A Touch of Malice

by Scarlett St. Clair

  Persephone had a knack for hiding her own personal energy signature. He had not yet discovered if it was merely one of her powers or a result of having her powers dormant for so long. Either way, it made it impossible to find her—except when she wore her ring. He focused on the unique energy of the stones—the pureness of the tourmaline and the sweet caress of the dioptase. He had not set out to track her when he’d given it to her. He would have been able to trace any precious metal or gem so long as he became familiar with it.

  He manifested among ruins.

  It did not take him long to recognize where he’d arrived: the crumbling Palace of Knossos. In the night, it was impossible to make out the detailed and colorful paintings that covered what was left of the ancient walls or exactly how many miles the grounds stretched, but Hades knew because he’d known this place in its prime and throughout its inevitable destruction.

  It was here he sensed Persephone’s ring, but faintly. He knew these ruins went deep into the belly of the earth, a twisted maze meant to confuse. He imagined Persephone somewhere within, and his anger drew him into the shell of the palace.

  Though it was dark, his eyes adjusted, and as he crossed a broken, blue mosaic floor, he came to a dark pit. It seemed to be a part of the floor that had given away. He spoke to the shadows, commanding them to descend. He watched through them as the chasm turned into another level of the palace, then dipped farther into an even deeper level.

  Hades jumped, landing quietly upon another mosaic floor. Here, the palace was more intact—its columned walls and rooms were more pronounced. As Hades crept through each, following the energies from Persephone’s ring, unease crept through him. He sensed life here—ancient life—and profound death. That was not unusual, given this site dated back to antiquity. Hundreds had died here, but this death, some of it was fresh—harsh, acute, acidic.

  Hades continued to descend until he came to the edge of another dark pit. The smell of death was stronger here, but so was Persephone’s ring. Hades’s rage and fear twined through his body, and a dread thick and foul gathered in the back of his throat. Memories from the night he’d found her in the basement of Club Aphrodisia accosted him, and for a moment, it was like he was there again, Persephone on her knees before him, broken. He could smell her blood, and his mind spiraled into a dark and violent place. It was the kind of anger he needed, the rush he would use to tear the world to pieces if he found her harmed.

  He stepped into the darkness; this time when he landed, it shook the earth. As he straightened, he found several narrow hallways.

  A labyrinth.

  He was familiar with this craftsmanship too, recognizing Daedalus’s work, an ancient inventor and architect known for his innovation—innovation that eventually led to the death of his son.

  Fuck, Hades thought, turning in a circle, studying each path. It was colder here, and the air was full of dust. It felt unclean and a little suffocating. Still, he could sense Persephone’s ring, and the energy was strongest down the path that stretched out to his right. As he stepped into the deeper dark, he noted that parts of the tunnel were broken—as if they had been hit by a large object.

  Something monstrous had lived here.

  Perhaps it still did.

  Hades gathered his shadows to him and sent them down the corridor, but they seemed to become disoriented and faded into the darkness. Their behavior raised the hair on the back of Hades’s neck. There was a wrongness here, and he didn’t like it.

  Suddenly, the wall to his left exploded, sending him flying through the opposite barrier, and as he landed, he came face-to-face with a bull—or at least the head of one. The rest of its body was human.

  It was a Minotaur, a monster.

  It bellowed and clawed the ground with one of its hoofed feet, wielding a double ax that was chipped and caked with blood. Hades imagined the creature had been using it to kill since his imprisonment here, which, if he had to guess by the state of the creature—matted hair, filthy skin, and crazed eyes—was a very long time.

  The creature roared and swung his ax. Hades pushed off the wall and ducked, sending his shadow-wraiths barreling toward him. If it had been any other creature, his magic would have jarred it to the soul. The usual reaction was a complete loss of the senses, but as they passed through this monster, he only seemed to grow angrier, losing his balance momentarily.

