Chapter Forty-Two

Hera showed up in the fields, a free soul again, about a year after her death, and Zeus a few months after her. Persephone gladly ran to greet each of them when the other souls sent out the word. The formerly royal pair bore a subdued gratitude now. Time in Tartaros tended to do that to souls, leaving them cowed but thankful, with a habit of finding as many of their former victims in the fields as they could and apologizing to them.

Since they had only spent a year or so in the caves of punishment, evidently the Fates did recognize the large amount of good the pair had performed in life to help balance the bad. Those who were truly murderous and remorseless often got held for a span of time equal to a whole human life—thirty, forty, sometimes fifty or more years. Even the thought of one year in such confinement shot a chill through Persephone. To her memory, she had never been sent there between any of her past lives. But would she in future? Would she die at all?

Death, at least, was looking more likely. Thanatos became only more determined with each passing month. Three more immortals, in different and far-apart attacks, had been captured and killed in the year since Zeus’ and Hera’s murder.

Benna, Poseidon’s youngest daughter, was first, turned upon by the village she had lived in for years. A good woman who would never have merited the caves of punishment, her soul had appeared in the fields at once. Her two immortal sisters fled to shelters in the spirit world. Lately Poseidon and Amphitrite visited the Underworld often to talk to Benna, and bring her news of the rest of the family. The grief on the immortal couple’s face at seeing their daughter among the dead brought tears to Persephone’s eyes every time. It was too easy to remember almost losing Hekate, and to fear losing her again in this new and horrible way.

The vicious fringe group also captured and killed one of the Muses, a sweet poet named Euterpe; and similarly, Epimetheus, Prometheus’ brother, who never suspected his living-world neighbors would betray him.

At least Zeus and Hera had enjoyed over a century of immortality. These latest three had only tasted it for a modest span of years, and ended up living no longer than the average person.

Fear and rage spread through the immortals. Several withdrew to the spirit world to build homes there and ventured only occasionally into the mortal realm, the way the Underworld gods already lived. But, as Persephone knew, residing in the spirit realm felt unnatural and lonely, even with souls, wild creatures, and other immortals for company. The immortals were meant to be stewards of both realms—she sensed it, and Hekate, more in tune with the forces of nature, confirmed it when Persephone mused aloud about it to her. But how could you act as steward and helper for those who might try to kill you?

Living among others always involved danger, she supposed. Earth held treachery. Death and life were joined, eating each other’s tails like sacred snake bracelets. Anyone familiar with the Underworld knew that.

But mortals hadn’t been actively trying to kill them before, not until lately. And it didn’t help that some immortals, Ares and Artemis foremost among them, had struck back in revenge, treating it as war. They hunted down and slaughtered several of the mob leaders, exactly as the other immortals had warned they shouldn’t. More meetings followed, more shouting at each other. Neither Persephone nor Hekate could take much of it. Hades, at least, seemed to get perverse pleasure out of reminding Ares how Tartaros had claimed Zeus for similar behavior.

“Your record’s worse than his, in fact,” Hades had said at their last meeting, “and that’s only the deeds of yours I know about. I doubt you’re doing good works in your spare time to balance it out. You’re building yourself a lovely thick rope in the afterlife indeed.”

“Assuming the afterlife can ever catch me,” Ares had retorted. “I don’t plan to be stupid enough to get killed.”

“Oh, are you finally trying not to be stupid?” Hermes had said, in optimistic tones. “What good news.”

Most mortals didn’t wish to harm the immortals, and the itinerant Thanatos speechmakers even got run out of town in some places. Most immortals, in their turn, devoted the majority of their time to improving the living world in some fashion. Gratitude and prayers in the form of written tablets or offerings of food appeared in sanctuaries that had sprung up all over the mainland and islands. Persephone had visited some, heard of others, and had no idea where every last one was or how many there were. She tried to reassure herself with that knowledge: the immortals had plenty of allies, more than they knew.

Still, she had trouble sleeping every time Hekate jaunted off to another region, especially if her purpose was to join the Dionysia. Yes, Dionysos was especially well loved among mortals, and his followers particularly vicious against intruders. At a Dionysia up near Mount Olympos recently, three Thanatos fanatics, two men and a woman, had infiltrated the party and leapt upon Dionysos during a dance. Hekate had seen it all, and related it to her parents. The attackers stabbed him with knives while he fought back, all four tumbling on the ground in a whirl of blood. But the struggle lasted mere moments, because then his followers pulled the three off him and did to them exactly what Thanatos had done to Zeus and Hera: they ran them through with blades, tore them apart, and threw them on the fire.

Hekate was horrified, as was Dionysos. Persephone and Hades found the three in Tartaros, and confirmed the story—it had gone just as Hekate and the rest described. The king of the nearest city, which governed the revelers and the would-be killers, listened to the account told to him by Dionysos in person. It sounded like perfectly fair self-defense, the king concluded. He even apologized for the shocking rudeness of his citizens violating a religious ritual, and said he hoped the sacrifice of the three would bring the blessings of the gods back to his shamed countryside.

