A Touch of Malice (Hades x Persephone #3)(54)

When she was finished with her explanation, Hecate did not seem surprised.

“She is not the first god to attempt to overthrow her kind, nor will she be the last,” she replied.

It was the same thing Hades had said.

“You do not seem worried,” Persephone observed.

“I only worry about what I can control,” Hecate said. “Your mother’s actions are her own—you cannot stop her from choosing this path, but you can fight her along the way.”

Persephone met Hecate’s gaze.

“How?”

The goddess stared and after a moment, picked up a crude pair of scissors they’d used to cut herbs earlier. She placed them on the table before Persephone.

“You learn to heal yourself.”

“Why? You said I should fight, shouldn’t I be practicing magic?”

“Healing is a necessary power to master before going up against any of the Divine. All gods have the ability to heal themselves to some extent. Today we will discover yours.”

All gods? Persephone had no idea. She’d thought up until this point, it was just a power possessed by a few.

Persephone stared at Hecate and then her eyes dropped to the scissors.

“And what am I supposed to do with these?”

“You will cut yourself or I will do it for you.”

There was a moment where she thought Hecate must be joking, but that quickly passed as she recalled how the Goddess of Witchcraft had ordered Nefeli to attack her. That night she’d gone beyond teaching simple magic tricks. This was serious, and Hecate had proven she’d do whatever it took to ensure Persephone’s power manifested.

Persephone picked up the scissors. “What am I supposed to do once I cut myself?”

“Do it and I’ll tell you,” she replied.

Still, Persephone hesitated. She’d never intentionally hurt herself before and the idea of doing so made her cringe.

Just pretend it’s your magic, she said, thinking back to the other night when she’d dreamed Pirithous was in her room and thick branches had torn her arms and legs to pieces. This is nothing compared to that.

She held the scissors over her palm. In a flash, Hecate’s hand reached out and drove downward. The ends of the scissors pierced through her hand and jammed into the table beneath.

At first, Persephone was so shocked she didn’t react. Then, Hecate pulled the blades from her hand and with the blood, came the pain. Persephone screamed, gripping the wrist of her injured hand as her magic welled to the surface, flooding her veins. This was the kind of magic that burst from her skin—the kind that had erupted the night she’d dreamed of Pirithous.

“Healing yourself is a form of defense,” Hecate said calmly, as if she hadn’t just stabbed her.

“What the fuck, Hecate?” Persephone demanded, her voice was raw and raging. Her eyes burned with magic; she could feel it—a residual heat that made her eyes water.

“Your magic won’t wake to heal a scratch,” the goddess said.

“So you had to stab me?” Persephone demanded.

A horrible smile spread across the goddess’s face. “You have to learn to summon your power without pain, fear, or anger. It must become second nature, and so we will use pain fear and anger to train.”

Persephone grinded her teeth. Her magic burning her skin.

“Channel your magic, Persephone. What does it feel like to have Hades heal you?”

Persephone warred with her mind, caught between listening to Hecate and her anger—but the pain in her hand also drew her attention and soon she focused on it and the memories of Hades’ healing hands—it had been so effortless for him, a pulse of power that warmed the skin, like slipping into a hot spring.

“Good,” she heard Hecate say, and when Persephone opened her eyes, she saw that her hand was healed, the only evidence that she’d been injured was the blood on the table.

“Again,” the goddess said, picking up the scissors.

Persephone flinched and stood. “No.”

Hecate stared, still holding the bloodied shears aloft. “What do you want, Persephone?”

“What does that have to do with stabbing myself?”

“Everything. You magic is reactive, more than likely due to trauma, and while that is not your fault, we are running out of time. Do you think you can take four minutes to heal yourself on the battlefield?”

“This is not battle, Hecate.”

“It soon will be—and where would you rather learn? So I ask you again. What do you want?”

She wanted…Hades. She wanted the Underworld, the Upperworld, she wanted…

“Everything,” she said, breathless.

“Then fight for it,” Hecate said.

Persephone extended her palm.

They practiced for over an hour. After the twentieth time, Persephone stopped flinching when the scissors speared her palm. It wasn’t long after that she began to heal the wound before the blades even left her body. Directed by Hecate, she became familiar with the way her magic reacted to the intrusion, strongest upon impact, immediately heating her skin and raising the hair on the back of her neck.

“It is urging you to use it,” Hecate said. “It wants to protect you.”

Persephone had heard those words before but now she was starting to understand them and her magic. It wasn’t some foreign thing that invaded her body, it was just as natural to her as her blood and bone.