Love & War
Page 3
“That’s not helping!” Persephone’s grip tightened on my hand, and I felt a flare of power, strengthening my tether to the dreamscape. More details filled in the room, but I wasn’t the one pulling them in.
“How . . . ,” I said, trying to ask how she’d done that. It shouldn’t have been possible, but I couldn’t form the words.
“Besides,” Persephone continued, and I wondered if the beginnings of my question had been audible at all. “I’m not comfortable condoning the death of innocent people.”
“Welcome to life as queen,” Poseidon said snidely. “Did you think all your choices would be easy?”
“Easy!” Persephone protested.
I felt her power tugging at me as more and more details fueled the dreamscape. The operating room expanded beyond the small circle of my awareness.
“Good work, Aphrodite.” Poseidon shot me a surprised look and moved along the new perimeter, peering at walls, uniforms, charts, anything that might give a clue to my location. When I didn’t reply, he turned the conversation back to Persephone. “Killing Zeus wasn’t exactly moral rocket science. Maybe it wasn’t easy to accomplish but the choice was an easy one.”
“That wasn’t—” I drew in a sharp breath, trying to convince my jumbled mind to make words. The entire Pantheon had decided to take Zeus down. Poseidon didn’t get to put all the blame on her shoulders. No matter how deserving that evil psychopath was of death.
Poseidon ignored me. “Every decision you’ve made thus far has been very black and white, but life thrives on the subtleties of gray. You’re going to have to make decisions that feel wrong for everything to come out right. Hades was willing to handle those for you, but now—”
“Look, I get it,” Persephone snapped. “Without him, you and the others think I’m weak. No, worse. Incompetent. Some stupid, naïve little girl with the power to bring down the entire Pantheon.”
Poseidon scoffed. “I don’t—”
“You think I need advice from someone older, wiser, and oh, so powerful? Well guess what?”
I focused on my words, forcing them to come from my mouth. “I volunteered to find the demigods.”
Persephone bit back whatever withering thing she was about to say to Poseidon and turned her attention to me. “What?”
The words came easier now. “I volunteered. You’re not responsible for—”
“I should have gone,” Persephone’s voice broke. “This is my fault; it’s all my fault. If I’d just gone instead of letting you—”
“Persephone, I volunteered.” I’d done something good, something that helped the entire Pantheon. She couldn’t take that from me.
“For me! You volunteered for me. I’m not an idiot, Aphrodite. I didn’t want to go, so you went in my place because you have this”—she waved her free hand around—“twisted idea that you owe me something. And I knew that. I shouldn’t have let you go. And now you’re lying in a hospital bed somewhere, poisoned and stabbed and beaten and unable to teleport or use your powers, and it’s all my fault.”
“You made the right call sending her.” Poseidon studied a wall that had materialized behind him. “I should have never suggested otherwise. Aphrodite got the information we needed, and has planted herself in a position to gather more. We have to learn more about the demigods, their numbers, their weaponry, and their plans if we want to end this. Aphrodite’s injury lends an authenticity we can’t replicate.”
Wait. “You want me to stay here? Poseidon, I’m powerless. I can’t—”
“No, of course not,” Persephone soothed. “As soon as we find you and you stabilize enough to teleport, I can switch places with you.”
“What?” Poseidon stared at her, incredulous. “If we interfere before Ares finds everything we need to know, we risk exposure. Let me be very clear that exposure could mean death to all three of you. We shouldn’t risk going in until we have everything we need.”
“Wait.” My befuddled mind tried desperately to catch up. Poseidon had sworn to protect me. He shouldn’t be able to vote to leave me in a dangerous situation. “You’re asking me to pretend? To—to—”
“To spy?” Poseidon demanded, sounding utterly done with this conversation. “How is that any different than what you were doing on the cruise?”
“What, like that went well?” I objected, unable to articulate how incredibly different infiltrating was than observing. On the cruise, I’d just been watching. Here, I’d be living among the enemy, gaining their trust, then using it to stab them in the back. To destroy them. I’d done that before, to Persephone. Against my will, yeah, but something told me that actually having a choice wouldn’t make it any easier to live with myself when I brought the demigod’s world tumbling down around them.
“She’s defenseless, Poseidon,” Persephone interjected. “She can’t use her powers. She’s injured. And she’s not just wearing some random glamour. She’s pretending to be an existing person. She can’t even lie. How is she supposed to pretend to be someone else?”
I swallowed hard as I realized the full extent of my dilemma. If I screwed up, my life wouldn’t be the only one on the line. They could kill Ares.
