came back, she sat cross-legged on the sofa.
“Write this down,” Sybil directed. “Apollo, known for his charm and beauty, has a secret—he cannot stand rejection.”
“Oh, that’s good!” Leuce encouraged.
“Oh, oh! Hold on,” Persephone said, typing quickly, the words coming faster than her fingers would move. When she was finished, she read the piece aloud:
“The evidence is overwhelming. I would have his many ex-lovers vouch for me, but they either begged to be saved from his wily pursuits and were turned into trees or died horrible deaths as a result of his punishment.”
“Yes!” Leuce cried.
Persephone continued, adding the stories of Daphne, the nymph who was turned into a tree, and Princess Cassandra, whose accurate predictions were dismissed.
“Cassandra cried that Greeks were hidden in the Trojan Horse but was ignored. Which begs the question how noble can Apollo truly be? When he fought on the side of Troy, yet compromise their victory, all because he was given the cold shoulder?”
“Gods, he’s so terrible,” Sybil said. “I don’t know why I didn’t see it before.”
“He’s abusive,” Persephone said. “Don’t blame yourself.”
“You sho
uld say that in the article!” Leuce said. “Apollo is an abuser—he has a need to control and dominate. It’s not about communication or listening, it’s about winning.”
They continued like that for hours, until Sybil and Leuce could no longer keep their eyes open. With the two asleep on the couch, Persephone was pinned against the armrest. The pallid glow from her computer hurt her eyes, but she continued to revise what they’d written together. The result was a critical and slightly hostile article about the God of Music. Persephone excluded Sybil’s story, even though she’d contributed a few lines illustrating her own experiences with the god. She didn’t want Apollo to retaliate against the oracle.
The more Persephone read and reread the piece, the angrier she got and before she could think it through, she composed an email to Demetri and sent the article. She felt triumphant for all of two seconds—before she scrambled from the couch, ran into the bathroom, and threw up in the toilet.
You are in so much trouble, she thought as she sagged against the bathroom wall. Her stomach felt like it was boiling, a combination of too much wine and guilt.
Apollo did this to himself. She thought, reminding herself why she’d sent the article. He deserves this. This is about justice, about giving a voice to his victims.
What about Hades?
Her stomach lurched and Persephone got to her knees just as bile rose to the back of her throat. She vomited again. Her nose and throat burned and all she could taste was bitter, acidic wine. She knelt for a while, breathing through her mouth until she felt steady enough to rise to her feet.
When she looked in the mirror, she didn’t recognize herself. She looked more like a soul that had just arrived in the Underworld, pale and shivering.
“Hades kept secrets,” she said aloud, as if that explained why she’d gone back on her word.
You kept secrets, she reminded herself as she rinsed her mouth and brushed her teeth. You didn’t tell him about Demetri’s ultimatum.
“That’s different,” she met her gaze in the mirror.
How?
It was different because it was her battle. She hadn’t wanted Hades’ help fighting it.
“It’s different because that secret won’t hurt him,” she said.
But the secret he’d kept about Leuce? It hurt.
She didn’t like the words that followed. They grew like menacing clouds, a storm of tormenting words in her mind: This will hurt Hades.
She turned out the lights.
CHAPTER VIII - ABDUCTION
When Persephone arrived at work the next day, the crowd outside the Acropolis had grown to include members of Apollo’s cult—worshippers and die-hard fans. They were obvious because they wore wreaths of laurel in their hair and gold dust like warpaint. Even from inside Hades’ Lexus, Persephone heard angry shouts.
“Liar!”
“Apologize to Apollo!”
“You’re just jealous!”
“Bitch!”
Clearly her article had been published.
Antoni looked in the rearview mirror at her.
“Would you like me to walk you to the door, my lady?”
Persephone stared out the window. Security had already approached the car and were prepared to escort her.
Gods. What had she done?
“No, Antoni. That’s alright.”
He nodded once. “I’ll return for you this afternoon.”
When she left the car, she was thrust into a hostile and unfamiliar world. Everything was so loud, and she felt everyone’s emotions—anger and hate, anxiety and fear—they weighed upon her chest, smothering her.
“Come, my lady,” one of the security guards said. He stuck his arm out as if to corral her but didn’t touch her. She looked at him, blinking.
“Did you call me ‘my lady’?” she asked.
The guard blushed.
“It’s not safe out here, hurry!”
She knew it wasn’t safe. She could feel the violence of the crowd growing and by the time she reached the entrance, part of the crowd had broken out into a fight. She was ushered inside, and turned to watch as the officers took charge, dividing the throng and diffusing the situation.
I don’t understand. All of this over a few words I wrote.
No one had gotten this angry when she had written about Hades, but she knew why—the God of the Underworld was hardly beloved, just intriguing. Apollo was the literal God of Light. He was a God of Music and Poetry. He represented all the things in life mortals wanted.
