Psyche?
She’s something else entirely. She plays the game and plays it well, all without seeming to. She’s got this unassuming thing going on, but I’ve been watching her long enough to notice that she never makes a move by accident. I can’t prove it, of course, but I think she’s got just as savvy a brain in her head as her mother does. “The daughter no one will miss?” I raise my brows. “Or an excuse to punish the Dimitriou daughter who gets more press than you do?”
She sneers. “She’s a fat girl with little style and no substance. The only reason MuseWatch and the other sites follow her around is because she’s a novelty. She’s not even close to my league.”
I don’t argue with her because there’s no point, but the truth is that Psyche is gorgeous and has a style that sets trends in a way Aphrodite can only dream of. Which is exactly the problem. My mother’s decided to take down two birds with one stone.
“The reason is irrelevant.” She props her hands on her hips. “I want this taken care of, Eros. You have to do this for me.”
Something in my chest twinges, but I ignore it. If I believed in souls, I would have sacrificed mine long ago. There is a price for power in Olympus, and with a mother in the Thirteen, I never had a chance at innocence. I don’t mourn the loss, not when I enjoy the benefits so immensely. If it means that sometimes I’m required to do these little tasks for my mother? It’s a small enough price to pay. “I’ll see it done.”
“Before the end of the month.”
That doesn’t give me much time at all. I stomp down on the flicker of resentment and nod. “I’ll see it done.”
“Good.” She twirls away, her skirt once again flaring dramatically around her feet, and strides out of the room.
That’s my mother, all right. Here for the proclamations of revenge and heavy with the demands, but when it comes time to actually do the work, she’s suddenly got somewhere to be.
It’s just as well. I’m good at what I do because I know when to be flashy and when to fly below the radar. Aphrodite wouldn’t know how to be subtle if her life depended on it. I wait a full thirty seconds before I push to my feet and walk to my front door. If she changes her mind and comes back to spout off some more bullshit, she’ll be pissed to find my door locked, but I don’t like being interrupted once I get to planning.
And, frankly, it’s good for my mother to be foiled from time to time.
I head down to the ground floor and flip the lock there and then lock the actual door to my apartment for good measure. Then I head through the rooms to the safe room. Oh, it’s not technically a safe room even if I like to refer to it as such. I use it to store things I don’t want nosy guests—or Hermes—to get their hands on. She’s tried at least a dozen times to break into it, and so far my security has held, but I’m all too aware that eventually she might prevail. Still, it’s the best option available to me.
Once I lock that door, I sit down behind my computer and consider my options. This would be so much simpler if Aphrodite just wanted to make a non-lethal example of Psyche. She might be crafting a reputation as an influencer in that quiet way of hers, but reputations are easy to burn to ash. I’ve done it dozens of times over the years, and no doubt I’ll do it many more. All it takes is some patience and the ability to play the long game.
But no, my mother wants her literal heart. How very Evil Queen of her. I shake my head and bring up my files on the Dimitriou sisters. I have files on all the Thirteen and their immediate family, as well as close friends, but Demeter is a relatively new addition. She’s been around over a decade, and since then her daughters have become something of favorites among the Olympian paparazzi. There’s not a week goes by without some kind of info about them being dropped on the online gossip site MuseWatch.
I click through the most recent articles, if one can call them that. Persephone visited her family last weekend briefly and caused quite the stir because she brought her new husband with her. The Hades-Demeter alliance is one nobody saw coming, and it’s feeding into my mother’s paranoia. She had the last Zeus on a leash, but his son hasn’t taken the bait she keeps dangling in front of him. It’s got her worried.
I stop on a picture of Psyche and Persephone together shopping. They always seem to be shopping. It’s enough that someone who isn’t paying close attention would assume they’re just as focused on appearance and power and money as the rest of those who surround the Thirteen. Everyone with a little bit wants more than what they have, and they’re all willing to drag others down to claw their way higher, closer to the Thirteen.
But then, if that were true, Persephone Dimitriou wouldn’t have braved crossing into the lower city to try to get away from a marriage with Zeus.
Psyche wouldn’t have helped her.
Even I’m not sure exactly what happened that night, but I know