  Hades charged, slamming into the Minotaur. They flew backward, hitting wall after wall after wall. When they finally landed, it was in a pile of rubble, and Hades rolled away, creating as much distance between them as possible.

  The Minotaur was also quick and rose to its hoofed feet. He might not have magic, but he was fast and seemed to draw from a never-ending well of strength. He roared, snorted, and charged again, this time, keeping his head down, his horns on display. Hades crossed his arms over his chest, creating a field of energy that sent the creature soaring once more.

  As quick as he crashed, he was on his feet, and this time the snarl that came from the Minotaur was deafening and full of fury. He tossed his ax, the weapon cutting through the air audibly. At the same time, he charged at Hades, who braced himself for impact. As the creature barreled into him, Hades called forth his magic, digging the sharp ends of his fingers into the Minotaur’s neck. As he pulled free, blood spattered his face. The creature roared but continued to run at full speed into each labyrinth wall. The impact against Hades’s back began to send a sharp pain down his spine. He gritted his teeth against it and continued to shove the spikes into the Minotaur’s neck over and over again.

  Hades could tell when the creature began to lose his energy. He slowed; his breath came roughly, snorting exhales through his nose and mouth where blood also dripped. Just as Hades was about to let go, the Minotaur stumbled, and he found himself falling with the monster into another pit. This one narrowed quickly, causing Hades to hit the sides like a pinball, knocking the air from his lungs. They twisted and turned sharply, until they were both thrown from the tunnel into a larger room. The Minotaur landed first and Hades after, hitting a wall that did not give, which told him whatever they’d landed in wasn’t concrete or stone.

  Adamant, Hades realized.

  Adamant was a material used to create many ancient weapons. It was also the only metal that could bind gods.

  Hades rose to his feet quickly, ready to continue the fight with the Minotaur, but the creature did not rise.

  He was dead.

  His eyes adjusted to this new darkness. It was somehow thicker. Perhaps that had something to do with how far below the earth they were located, or maybe it was the adamant. Either way, the cell was simple—a small square with a sandy floor. At first glance, as far as Hades could tell, there was no way out—but he’d have to look longer. For the moment, his attention was drawn to Persephone’s presence. It was strong here, as if her heart beat within the walls of this cell. Then he saw it—a gleam from one of the jewels in her ring.

  If her ring was here, where was she? What had Theseus done?

  As he started toward it, there was a faint mechanical sound, and a net fell from the ceiling above, sending him to the ground. He landed with a harsh crack against the floor. As he tried to call upon his magic, his body convulsed—the net paralyzed him.

  He had never felt so helpless, and that made him angry.

  He thrashed and cursed but to no avail. Finally, he lay still, not because he did not wish to fight but because he was too exhausted to move. He closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, he had the sense that he’d fallen asleep. It took him a moment to adjust, his vision swimming even in the darkness. As he lay there, breathing shallow, he noticed a faint flicker of light a short distance from him.

  Persephone’s ring.

  He started to reach for it, but the net kept his arm locked in place. Sweat broke out across his forehead, his body losing strength. Once again, he clo
sed his eyes, the sand from the floor coating his lips and tongue as he worked to catch his breath.

  “Persephone,” he whispered her name.

  His wife, his queen.

  He thought of how stunning she’d looked in her white gown as she had walked to him down the aisle, flanked by souls and gods who’d come to love her. He remembered how her smile had made his heart race, how her bottle-green eyes, aglow and so happy, had made his chest swell with pride. He thought of everything they’d been through and fought for—the promises they’d made to burn worlds and love forever—and here he was, parted from her, not knowing if she was safe.

  He gritted his teeth, a fresh wave of anger coursing through his veins. He ripped open his eyes and reached for the ring again. This time, though his hand shook, he managed to strain and grasp a handful of sand, and as he let it sift through his fingers, he found the gem-encrusted ring.

  Breathing hard and shaking, he brought the ring to his lips, curled it safely into his palm, and held it to his heart before he fell into darkness once more.

