Athena shrugged. “Dying. Or killing each other. Where is my uncle? Your husband, Hades?”
“Venice, last I heard,” Persephone said. “But he could be anywhere, in any city rife with decay. Rife with disease and rot. He has forever been a collector, you know, of dead things and pestilence. He keeps massive houses all over the world, stockpiled with powdered poisons and plague victims in jars. All manner of freak and fancy, every abomination and flesh-eating bacteria. Each one is a treasure in petri dishes and formaldehyde. Precious as leaves pressed in a book.”
“Is he well?” Athena asked. “Is he ailing?”
“He may be ailing, but he isn’t dead. If he were, you would know. He’d have exploded in a cloud of viruses. A city would lie dead around him. One last tribute.” Persephone touched her hair, and it fell out onto the ground. “Hades doesn’t come here for me anymore, Athena. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not the golden flower he once plucked from my mother’s grasp.”
“The god of death understands decay,” Athena replied. “Your dead half was always his favorite.”
“We’ll see when I fade further. When I am one half bone and dust.” She toyed with Cerberus’ dead head. Her fingers twisted the bones like the heavy jewels of a necklace. “How is my mother?”
“Missing you. She mourns your passing.”
“I’m sorry for that. My last summer above was four years ago. Since then I’ve been too dead to move with the spring.”
“But you won’t be apart long,” Cassandra blurted, and Persephone’s dead eyes settled on her face. “When Demeter … dies … you’ll see her again. You’ll be together again.”
Persephone looked from Cassandra to Athena with a mix of amusement and hunger. She stepped away from Cerberus and walked closer. “Why have you come?”
“We’ve come for—”
“Aidan! Apollo. Your cousin,” Cassandra blurted again. Athena pursed her lips, but Cassandra couldn’t help it. He was here. So close.
“My cousin,” Persephone said. Her black tongue rolled in her mouth, dry and granular in the quiet. “Have you paid the fare?”
“I paid it,” Athena said. “She doesn’t have to pay.”
Persephone’s head twitched, so much like a zombie that Cassandra was sure she’d charge them any minute, biting.
“I make the rules here, cousin,” Persephone said. “And a little blood is not too much to ask.”
“Back off, Persephone.”
“How much blood?” Cassandra asked. She held her hand out for Athena’s knife. “How much to pay his passage back?”
“Cassandra, don’t,” Athena said, but Persephone started to laugh.
“His passage back?” She cackled. “You can’t take him back! He’s dead. This is his home!”
“Mortals have left here before,” Athena said. “Surely a god is allowed special favors.”
Persephone licked her lips, her eyes marking the path of Cassandra’s veins.
“Pay the fare,” she said. “Perhaps there will be special favors.”
“Give me the knife, Athena.” Cassandra held her hand out, but Athena didn’t move. She only stared deep into Persephone’s eyes.
“He’s not here,” Athena said.
“No,” said Cassandra. “He has to be. Where else would he go?”
“Where dead gods go,” Athena said. “No one knows. Including her.”
Persephone slid toward them, her rotten eyes so wide they threatened to fall out.
“No, no,” she hissed. “He is here. He is. Let me taste the girl, and you’ll see. Let me drain the girl, and I’ll bring him.”
The idea of those teeth on her skin, of that dead girl anywhere near her, was terrifying. But it was for Aidan. She’d do it for Aidan.
“It’s okay, Athena,” she said.
“It would be,” the goddess agreed. “If she wasn’t lying.”
“You don’t know that,” Cassandra said. She tried to tug the knife closer, but it was useless. She pulled on Athena’s arm, and her feet skidded in the dirt. “Just let me have it!”
“Wait,” Athena said gently. “Persephone. What’s his last name?”