Including the darkness they never wanted to acknowledge.
When she turned to head up the elevator, she found she was being watched by everyone on the first floor—the front desk receptionist, security, random employees.
They stared at her, wide-eyed and kept their distance. Maybe they were afraid Apollo would appear and strike her down. Whatever the case, she was glad to have an elevator to herself. The reprieve was short-lived, however, because the stares continued as she made her way to her desk.
Helen was her usual, chipper self, greeting Persephone and following her to her desk. The only indication she gave that she was aware of the backlash was when she informed Persephone that she hadn’t forwarded any calls to her voicemail.
“I could take over your email, if you’d like. Just for the day.”
“No, that’s okay, Helen.”
“Do you need anything? Coffee or a snack?”
Persephone thought for a moment. “Tylenol,” she answered. “And some water.”
“I’ll be right back!”
Helen returned a short time later. Persephone took the medicine tried to concentrate on her work which consisted of reading hate mail and staring at a black document that was supposed to contain her exclusive.
If she was being honest, she was on edge, waiting for Hades to slam his way through the doors of her workplace, gather her up and carry her off to the Underworld to be punished for her decision to betray him.
At first, she was anxious about his potential arrival, but as time passed, she became more and more frustrated with the God of the Dead.
What would it take to get his attention?
She got up and walked to the break room to make coffee. While there, she looked out the window. A crowd was still gathered outside the Acropolis.
“Your article is causing quite a stir.” Demetri joined her. He turned on the television in the corner. The news was streaming, and the headline read:
Hades’ Lover Attacks Beloved God.
She squeezed her coffee cup so hard, the lid came off sloshing hot liquid all over her hands. Demetri took it from her and handed her some napkins.
“You think they could at least use my name?”
“You might not want them to,” he said. “It’s probably best they remember who you belong to.”
Persephone glared at her boss. “I don’t belong to anyone.”
“Fair,” he said. “Poor word choice. I just meant that…you’ll want people to remember that you’re with Hades because they aren’t happy that you went after Apollo.”
That was obvious—and no wonder. The news was particularly critical of her article.
“She mentions eight mortal women who apparently experienced abuse from Lord Apollo, but where are they?”
“She’s only doing this because of her association with Hades. No other mortal would dare write this...trash about a god.”
“Guess she didn’t gain enough fame by sleeping with Hades. She had to go after Apollo, too. Is this the kind of fame you wanted, Persephone Rosi?”
She felt sick and frustrated and a little hopeless.
“This isn’t fair. They aren’t even trying to fact check,” she said.
He shrugged. “They’re probably too afraid.”
“That’s no reason to avoid it.”
Demetri sighed. “No, but it’s the way of our world. The vengeance of the gods is a real and feared thing.”
The news continued bashing Persephone for her critique
of Apollo. For the fact that she used two stories from antiquity to illustrate his horrid behavior, claiming that all gods in antiquity were different from who they were now—that change was possible, and that Apollo should be forgiven.
Persephone snatched the remote from Demetri and turned off the television.
“They weren’t eager to come to Hades defense when I wrote about him,” she said.
“That’s because Hades is supposed to be feared. He’s supposed to be bad. Apollo he’s…the God of Music. The God of Light. He’s…revelry and beauty. He’s not supposed to be an asshole.”
“Well, he is!”
“You don’t have to convince me, Persephone. You have to convince the world.”
She shouldn’t have to convince anyone, but instead of a world recognizing a psychopathic god, they saw one that had just fallen deeply in love. They equated his relentless pursuit of men and women as romantic, and those who rejected him as unworthy.
It was fucked up.
“Look, if you want my advice—”
“I don’t,” she snapped.
“Persephone,” Demetri seemed desperate. “Look, I know…things haven’t been good between us this week, but I don’t want to watch you get bashed on national television for the next year.”
“Is that because of all the money you’ll lose when people stop buying the paper to read my work?”
He glared at her.
“It’s not about money,” he said. “You want respect in this industry and the reality is that you just lost a huge chunk of it. You want to climb that ladder? You can do one of two things—apologize….” She glared at him so hard, she thought she might melt him with her eyes. “Or write another article about Apollo. Find someone he’s hurt recently. Tell their story.”
Persephone frowned. “I…can’t.”
Demetri didn’t respond immediately. “Maybe you can’t,” he said. “And if not, you know what you have to do.”
“Your advice is shit,” she told him.
Her boss seemed genuinely hurt by her response, nearly flinching when the words left her mouth, but she didn’t really care. He had gone from advocating and defending her to opposing and discouraging her.
She thought he was a fighter, but when the going got tough, he rolled over.
A Touch of Ruin (Hades & Persephone Book 2) Page 10