  Chapter XXXVIII

  Persephone

  Persephone entered the dark mouth of the cave and the others followed. Theseus kept Sybil nearby, a hand constantly on her forearm, a reminder that if Persephone messed up, her friend would bear the consequences.

  The cave was large, and each sniffle, whimper, and sob echoed in Persephone’s ears, feeding her fury. She had to think up a plan and began to wonder if this entrance to the Underworld was like the one in Nevernight. Was it a portal that would take her anywhere she envisioned?

  They walked until they came face-to-face with a rock wall that appeared to block their entry.

  “What is this?” Theseus demanded.

  “This is the entrance to the Underworld,” Persephone explained quickly. She reached forward, hands sinking into the wall. The portal was cold, and the magic swirling around her skin was like the flutter of wings. It was comforting because it was Hades’s magic, and it made her chest ache.

  Where was Hades? She’d bound him in the Upperworld only to ensure he granted Theseus’s favor, which had been fulfilled the moment she’d left Alexandria Tower.

  Perhaps he is waiting for us in the Underworld, she told herself.

  “I will step through first,” she said.

  “No,” Theseus commanded. “Demeter will go.”

  “That is not wise,” Persephone argued. “Monsters guard these gates.”

  “Worried for me, my flower?” Demeter asked, her voice thick with sarcasm.

  “No,” Persephone said. “I worry for my monsters.”

  For Cerberus, Typhon, and Orthrus specifically.

  “I will not risk Sybil’s pain,” Persephone said. “You have nothing to worry about from me.”

  “Fine,” he said, the word slipping between his teeth like a curse. “Just remember, I’m a little bored cutting fingers.”

  With that, Persephone entered the portal. It was like wading through water, and she moved slow, basking in the feel of Hades magic, before coming out on the other side in Hecate’s meadow. It seemed so bright after experiencing the night in the Upperworld and the dark of the cave.

  “Persephone,” Hecate said. “What’s wrong?”

  She blinked, turning toward the Goddess of Witchcraft, who stood dressed in dark robes with Nefeli at her side.

  “Hecate,” Persephone began but quickly slammed her mouth shut as Theseus, Sybil, Demeter, and Harmonia entered behind her. As they appeared, a deadly growl erupted from around them. It came from Nefeli and from Cerberus, Typhon, and Orthrus, who crept out from between the trees.

  “No, Cerberus!” Persephone commanded.

  The dogs halted, still tense, still poised for attack, but did not growl.

  “What is this?” Theseus asked. “A trap?”

  “No!” Persephone said. “No. It is not a trap!”

  She stared at Hecate, her eyes wide and desperate, communicating what she could, knowing the goddess could read her mind. She showed her what had happened in the last several hours—from the time Sybil had gone missing, to finding her severed finger at work, the avalanche and battle between the Olympians, to Theseus’s favor.

  Persephone turned to face the demigod.

  “Hecate is my companion. She only came to ensure I was well.”

  “Yes, of course.” Hecate managed a tight smile, then her eyes shifted to Demeter. “What a treat. The Goddess of Harvest in the Realm of the Dead. Come to pay your respects to the hundreds you’ve murdered in the last month?”

  Demeter offered a cold smile. “I have no desire to dwell upon the past.”

  “If only that were true,” Hecate replied. “Are you not here because of the past?”

  Demeter scowled and spoke to Theseus. “She is a powerful goddess. Perhaps you should choose a limb from the mortal so Persephone behaves.”

  “No,” Persephone said, her voice dark. “Hecate will not bother us, will you? She will remain in her meadow while we travel to the palace.”

  “Of course, I will do as my queen commands,” Hecate replied. “However, it would be quicker for you to teleport.”

  “No teleporting,” Theseus said. “I cannot trust that we will end up where we should.”

  “If my lady commands it, you can trust I will take you exactly where you want to go,” Hecate said, her voice pleasant, but Persephone sensed the undercurrent of darkness within.

