“I was being chased. You seemed the lesser of two evils.” The tiniest of pauses. “I’m beginning to wonder if I’ve made a terrible mistake.”
I wind my way through the maze of tunnels to another set of stairs. This one is nearly identical to the ones I just descended, right down to the pale runners on each stair. I take them two at a time, ignoring her faint oof in response to my shoulder jarring her stomach. Once again, the door clicks open the second I touch it, unlocked by whoever is on shift in the security room. I slow down enough to ensure the door is properly closed behind me.
Persephone twists a little on my shoulder. “A wine cellar. I don’t think I saw this coming.”
“Is there a part of tonight that you did see coming?” I curse myself for asking the question, but she’s acting so strangely unflappable that I’m genuinely curious. More than that, if she’s actually verging into hypothermia, keeping her talking right now is the wise course of action.
At that, her strangely cheerful tone fades down to almost a whisper. “No. I didn’t see any of it coming.”
Guilt pricks me, but I ignore it with the ease of long practice. One last set of stairs out of the wine cellar and I stop in the back hallway of my home. After a quick internal debate, I head for the kitchen. There are first aid supplies tucked in a number of rooms around the building, but the two largest kits are in the kitchen and in my bedroom. The kitchen is closer.
I push open the door and stop short. “What are you two doing here?”
Hermes freezes, two bottles of my best wine in her small hands. She gives me a winning grin that isn’t the least bit sober. “There was a snore-fest of a party in Dodona Tower. We cut out early.”
Dionysus has his head in my fridge, which is enough to tell me that he’s already drunk or high—or some combination of both. “You have the best snacks,” he says without pausing in his raiding of my food.
“Now’s not a good time.”
Hermes blinks behind her oversize yellow-framed glasses. “Uh, Hades.”
The woman over my shoulder jolts as if struck by a live wire. “Hades?”
Hermes blinks again and shoves back her cloud of black curls with one forearm. “Am I really, really drunk, or is that Persephone Dimitriou thrown over your shoulder like you’re about to role-play some sexy pillaging?”
“That’s impossible.” Dionysus finally appears with the pie my housekeeper left in the fridge earlier today. He’s eating it directly from the container. At least he’s using a fork this time. He also has some crumbles in his beard and only one side of his mustache is curled; the other is only a little crimped, as if he’s scrubbed a hand over his face recently. He frowns at me. “Okay, maybe not impossible. Either that or the weed I smoked with Helen in the courtyard before leaving was laced with something.”
Even if they hadn’t told me they’d come directly from a party, their clothing says it all. Hermes is wearing a short dress that would double as a disco ball, reflecting little sparkles against her dark-brown skin. Dionysus probably started the night with a suit, but he’s down to a white V-neck and there is a ball of wadded-up cloth on my kitchen island that’s no doubt his jacket and shirt.
Over my shoulder, Persephone has gone stock-still. I’m not even sure she’s breathing. The temptation arises to turn around and walk away, but I know from past experience that these two will just follow along and pepper me with questions until I give in to frustration and snap at them.
Better to rip off the Band-Aid now.
I set Persephone on the counter and keep a hand on her shoulder to prevent her from taking a nosedive. She blinks big hazel eyes up at me, little shivers racking her body. “She called you Hades.”
“It’s my name.” I pause. “Persephone.”
Hermes laughs and sets the wine bottles on the counter with a clink. She points at herself. “Hermes.” She points at him. “Dionysus.” Another laugh. “Though you already knew that.” She leans against my shoulder and whisper-yells, “She’s going to marry Zeus.”
I turn slowly to look at Hermes. “What?” I knew she had to be important to Zeus in order for him to send his men after her, but marriage? That means I have my hands on the shoulders of the next Hera.
“Yep.” Hermes works the cork out of one of the bottles and takes a long drink directly from it. “They announced it tonight. You just stole the fiancée of the most powerful man in Olympus. It’s a good thing they aren’t married yet, or you would have kidnapped one of the Thirteen.” She giggles. “That is positively devious, Hades. I didn’t think you had it in you.”
“I knew he did.” Dionysus tries to eat another bite of pie but has a bit of trouble finding his mouth, getting the fork tangled in his beard instead. He blinks down at the utensil as if it’s the one to blame. “He’s the boogeyman, after all. You don’t get that kind of reputation without being a tiny bit devious.”
“That’s about enough of that.” I dig my phone out of my pocket. I need to see to Persephone, but I can’t do that while fielding dozens of questions from these two.
“Hades!” Hermes whines. “Don’t kick us out. We just got here.”
“I didn’t invite you.” Not that that’s stopped them from crossing the river whenever they feel like it. Part of that is Hermes—she can go where she pleases, when she pleases by virtue of her position. Dionysus technically has a standing invitation, but it was only meant to be for business purposes.
“You never invite us.” She pouts
