A Touch of Ruin (Hades x Persephone #2)(46)

“Obsidian for protection,” she said. “And quartz for power.”

After that, she produced a black candle which she placed in the center of the triple circle. She hovered over it, her eyes lifting to meet Persephone’s.

“When I lite this candle, the spell is complete. Your mother will hear the call.”

“Are you sure she will come?”

The Goddess shrugged. “There is a chance she may resist, but I doubt your mother will give up the chance to see you.”

“You don’t know how angry she was when we last spoke.”

“You are still her daughter,” Hecate said. “She will come.

Hecate bent, cupping her hand over the wick of the candle. Persephone saw the goddess’s lips move, and when she pulled away, a black flame flickered.

“Shall I leave you now?”

Persephone nodded. “Yes, thank you, Hecate.”

She smiled. “Just blow out the candle, when you are ready for her to leave.”

Persephone bit her lip. “You are sure she won’t be able to stay?”

Or hurt me?

“Only if she is invited,” Hecate promised before vanishing.

Persephone was alone for only a few minutes when the smell of sage and burning wax was cut with the scent of wildflowers and a sharp chill.

Strange.

Demeter’s magic usually felt warm like a pale spring sun.

Persephone turned, and found her mother standing in the shadow of her room. Demeter hadn’t changed, except for looking far more severe than she remembered. She wore blue robes, and her gold hair lay straight, parted at the center, framing her beautiful and cold face. Her antlers were both elegant and dreadful. They filled space, making Persephone’s room more cramped. She was perfection, and her presence sucked the air out of Persephone’s lungs.

“Daughter,” she said coldly.

“Mother,” Persephone acknowledged.

The goddess of harvest studied Persephone, probably picking apart her appearance. Demeter hated her curly hair and freckles, and when given the chance, she’d cover them up with her glamour. Whatever she saw there didn’t change her severe expression, and after a moment, her gaze swept the room.

“Am I too hopeful? Have you summoned me to beg my forgiveness?”

Persephone wanted to laugh. If anyone should beg forgiveness, it was Demeter. She was the one who had kept Persephone a prisoner most of her life, and even when she’d released her, it had been on a long leash.

“No, I have summoned you to tell you to stop interfering with my life.”

Demeter’s cold gaze returned to Persephone. Her hazel eyes turning yellow in the candlelit.

“Are you accusing me of something, Daughter?”

Persephone felt a little uneasy. It occurred to her that her mother might be responsible for more than Leuce’s release from the poplar tree—what other plans did she have to force her away from Hades?

“You released Hades’ former lover from her prison,” Persephone said.

“Why would I bother with something so trivial?” Demeter sounded bored, but Persephone wasn’t convinced.

“Good question, mother.”

Demeter turned from her daughter, and began snooping around her room, inspecting, judging. She pulled open her nightstand drawers and opened anything with the lid, wrinkling her nose.

“This place smells like Hades,” she said, and then she straightened, eyes narrowing upon Persephone. “You smell like him.”

Persephone crossed her arms over her chest and glared at her mother.

“I hope you’re using protection,” Demeter said. “That’s all you need—to be tied to the God of the Dead for the rest of your life.”

“That’s a given,” Persephone said. “You’re the only one who seems to think it isn’t.”

“You don’t know Hades,” she said. “You’re just now learning that for yourself. I know it bothers you. You fear what you don’t know.”

Persephone hated her mother for being right.

“I could say the same about you, mother. What don’t I know about you? What evils do you hide under your perfect facade?”

“Do not make this about me. You jumped into his arms as soon as he said he loved you. It is embarrassing that your judgement extends to his skin. I raised you better.”

“You didn’t raise me at all—”

“I imprisoned you,” Demeter interrupted, rolling her eyes. “Gods you are a broken record. I gave you everything. A home, friends, love. It wasn’t enough for you.”

“It wasn’t enough,” she snapped. “And it would have never been enough! Did you really think you could challenge Fate and win? You criticize other gods for their arrogance yet are the worst.”

Demeter smiled coldly. “The Fates may have given you what you wanted—a taste of freedom, a taste of forbidden love, but do not mistake their offer with kindness. The Fates punish, even gods.”

“They punished you,” Persephone said. “Not me.”

Demeter offered a small smile. “That remains to be seen, my flower. Do you know, the Fates named you? Persephone. I didn’t understand then how my precious, sweet flower could be given such a name. Destroyer. But that is what you are—a destroyer of dreams, of happiness, of lives.”