Ariadne scoffed, and Hades rolled his eyes.
Finally, Dionysus stopped at one of the doors and knocked.
“What are we waiting for?” Ariadne asked.
“For them to answer the door,” Dionysus said. “They aren’t prisoners.”
But after a minute, no one had come, so Dionysus knocked again.
“Deino, Enyo, Pemphredo,” he called, and still there was no answer.
When he opened the door, they found the dorm was empty. “What the fuck.”
Dionysus stepped inside the spacious room, which resembled more of a luxury hotel room with large beds, lush linens, and pleasing works of art.
Hades and Ariadne followed. It was evident that the three sisters had occupied the room, as three of the four beds had rumpled covers and there were breakfast trays at the end of each, crowded with empty plates, glasses, and silverware, but the Graeae were nowhere to be found.
“You have a basement of assassins, and the Graeae still managed to escape,” Ariadne said.
“They didn’t escape,” said Dionysus.
Ariadne raised a doubtful brow.
“They were taken,” he said.
“Are you saying someone managed to steal from you?” she asked and glanced at Hades. “Twice.”
Dionysus’s body tensed.
“Seems your maenads aren’t doing their job.”
“It would be impossible for mortals, no matter how skilled, to go up against a god,” said Hades.
“You think a god did this?” she asked.
There was no other explanation. Three monsters had disappeared from their room without a trace.
“If not a god, someone with divine blood,” Hades said, knowing that demigods often took on powers from their mothers and fathers, which made the pool of culprits even greater. “The question is, who?”
Hades met Dionysus’s gaze, but he shook his head.
“I have no fucking clue.”
Chapter XI
A Battle of Wills
Hades expected to return to the Underworld only mildly frustrated after dealing with Dionysus tonight, but he had not anticipated adding to his long list of anxieties, among them the abducted Graeae.
The only thing that worked in either Dionysus’s or Hades’s favor was that he was still in possession of the eye. The way he saw it, there were two possibilities ahead of them—either he and Dionysus found the abductors, or the abductors would come to them. For now, at least the gorgon Medusa was safe.
Though for how long, Hades could not be certain, and that made him uneasy. In fact, everything about this made him uneasy. Something was at work here, and he felt like he could see it forming on the fringe of his vision, a slight shadow that hinted at darker days.
Whoever was in search of Medusa wanted a weapon.
A thick dread settled in his chest and tangled in his lungs, making it hard to breathe and think of anything but…war.
He shook his head, frowning deeply at the turn his thoughts had taken, and it was made worse by the sudden, deep desire to see Persephone. When he felt like this—like chaos and turmoil—he turned to her to calm and soothe. She was everything he had never had upon entering this ravaged and bloody world—warm and loving and safe—and when this violence moved beneath his skin at the thought of his past, she always managed to ease it.
As he made his return to the Underworld, the need to see her blossomed.
He was urged not only by these darker feelings but by far less rational thoughts, like what if Apollo had somehow found a way into the Underworld? He knew it wasn’t possible, yet his mind would not ease until he laid eyes on her.
Still, he hesitated at her door. What if she did not wish to see him? He frowned, imagining what she might say.
Ensuring I remain in your prison?
He took a deep breath and knocked on the door.
There was no answer.
For a moment, he thought that perhaps she was ignoring him, but then he went in search of her presence and realized he could not feel her.
He opened the door.
It was dark, but he could see that the bed was untouched.
“Persephone?” he called and moved farther into the room, calling forth lights to burn away the darkness, leaving no part of the room in shadow.
But she was not there, so he searched the baths, then the library, then the entire palace, and when he could not find her, he turned to the garden.
He walked the winding path that seemed never-ending the longer he went without finding her beneath the branches of the willows or hiding among the flowers. Hysteria burned his throat when he came to the end of the garden where Cerberus, Typhon, and Orthrus waited, as if they sensed his discontent.
“Find Persephone,” he ordered.
The dogs took off, their noses to the ground, but he could tell by the way they moved that they were not tracking her scent, which only made his fear more acute. As he followed their movement across the Asphodel Fields, he closed his eyes, searching his realm for her footprint, but he couldn’t feel her.
On any given day, at any given time, he could feel her here, a soft caress, a burning ember. He could also feel her absence, a great disruption in the fabric of his world. That was how she felt now—gone. His growing unease turned to fear, churning hard in his stomach. Though this was his realm, it was still dangerous, and Persephone had found that danger readily enough in the past, wandering into Tartarus only to come face-to-face with Tantalus, a man who still wished to cause Hades pain, much like many who resided in his realm.
Except then, Hades had been able to track her to Tantalus.
He could not trace her now.
“Hecate, Hermes!”
Their names left his lips, a summoning command. There were no snide remarks or quips from either as they appeared before him. They knew he would not have called them if it weren’t serious. If he did not need them.
“I cannot find her,” he said, his voice shaking, his heart racing. “I cannot feel her.”
They both paled hearing his words, and there was a shared sense of dread between the three.
“We’ll find her,” Hermes said confidently.
But would it be too late?
The two vanished, and Hades stormed across the field. The wind picked up speed, whipping around him, and the elegant stems of the asphodel wilted as he drained the lush ground around him of magic. Then the air rippled and grew warm with the energy of gods as Hades summoned the deities of the Underworld. They came to him disembodied, taking the form of shadow and lightning, whirling around him. He felt them acutely—grief and sorrow, sickness and panic, starvation and want. They whispered to him as they circled, monstrous things they used to infect mortal minds and drive them to madness.
And Hades felt mad.
Now and then, the deities flashed red eyes or gnashed long, sharp teeth.
They were monsters more than they were human, and Hades needed them.
“Find. My. Queen!” he commanded.
The deities circled quicker, and their whispers became faster until they peeled away, dashing across the sky. Hades followed, still leeching magic from his realm as he went, his sole focus on finding Persephone.
His mind knew no bounds when it came to imagining what might have happened to her. His earlier thoughts of battle returned with a vengeance, and all he could think was that she must be hurt and that he would find her broken and bleeding. The images came to mind easily because he had seen many bodies in the same state. He had never allowed himself to think long on loss, not when it came to Persephone, though he’d always promised to end the world if anything did occur.
Now he was certain of it, but he’d not just set it aflame.
He would tear it to pieces.