None of the immortals knew how to answer such a thing. It was good to have allies, especially kings, but hard to explain that supernatural blessings were not so easily lost, obtained, or understood. It was as Demeter said: the stories sprang up and grew on their own, with no basis in reality. People loved their poems and legends better than they loved truth.

So Persephone and Hades naturally went right on worrying about Hekate participating in the Dionysia, despite Thanatos’ failure there. What if the killers tried harder next time, with a greater force? What if they targeted Hekate instead of Dionysos? The crowd wasn’t as likely to protect her. She wasn’t the central focus of the festival.

“They usually don’t even know who I am,” Hekate assured her. It was a few days before midsummer. She was sitting on the stone floor of her bedchamber, using sticky sap to refasten some of the colored stones that had fallen off her cloth mask. “I don’t call attention to myself. In fact, I use magic to deflect it. You needn’t worry.”

“I’ll try.” Persephone folded her arms, lingering in the doorway. “But need I worry about you coming home pregnant with some unknown reveler’s child?”

When Hekate answered with a sharp laugh and lifted a half-amused, half-offended expression to her, Persephone added, “It’s all right. I love you and trust you and I want you to enjoy yourself. But…you might wind up rather unhappy if that happened.”

Hekate arched a black eyebrow, an expression inherited straight from Hades. She returned to her stone-sticking. “Some unknown reveler? No, of course not.”

“Well. That’s a relief.” Persephone felt this conversation was uncomfortably like her long-ago exchange with Demeter—when Demeter had asked her straight out if she was in love with Hades.

Hekate rose with the completed mask. “Besides,” she added as she slipped past Persephone, “there’s magic to prevent pregnancy, you know. Too bad not everyone can do it that way. Cloudhair seeds, ugh.”

Persephone stared after her daughter’s retreating back, her mouth falling open. Then she murmured to herself, “Indeed, too bad. That’d be convenient.”

Q’s in the Seattle area, said Sophie’s text to Tabitha. Threatened my dad. Be on the lookout just in case.

Tab frowned and spent a minute figuring out who “Q” was, then recalled it. Let the bitch try, she texted back. My followers rip people apart.

Ha. Yeah, I remember. Srsly though, be careful. They might check out anyone who’s close to me, such as my BFF.

Thanks. YOU be careful, babe!

Tabitha sent the text and sat back against the cafe bench seat, earbuds blasting the class-assigned symphony into her ears without her registering a note.

Crazy cult people? That seemed a lame thing to worry about. Not when she had tasks on her list like planning the next party—lined up for it she had The Luigis, the current number one band popular with hipsters. Also on the to-do list: deciding how best a girl should enjoy boundless riches and secret immortality. Niko and Freya totally got that. They were enablers that way. But honestly, why didn’t Sophie and Zoe—and apparently Adrian—realize the amount of fun they could be having, and weren’t? Gloomy Underworld types. She switched the symphony off, and clicked instead to The Luigis’ album on her iPod.

Annoying thing was, she sort of did see their point of view. With great power comes great responsibility, and all that Gandalf-advice shit. Hell, Dionysos could be considered one of those Underworld types, with his dying-and-rising-god routine. So maybe that meant Tab was one too. But it was sure more fun to hang with Freya or Niko.

Especially Freya. Damn, that woman had her technique down—mainly the “I’m flirting madly with you but I promise nothing” technique. Now that Freya was hanging around the West Coast to help search for Thanatos, Tab saw her more often, and got lots of doses of alluring confusion.

“What are those for, those kisses?” Tab asked her the other night, when Freya kissed her goodnight after they’d had dinner.

“Old times’ sake,” Freya said.

“Sophie said you slept with Adrian for old times’ sake, too. She didn’t seem way happy about that.”

Freya only laughed. “Sophie has nothing to fear from me. She knows that.”

And somehow she’d left without Tab feeling any the wiser.

Meanwhile that attraction to Hekate-Zoe stayed rooted in her brain, bugging her at inconvenient times. What was up with that? Why was that so hard to trust or resolve?

She thought of Zoe’s steady, unnerving, wise stare, which made Tab feel about five hundred years younger than Zoe instead of three years, even though age shouldn’t matter between two immortals with access to past-life memories. She thought of Zoe—and Hekate—doing her amazingly cool tricks, waving magic about with the ease of blowing bubbles. In comparison, she felt unworthy, a raucous and immature partier. Zoe wanted something deeper, and Lord only knew why she’d look for it in Tab.

Plus she honestly kind of wondered if Zoe had thrown a spell on her to make her keep thinking about her, same as Dionysos had wondered it about Hekate.

She scowled at her open computer on the cafe table. Final exams, cults, relationships, magic spells? Who had time for this crap?

She turned up the volume on the music, and tackled the much more delightful task of planning the next party.