  Persephone looked to Theseus. He hesitated, uncertain.

  “Do not trust this goddess’s magic. She is evil,” Demeter said.

  “Shut up!” Theseus commanded.

  Demeter’s eyes narrowed.

  “Command her,” he said. “But remember, I hold your friend’s life within my hands.”

  “Hecate, takes us to Hades’s arsenal.”

  As Hecate’s magic surrounded them, Persephone shivered. She remembered fighting the goddess in this very meadow, feeling the strength and age of her power. It left a darkness upon the heart that was hard to shake, but right now, it was comforting—comforting because she knew Hecate would fight, and the results would be deadly.

  They appeared outside the arsenal. The door to the vault was round and gold, inlaid with thick, clear glass that showed all the locks and gears.

  Theseus whirled upon Persephone and Hecate, his fingers biting into Sybil’s arm.

  “I thought you said you would take us to the arsenal.”

  “I have,” Hecate said calmly. “But even I am prevented from teleporting inside. The queen or king himself are the only two who can open the vault.”

  Persephone started to protest, but Theseus once again threatened Sybil.

  “Open it!” he screamed, his madness returning. He was so close to what he wanted, he could barely contain himself.

  Persephone looked at Hecate, desperate.

  I don’t know how.

  You don’t have to know, Hecate said.

  Persephone stepped forward and placed her hand upon a pad beside the door. Once it had scanned her handprint, the door began to grind, winding open like a wheel to reveal Hades’s arsenal. Persephone stepped into the familiar round room with its black marble floor and walls covered in weapons, but her eyes—like Theseus’s—went to the center, where Hades’s armor loomed and the Helm of Darkness rested at its feet.

  Theseus pushed Sybil toward Demeter as he entered.

  “Hold her!” he barked.

  Hecate hovered near Harmonia.

  “It is more magnificent than I could have imagined,” Theseus said as he stepped toward the display. Persephone’s gaze held Hecate’s, unwavering.

  Get them out of here, she begged.

  Of course, the goddess said.

  When Theseus touched Hades’s helm, Hecate’s magic was like a thrust, sweeping Harmonia and Sybil out of th
e arsenal to safety. Theseus’s hands slipped, and Hades’s helm fell from its place upon the pedestal, rolling onto the ground with a loud crack.

  “No!” Theseus growled.

  Persephone’s magic erupted, and thorns rose from gashes in the marble, sealing the exits. Demeter’s lips peeled away from her gleaming teeth as she smiled wickedly.

  “I will teach you a final lesson, Daughter. Perhaps it will keep you complacent.”

  If magic was a language, then Demeter’s confessed hatred. Immediately her power gushed in a wave of fierce energy, knocking Persephone back into a wall, which crumbled beneath her weight. She landed upon her feet, only to find Theseus armed with a blade from Hades’s collection.

  “God-fucking bitch!” he growled as he swung.

  Persephone lashed out; the tips of her fingers spiked with black tips that released like bullets into the demigod’s chest. He stumbled back, his shirt darkening with blood, and his eyes flashed, glowing unnaturally bright. Then he struck the ground with his fist, and the earth began to tremble, jarring the weapons on the wall and causing Persephone to lose her footing.

  At the same time, Demeter called forth another blast of energy. It struck her hard, sending her flying once again. As she landed, Theseus lifted his weapon over his head to strike. Persephone held up her hands, and as his blade met the energy she had gathered there, he crashed into Hades’s armor. Persephone called forth vines that restrained him where he landed.

  Then Persephone turned her full attention to Demeter. Their magic clashed—each burst of energy met and exploded, each vine and thorn tangled and crumbled. The Goddess of Harvest threw out another blast; this one stirred the air, causing it to gust, tangling Persephone’s hair and clothing. Demeter reached for the blade Theseus had used during his attack, swinging it at Persephone. She countered with her magic—with whatever she could summon fast.