“It is the eye of the Graeae.”
It was exactly as Hades thought. The Graeae were three sisters who wore the skin of hags, though their true form was rather monstrous. The three had the bodies of swans, though their heads and arms were human, and between them, they shared a tooth and an eye.
“How did you come to possess it?” Hades asked.
“I took it from them,” Acacius said. “The Graeae.”
“You took it from them?” Hades repeated. “When?”
The Graeae had not been seen in centuries, choosing to self-isolate, fearing the evolution of man—and rightly so, as Acacius had demonstrated.
“They were obtained by hunters and brought to me,” he said. “Monsters are worth a fortune in the market.”
“So you sold them.”
There was a moment of silence, then Hades pounced. He grabbed a handful of Acacius’s shirt and slammed him down on his desk.
“Who did you sell them to?” he demanded.
The mortal’s hands dug into Hades’s arms as he held him down—even the broken ones.
“Di-Dionysus!”
Hades released the man.
“How long ago?”
“They were shipped off just yesterday.”
The God of Wine was as much a collector of monsters as Hades, and while Dionysus probably thought the Graeae would make a nice addition to his collection, it was likely what he really wanted was the eye, and Hades wanted to know why. What information did he hope to obtain?
Hades reached for the box and placed it inside the pocket of his jacket before heading toward the door.
“You cannot just take what’s mine,” Acacius said. “That eye was bought and paid for.”
“Perhaps my generosity has led you to believe you are entitled to make demands,” Hades replied. “It doesn’t.” At the door, Hades paused.
“Dionysus will come for you. He always does. I would remain alert, not that it will do you much good.”
“You cannot leave me to him,” Acacius argued.
“Tell me one more time what I can and cannot do,” Hades said, and as he stepped outside, he found that Hecate had transformed many of Acacius’s men into topiaries.
“I think they look better this way,” she said. “I trimmed them after.”
Hades raised a brow. “I’m assuming they did something to deserve this?”
She shrugged. “They didn’t like cats.”
Chapter V
Power Play
While Hecate returned to the Underworld, Hades went to Nevernight and informed Ilias of the situation with Acacius, advising him to maintain surveillance on the mortal’s shop. It was not so much with the intention of providing protection as much as it was to see who visited.
“I’m not so certain that man will live long,” said Ilias.
“Agreed,” Hades replied. “He fucked with a god.”
Ilias shook his head. “Acacius established himself as someone who has answers. Now he doesn’t. He’ll find himself at the end of someone’s gun soon enough.”
Hades did not doubt it. It was just another consequence of using relics.
“Wonder what Dionysus wants with the Graeae,” Ilias mused.
Hades did not know, but he would find out.
In the meantime, he also had to deal with Hera’s fucking labors, the thought of which filled him with both anger and dread. It tightened his muscles and filled his stomach with an almost arresting feeling that he couldn’t shake when he thought of the daunting task of executing someone he cared for. And what happened after? What if she asked him to murder again? He could only hope that by then, he found a way out of these labors that left his future with Persephone intact—not only their future, Persephone’s future.
Hera was not above torturing gods, and Hades knew if she did not get her way, she’d set her sights on Persephone.
It would be a move the goddess regretted for the rest of her life.
Hades crested the stairs that led to his office and paused outside the gilded doors. Something was wrong. The feeling raised the hair on the back of his neck and trickled down his spine. He noted it and continued inside to find his office empty. He started across the room, intent on heading for the bar, when something snuck up behind him.
“Boo!”
Hades whirled and punched Hermes in the face.
The God of Mischief stumbled back and clamped his hands over his nose.
“Motherfucker! Why did you do that?” he demanded.
“You scared me,” Hades said simply, lips curling at the sight of the god’s pain.
“I did not,” Hermes said, dropping his hands. Any evidence of the strike to the face was already healed. “You wanted to punch me.”
“Don’t give me an excuse,” Hades said, making his way to the bar, where he poured himself a drink. “To what do I owe your visit, and what can I do to prevent it in the future?”
“Rude,” Hermes said, sauntering to the bar. “You’re talking to a hero.”
Hades raised a brow.
“You should be thanking me,” he continued. “I distracted a whole crowd of screaming fans so Sephy could go to work.”
Hades frowned. “Was she not escorted to the door by Antoni?”
Hermes’s face fell, as if he realized he’d brought something to Hades’s attention that he shouldn’t have.
“Well, I could be wrong, but she kept repeating that she wanted a normal, mortal life, which is hard to do when you arrive at your day job in the God of the Underworld’s personal car and allow his personal driver to escort you to the door.”
“She’s a goddess,” Hades countered.
“A new one by her standard and ours,” Hermes argued. “You have to give her time to transition into her role. She’s played mortal for the past four years, and she’s liked it. She will resent you if you take her normalcy away too quickly.”
“You sound like Hecate,” Hades accused.
“I resent that,” Hermes sniffed. “I can be wise.”
Hades sighed, frustrated. The problem was, she was no longer normal.
People saw her differently just by her association with him.
“We’ve been famous all our lives,” Hermes said. “Persephone hasn’t, and she will not learn how to live this life without mistakes, so you might as well let her make them.”
“There is no room for mistakes, not when it comes to her safety.”
“Not everyone is a threat to her well-being.”
Except that anyone who was a threat to him was a threat to her—and that very nearly included everyone.
Hades was doubtful, and then Hermes leaned across the bar so far, his chest almost touched the counter, and he whispered, “Has anyone ever told you…you need therapy?”
Hermes had, in fact, told him often.
“Pot, meet kettle,” Hades replied.
Hermes straightened and narrowed his eyes. “Since when did you start using mortal expressions?”
“I thought you might appreciate it.”
“Well, I don’t,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest, but after a moment, he dropped them. “What does it mean?”
“It means,” said Hades, “that you are a hypocrite.”
“Rude! That’s twice in one conversation, Hades.”
“Perhaps you should stick to what you do best, then.”
“And what is that?”
“Fuckery,” Hades replied and downed his drink.
“Are you saying that’s all I’m good for?” Hermes asked.
It was a trick question, and Hades did not bite. Instead, he was quiet for a moment before he asked, “How long has it been since you visited Bakkheia?”
Bakkheia was one of Dionysus’s nightclubs. Of those he owned, it was considered rather tame, but it was just as difficult to gain entry into as Nevernight.
“Dionysus’s club?” Hermes asked. “Why would I go there?”
Hades raised a brow. “Orgies.”
Hermes’s mouth opened and then closed before crossing his arms over his chest. “I was there last week. Why?”
“I’d like you to go again,” Hades said.
“You’re…asking me to have an orgy?”
“No,” Hades said. “I’m asking you to take Dionysus a message.”
Hermes sucked air through his teeth. “Can’t you send an email?”
“These words are better delivered in person.”
“Hades!” Hermes whined. “You’re going to get me kicked out.”