A Game of Fate (Hades Saga #1)(58)

“Wait—”

“Are you asking for Hades, God of the Underworld, to slice your face to bits?” Hecate asked. “Because I will gladly watch.”

“You’re looking for Sisyphus? I’ll tell you where he is! Come…come back!” he called as Hades disappeared behind the curtain.

He found himself in a dark hallway that emptied into a larger room. The air was cold and stale, smelling faintly of decay, wax, and something akin to burnt hair. It was cleaner than the storefront and full of sleek glass cases, under which were a variety of carefully displayed items. It was clear why Vasilis had not wanted Hades to venture here. He was selling relics—tattered fabric and bits of jewelry, shattered spear tips and slivers of shields, bones and broken pottery. These were things that had been scavenged from the battlefields after The Great War. He wasn’t sure why, but seeing the remnants of war was never easy for him. It reminded him of the trauma of Titanomachy, of bloody battlefields and broken corpses.

Still, Hades searched the darkness for the source of the noise and found it. A set of books had been knocked from a shelf. Hades bent to pick them up, and as he straightened, his gaze met that of a black cat with yellow eyes. The creature hissed at him, and he hissed back. The cat yowled and hopped from its place, disappearing into the darkness.

“We have ourselves a black market dealer,” Hades called to Hecate.

Vasilis shuffled into the room first, his hand stretched into the air as if he were surrendering. It was then Hades noticed a familiar image etched on the pale skin of his wrist—a triangle. Hades’ eyes narrowed.

“So, you are a member of Triad?”

The Magi froze. “Not by choice.”

It was the fastest answer he had given, and it rang of truth.

“Then why is their mark upon your skin?”

The question left Hades feeling uneasy. He could not help thinking of Persephone and the mark upon her wrist. The one he had placed there against her will.

“What did they do?” It was Hecate who asked the question, her tone gentle, seeing something within the mortal Hades had not, apparently.

“They burned her,” Vasilis replied, lowering his hands.

“Who?” Hades asked.

“My cat.”

“Your cat?” Hades was not impressed.

“They burned her right in front of me,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I thought she was gone forever, but their leader…he kept her collar. He said he would return it if I joined them. They…needed magic.”

“A golem?” Hades asked.

Vasilis nodded.

Hades understood now. The Magi had agreed to serve Triad in exchange for the collar. It was the only item left that belonged to his cat, but he had not wanted it because he was sentimental. He’d wanted it for a purpose—the collar could be used to resurrect her, which by the looks of it, had been successful.

“So, you traded your freedom for a collar?”

“What would you trade for something you loved?” the Magi countered.

The world, Hades thought.

“Oh!” Hecate exclaimed suddenly, bending to scoop up the cat that had hissed at Hades earlier. “Is this her? What a sweet baby! What is her name?”

“S-Serena.”

“Serena,” Hecate said, lifting the cat as she would a child. “I have a polecat named Gale—”

Hades sighed. “Hecate, can you not?”

“This is being human, Hades,” the goddess said. “You should be taking notes. Don’t you want to impress Persephone?”

“Who is Persephone?” the magi asked.

“Not your concern,” Hades snapped, then he glared at Hecate and hated himself for his next question. “What does a cat have to do with being human?”

“It has everything to do with the cat,” Hecate said, then she sighed. “The cat is humanity. It’s what makes this,” she gestured toward the Magi, “unfortunate, sad, and pitiful mortal worth saving.”

“You haven’t seen his soul,” Hades muttered.

Hecate glared.

“I am teaching you a lesson, Hades! Learn it.”

Hades was about to snap that she was a horrible teacher, when he felt the air shift behind him. He turned and shadows split from his essence, racing toward the retreating form of the Magi, who was attempting to escape down the hall.

The shadows enveloped him and sent him flying backward. The Magi crashed into one of his immaculate glass displays and was still.

Hecate grimaced.

“You didn’t have to throw him so hard. He isn’t a god.”

“He wanted to act like one.”

Hecate arched a brow. “Is that the response of a compassionate god?”

“Is that what you were trying to teach?”

Hades took a step toward the mortal and waved his hand. The Magi opened his eyes, blinking, and then groaned as the pain from his landing set in.

“Listen here, mortal, and listen well. You will tell me who requested your services, or I will spend eternity cutting out your tongue and feeding it to your cat. Do you understand?”

The man nodded, breathing hard, and answered, “His name is Theseus.”

Theseus.

It was a name Hades knew well, as it was the name of Poseidon’s son, his nephew.