She’s nothing if not a showwoman.
“And yet you’re still sitting here.” She spins on her tall heel and glares down at me. She’s fifty, and though she’d skin me alive for saying as much in public, no wrinkle or gray hair betrays her. She spends a fortune to keep her skin smooth and her hair a perfect icy blond. Not to mention the countless hours with her personal trainer to accomplish a body twenty-year-olds would kill for. All in the name of her title, Aphrodite. When one has the role of the goddess of love, one must meet certain expectations.
It’s unfortunate for everyone that my mother takes replicating the original Aphrodite’s reputation to heart. The goddess wasn’t exactly known for her even temperament, after all, and my mother is even worse than her namesake.
“Eros, put down that goddamned phone and listen to me.”
“I’m listening.” My bored tone betrays my waning patience, but I’d like to fast forward past all the dramatics to where she tells me what she wants done and I take care of it so she can keep her hands lily white. “You’re going to have to be more specific, Mother. Do you literally want her heart?”
She makes a sound suspiciously like a hiss. “You are such a little shit. Call me by my title or nothing at all.” This is the Aphrodite she doesn’t show anyone else in Olympus. Only I get the dubious privilege of witnessing what a monster my mother truly is.
But then, I’m not one to throw stones.
I make a show of turning off my phone and giving her my full attention. “You’re about to send me out on another one of you little errands, so why don’t you dial it back and give me a pretty smile before you ask me again—this time with more details.”
Another person would flinch in the face of my mild tone with the threat of violence beneath it. Aphrodite just laughs. “Eros, darling, you really are too much. You know very well that I want her literal heart. After what Demeter pulled last fall, nothing else will do. With Hades in her corner and the new Zeus untried, she’s throwing her weight around as if she’s anything other than a glorified farmer.”
Considering Demeter is responsible for ensuring that all of Olympus gets fed, and Aphrodite mostly handles arranging for vapid Olympians to marry other vapid Olympians, one could argue that Demeter should be in charge.
That’s not how Olympus works, though. No matter what my mother thinks, there will never be one ruler of this city. Instead, we get the Thirteen. Zeus, Poseidon, Hades, Aphrodite, Demeter, Artemis, Hephaestus, Ares, Athena, Hermes, Dionysus, and Apollo. And, of course, Hera, though that title will be unoccupied until the newest Zeus marries someone and fills the position.
That’s what my mother should be focusing on. She arranged all three marriages for the last Zeus—the fucker kept killing off his wives, which suited my mother quite nicely, as she loves a wedding and hates everything that follows. She should be frothing at the mouth to parade Olympus’s eligible people in front of the new Zeus.
Instead, she’s hyper-focusing on her revenge. It’s annoying as hell. “How’s Zeus doing these days?” Up until a few months ago, he was Perseus, but names are the first thing sacrificed at the altar of the Thirteen. Part of me wonders if that bothers him. I let the thought drift away. Perseus isn’t my problem. He’s been Zeus’s heir for his entire life. He knew he’d take the title when his father died. If it happened a bit earlier than anyone expected… Well, that’s also not my problem. I didn’t kill the asshole.
“Don’t change the subject,” she snaps. “Ever since Persephone ran off and shacked up with Hades, the power balance in Olympus is off. Someone needs to check Demeter, and if no one else will step up, then we’ll have to.”
“You mean I’ll have to. You might be demanding a heart, but we both know that I’m the one doing all the work.” It’s not even that I mind it, exactly, though I try to keep murder to a minimum. It’s messy and I have no desire for someone to start calling for my head. It’s so much easier to remove an opponent with a well-placed rumor or simply observe them until their own actions provide the ammunition for their downfall. Olympus is filled to the brim with sin, if one believes in that sort of thing, and no one in the Thirteen’s shining circle is without their fair share of vices.
Except, apparently, Demeter’s daughters.
I’ve been keeping an eye on them for months, ever since the old Zeus decided he wanted Persephone for his own. I snort. For all that good that did him. He drove her right into Hades’s arms, which in turn, brought Hades out of the shadows of the lower city. No one saw that coming.
But the bottom line is that the remaining three of Demeter’s daughters are careful to color inside the lines. They don’t drink too much, they don’t do drugs, they don’t date or sleep with anyone they shouldn’t. The most scandalous thing any of them have done in the last two months is when Callisto, the oldest, attacked a guy who grabbed her youngest sister’s ass in a bar. It was a gorgeous takedown. One second he was leering at Eurydice, and the next she’d punched him in the throat, knocking him on his ass, and said something in his ear that made him turn a sickly shade of green.
If I have my choice, I wouldn’t cross Callisto. I’m better than she is, but she’s got a rage that makes her unpredictable. Being unpredictable makes her dangerous.
“Eros.” Mother snaps her fingers in front of my face. “Stop daydreaming and do this task for me.”
I sigh. “Which daughter?”
“The daughter no one but her mother will miss.” She smiles slowly, her blue eyes going icy. “Psyche.”
Years of training
