She arched her brow and pointed out, “You only get this angry with yourself.”
He scrubbed his face, frustrated. “I fucked up. Persephone found out about Leuce. Of course the nymph would introduce herself as my lover.
Current, not former.”
“You say that as if one is better than the other.”
“To Persephone, it might have been.”
“Neither is better when they’re both secret, Hades,” Hecate replied.
He scowled at her. “I realize that now.”
“I think you need to consider why you did not wish to tell her, and if the answer is because you were afraid…maybe you do not trust her as much as you think.”
Now, her words tumbled through his head.
Did he trust Persephone?
He supposed he did not trust that her love for him meant she could overlook his past, and admitting that was both painful and embarrassing. In the end, he hadn’t given her a chance.
He should never have kept Leuce a secret—which was what he wanted to tell Persephone. He had debated going to her, but he wasn’t certain she was ready to hear his explanation, and when he’d finally decided to go to her, he was diverted by Ilias, who informed him that Acacius’s shop had blown up with the relic dealer and his men inside.
Before he could even speculate about that information, Hermes arrived at Nevernight with a message from Dionysus.
“Well?” Hades prompted impatiently.
“I just really need you to understand, I’m only the messenger.”
Hades waited, and after a moment, Hermes closed his eyes and lifted his middle finger.
“That’s it?” Hades asked. “That’s all he had to say?”
“He didn’t even say anything. He just flipped me off.”
Hades took a deep breath, and upon his exhale, he snatched a vase full of red flowers and threw it across the room. He was not surprised by Dionysus’s reaction. The god did not like being told what to do, and he probably liked it even less that Hades was aware of his exploits.
“What will you do now?” Hermes asked.
“I’m not going to do anything…yet,” Hades said. If Dionysus wanted to play childish games, Hades would too. “But you will.”
“What? Nuh-uh,” Hermes said. “Not this time. I always help you, and what does it get me in return? Nothing. I haven’t even gotten a thank-you for today.”
“Fine,” Hades said. “I suppose I’ll have to find someone else to plague Dionysus with dreams of bloody castration.”
Hermes pursed his lips as if considering.
“I suppose I can ask Morpheus or Epiales,” Hades said. “He is the personification of nightmares after all, and he would do a fine job.”
“Fine?” Hermes scoffed. “Let me do it. I’ll show you bloody castration.”
“But you have already declined,” Hades said.
“I take it back,” Hermes said. “And you know what? Thank you, Hades.”
“For what?”
“For being you,” Hermes said. “Now, can I set Dionysus’s dick on fire?”
“I wouldn’t give the task to anyone else,” Hades replied.
“Yes!” Hermes hissed, pumping his fist in the air. “I’m off to make plans.”
“How much planning can possibly go into castration?”
“It’s an art,” Hermes replied before vanishing, and while there was an initial satisfaction to the errand Hades had sent Hermes on, he soon felt the exhaustion of it all and found himself on the empty floor of Nevernight in the early morning, nursing a glass of whiskey until Ilias arrived.
“Did you sleep?” the satyr asked as he approached, rounding the bar so he stood opposite Hades.
“No,” he replied, taking a sip of his whiskey.
“You sure you don’t want something else? Coffee, perhaps?”
“No.”
“Well, I would ask you if you were all right, but I think I know the answer.”
Hades met Ilias’s gaze. “Are you here to judge, or do you have something to tell me?”
“I’m not one to judge,” Ilias replied. “But I do have something to tell you.
I spoke with Katerina this morning about these missing women.”
The satyr placed Ariadne’s folder on the table.
“They are all running from something—a partner, parents, all kinds of trauma. Our detective probably missed it because their families all claimed they were happy and they had all made plans for their future. She’s not wrong about how they went missing, though. None of them could be traced to a specific location aside from Megara, who, as you know, seems to have never left Dionysus’s club, which cannot actually be confirmed.”
“And none of them went to Hemlock Grove?” Hades asked.
Ilias shook his head. “No one named in this folder.”
It seemed Hades was going to have to begin with the only lead he had—
Dionysus.
“Now for the bad news,” Ilias said, and Hades’s brows rose. Was this not bad enough? “This was left at the doors this morning.”
Hades could very much say he was not prepared for what the satyr had to share. He placed a folded newspaper on the counter in front of him so that the title glared at him in bold black.
APOLLO CASTS A GRIM SHADOW ON PAST AND
PRESENT LOVERS
His heart beat unevenly in his chest as he picked up the paper and read: Apollo, known for his charm and beauty, has a secret—he cannot stand rejection.
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.
You are familiar with a few of these lovers. Daphne, the river nymph who Apollo pursued relentlessly until she begged her father to turn her into a tree. Cassandra, Princess of Troy, who 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 compromised their victory, all because he was given the cold shoulder?
Perhaps the greater issue at hand is that the public is very much aware of these transgressions yet continues to elevate a god who should instead be held accountable for his actions.
Apollo is an abuser—he has a need to control and dominate. It’s not about communication or listening; it’s about winning. Is this who we really want representing New Greece?
Hades read the article once more, his fingers curling into the paper. All he could think was that she’d promised not to write about Apollo. Except that he knew she’d never actually promised.
“Trust me on this, Persephone. ”
“I trust you,” she’d said.
But she didn’t, or at least if she did, she’d disregarded his warning. Was this her way of seeking revenge because of Leuce? The irony was, she had no idea why he’d turned the nymph into a tree or that it had been because of Apollo.
“If that makes you angry, you won’t want to see what else is in the news today.”
The satyr was likely right, but Hades wanted to know anyway. He had a feeling it had everything to do with Persephone.
Ilias pulled out his phone to show Hades a video. It was a news report from earlier, and a red banner at the bottom of the screen drew his eye.
HADES’S LOVER ATTACKS BELOVED GOD
He grimaced, his anger growing the longer the reporter talked about Persephone as if they did not fear his retaliation.
“Guess she didn’t gain enough fame by sleeping with Hades. She had to go after Apollo too?” the reporter said.
Those words went right through him, and he pushed the phone back toward Ilias. After a moment of silence, he asked, “Is she safe?”
“She made it to work,” he replied.
He didn’t like that he’d had to ask that question, did not like that Ilias had to qualify his answer, knowing that she’d now have to make it home.
“If she’d known this would be the response, I doubt she’d have done this,” Ilias said.
“She knew,” Hades said curtly. “I warned her.”
Ilias did not respond, though Hades could tell the satyr was holding back.
“What is it?” he snapped.
Ilias shrugged. “I don’t know. I just think she probably thought you were being overprotective.”
Hades bristled at those words.
Overprotective.