A Touch of Malice (Hades x Persephone #3)(117)

Maybe she forgot her charger, she reasoned. Still, her fear grew.

“I’ll try again in a few minutes,” Ivy said. “I left coffee on your desk.”

“Thank you, Ivy.”

Persephone headed upstairs and entered her office. She started to take off her jacket, but paused as she came around her desk, noticing a small black box. It was tied with a red ribbon and sat beside her coffee. Had Ivy left a gift and said nothing of it? She picked it up and was even more confused when she found a sticky substance on the bottom—then, horrified, as she realized what it was.

Blood.

“Good morning—” Leuce’s voice halted abruptly as she entered Persephone’s office and saw the crimson stain on her desk. “Is that…blood?”

It was suddenly very hard for Persephone to breath and there was a ringing in her ears that hurt.

“Leuce. Get Ivy.”

“Of course.”

Persephone held the box gingerly, her hands already shaking. She pulled the ribbon free and removed the lid. Inside, was white, bloodstained paper. She parted the leaves and found a severed finger. An ache started in the back of her throat and she dropped the box, stepping away from her desk.

Just then, Ivy and Leuce returned.

“What is it, my lady?”

Persephone could feel thick tears gathering.

“Was this box here when you brought my coffee this morning?”

“Well…yes,” she said. “I assumed it was from Hades.”

“Has anyone else been in my office?” she looked from one nymph to the other as they answered in unison.

“No,” they said.

“Your door was closed when I got here,” said Leuce.

Persephone felt dizzy and her mind raced. Her gaze fell again to the box, and the ashy limb peeking through the paper.

“I have to check on Sybil.”

“Persephone wait—”

She didn’t.

She teleported to Sybil’s apartment and found herself in the middle of the oracle’s living room. It was completely destroyed—the coffee table was in pieces, the television shattered. The doors of the console table upon which it had rested appeared to have been ripped from their hinges. The curtains had been torn from their rods. Shattered glass littered the floor. It was in this chaos she noticed something shivering, curled up on the couch—Opal, Harmonia’s dog. Persephone gathered her into her arms. “It’s okay,” she soothed, but even she did not believe the words. She started to explore the rest of the apartment.

“Sybil!” Persephone called, her shoes crunching on the debris as she moved down the hallway, gathering her magic into her palms, a hectic energy that matched how she felt. She checked the bathroom and found the mirror shattered; the vanity spattered with blood. Her eyes shifted to the bathtub, concealed behind a shower curtain. Time seemed to slow as she approached, her magic hot in her hand.

She jerked the curtain back but found the tub empty—spotless.

Still, she felt on edge as she moved out of the bathroom further down the hallway where Sybil's bedroom was. The door was ajar, and as she kicked it open a little more, she found it demolished, but there was no Sybil.

No Sybil.

Then she recalled the words of the false oracle.

The loss of one friend will lead you to lose many—and you, you will cease to shine, an ember taken by the night.

Ben.

***

Persephone summoned Zofie, handing off Opal before teleporting to Four Olives, the restaurant where Ben worked, and where he’d met Sybil. There were gasps as she manifested and scanned the crowd, mortals withdrew their phones to snap pictures or film her.

“No,” she commanded, and sent a rush of power throughout the entire room. Suddenly, tiny saplings grew from inside their devices. Some mortals dropped their phones in shock, while others called out.

“She’s a goddess!”

“The stories are true!”

She ignored them, searching for Ben, who had just exited the kitchen, carrying a serving platter full of food. When he saw her, he halted, his blue eyes widened. He dropped the tray and swiveled on his feet in an attempt to reenter the kitchen, but instead he collapsed to the ground, his ankles held in place by thin roots that had grown from the floor beneath him.

Persephone stalked toward him. With each step, she felt her anger—and her power—growing.

“Where is she?” Persephone asked as she approached. By the time she was in front of him, he was struggling to free himself, his fingers bleeding from the splintered wood. “Where is Sybil?”

“I-I don’t know!”

“She is missing. Her house is in disarray and you might as well have been stalking her. What did you do?”

“Nothing, I swear!”

Her magic swelled, and the vines that trapped his ankles, now trapped his wrists, growing rapidly until they circled his neck.

“Tell me the truth! Did you capture her to prove your prophecy?”

“Never! I gave you the words I heard. I swear it upon my life.”

“Then it is good I hold it in my hands,” she said, and the vines squeezed his neck harder. Ben’s eyes grew wide and bulging, the veins in his forehead popped.

“Who gave you the words? Who is your god?”

“D-Demeter,” he rasped, barely able to utter words as he turned purple in front of her.