A Touch of Malice (Hades x Persephone #3)(19)

Persephone glared. This woman was like anyone else who wrote articles or whispered about her. She had created her own narrative around Persephone’s life. She did not know how she had begged Hades for his aid, how he had refused, how she had fucked up and bargaining with Apollo when she should have stopped interfering.

She looked up at Ezio.

“See her out,” Persephone said, and turned to head up the stairs with Adrian.

“Wait! No! Please!”

The woman’s pleas erupted like the sound of fireworks inside the club, and slowly, the roar of the crowd turned quiet as they watch Ezio drag the woman from the club. Persephone ignored the attention and continued upstairs to Hades’ office. By the time she was behind the gilded doors, frustration flooded her veins. A pain pricked her forearm that she recognized as her magic attempting to manifest physically—usually in the form of a vine or leaves or flowers sprouting from her skin.

The mortal had triggered her.

She took a breath to ease her anger until the prick of pain dissipated.

What is the opinion of the world, anyway? Her bitter thought quickly turned into something far more painful as she realized why she had become so angry—the woman had essentially told her that she had nothing of value to offer, with the exception of her connection to Hades.

Persephone had struggled before with feeling like an object—a possession owned by Hades, often unnamed in articles where their relationship took center stage. She was Hades’ lover or the mortal.

What would it take for the Upperworld to see her as the Underworld did? Hades’ equal.

Persephone sighed and teleported to Hecate’s grove, only to find the goddess engaged in battle with a tiny, fluffy black puppy that had the hem of her crimson gown clasped between its teeth.

“Nefeli! Release me at once!” Hecate shouted.

The pup growled and pulled harder.

Persephone giggled, her earlier frustrations suddenly gone, replaced by amusement at seeing the Goddess of Witchcraft gripping her skirts in an attempt to free herself from such a small, delicate creature.

“Persephone, don’t just stand there! Save me from this...monster!”

“Oh, Hecate,” Persephone bent to scoop up the ball of fur. “She is not monster.”

She held Nefeli aloft. She had small ears, a pointed nose, and expressive—almost human—eyes.

“She is a villain!” The goddess inspected her dress, full of tiny holes. Then placed her hands on her hips, narrowing her eyes. “After everything I did.”

“Where did you find her?” Persephone asked.

“I—” Hecate hesitated, and her hands dropped from her sides. “I…well…I made her.”

Persephone’s brows drew together, and she shifted the puppy so that she held her in the crook of her arm. “You...made her?”

“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” Hecate said.

When she offered no explanation, Persephone spoke. “Hecate, please don’t tell me this was a human.”

It wouldn’t be the first time. Hecate had turned a witch named Gale into a polecat she now kept as a pet in the Underworld.

“Okay, then I won’t,” she replied.

“Hecate,” Persephone chided. “You didn’t—why? Because she annoyed you?”

“No, no, no,” she said. “Though…that is debatable. I turned her into a dog because of her grief.”

“Why?”

“Because she was going insane, and I thought she would rather be a dog than a mortal who had lost.”

Persephone opened her mouth, and then closed it. “Hecate, you can’t just turn her into a dog without her permission. No wonder she attacked your skirts.”

The goddess crossed her arms. “She gave me permission. She looked up at me from the ground and begged me to take her pain away.”

“I am sure she did not mean for you to turn her into a dog.”

Hecate shrugged. “A lesson for all mortals—if you are going to beg a god for help, be specific.”

Persephone offered a pointed look.

“Besides, I needed a new grim. Hecuba is tired.”

“A grim?”

“Oh yes,” she offered a devious smirk. “It’s just an old tradition I began centuries ago. Before I take a mortal’s life, I send a grim to torture them for weeks before their timely end.”

“But...how are you able to take lives, Hecate?”

“I am assigned as their Fate,” she explained.

Persephone shivered. She had never bore witness to the goddess’s vengeance but knew that Hecate was known as the Lady of Tartarus for her unique approach to punishment, which usually involved poison. Persephone could only imagine the hell any mortal would go through with Hecate assigned as the cause of their death.

“But enough about me and this mongrel. You came to see me?”

Hecate’s question pulled the smile from Persephone’s face as she was reminded of the reason she had sought the goddess. Despite her earlier frustration, she no longer felt anger so much as disappointment.

“I just…wondered if we could practice.”

Hecate narrowed her eyes. “I might not be Hades, but I know when you aren’t telling the truth. Come—out with it.”

Persephone sighed and told Hecate about the woman in the club. The goddess listened and after a moment, asked, “What did you think you could have offered the woman?”