“Very carefully. We have an opportunity here.” Poseidon’s voice rose. “She can—”
Persephone shook her head. “She’s my proxy, so it’s my decision.” She looked at me. “You don’t have to do this. Once you’re stable enough to teleport without dying and we figure out where you are, I can take your place.”
“That’s a horrible idea,” Poseidon said. “You run three realms! You can’t just leave them to fend for themselves while you play Nancy Drew.”
I gritted my teeth, frustrated on her behalf. A week ago, he and Athena had been hounding Persephone to take a more active role in the investigation. Now she was being berated because she wanted to get more involved? She couldn’t win for losing.
“I am not playing at anything.” Persephone spat through gritted teeth. “And I have no intention of abandoning my realms. Cassandra can keep an eye on the Underworld, and the sky isn’t exactly occupied.”
“And the living realm?” Poseidon countered.
“Mostly doesn’t even know I exist. It’ll be fine. Besides, I’ll still be in it.”
“It could be worse,” I quipped before I could help myself. “She could be abandoning it at the bottom of a bottle.”
Persephone furrowed her brow in confusion, but Poseidon knew exactly what I meant and gave me a level stare. I smiled at him, unconcerned. If the idea of Persephone discovering his drunken antics on the cruise embarrassed him, that was his problem.
“Look.” Poseidon drew in a deep breath. “Fair or not, Hades is the reason anyone takes her seriously.” He jabbed a finger at Persephone. “And as much as I hate to admit it, having Persephone to rally around keeps the rest of us united. The Pantheon needs a united front right now. With Hades gone, the other gods will be circling for weaknesses. If she leaves too, that’s blood in the water.” He turned his attention to Persephone. “You cannot afford to react with emotion now.”
I closed my eyes. There was his out. His oath of protection only worked so long as protecting me didn’t endanger any other gods. Persephone would be in danger if we exchanged places.
Poseidon kept talking to her as if she was one of them—one of the original six, who’d been around for centuries and were experienced at thinking without emotion during a crisis. But Persephone had been raised as a human. Most of the time, her ability to think differently than most of the Pantheon was Persephone’s greatest asset. But right now, she was a terrified teenager who’d just been forced to leave her friend battered and bleeding on the ground. No amount of logic would convince her to leave me again.
But this was a debate amongst realm rulers, which went way above my pay grade. Time to step out of this and let them argue
amongst themselves. Things never went well for the little people stuck in the middle of these fights.
Persephone laughed. “You keep talking like you think your opinion matters to me one way or another. It doesn’t.”
“You. Cannot. Go,” Poseidon said, slower, with a forced calm. “It’s too dangerous.”
Wrong argument, Poseidon. This was the girl who left the safety of the Underworld to save a friend. I’d watched her intentionally lock herself into a promise so she couldn’t be forced to hurt Hades, knowing that by doing so, she was signing up for torture. She’d even thrown herself between Zeus and a demigod without any thought to her own safety. It just wasn’t in her to leave a friend behind, no matter the risk.
“It’s just as dangerous for her!” Persephone pointed at me. “More so, since she’s not able to access her powers. I can—”
“She’s expendable. You’re not. You cannot take her place.”
I could see Persephone getting offended on my behalf, but he was right. Persephone’s continued survival was a hell of a lot more important to the universe in general than mine. These people had weapons that could kill gods. She couldn’t come here.
Poseidon tried to reason with her, ocean eyes swirling in frustration. “If they knock your powers out of commission, you are endangering three realms to save one friend from being in an uncomfortable situation. Aphrodite is fully capable of acting as your proxy. Let her.”
“She doesn’t want to!”
Poseidon waved that off, as if what I wanted didn’t matter. But to Persephone, it was absolutely the most important factor in this decision. “You cannot do everything by yourself. You cannot take every danger on yourself. You can’t do, be, and rule everything, Persephone. I know you don’t trust us. Hell, I know you don’t even like most of us, but we’ve been at this a lot longer than you have. Sometimes we’re worth listening to.”
“I’ll do it.” I hated the words even as I spoke them, but I knew Persephone. She wouldn’t force me to stay against my will, no matter what. “He’s right, Persephone. We can’t risk you.”
Persephone looked me straight in the eye. “You’re not expendable. Don’t let him make you think you are.”
The dreamscape shuddered.
“We’re losing her.” Poseidon moved back toward us, grabbing my other hand and the dreamscape stabilized.
I didn’t have much time. “This isn’t worth arguing about right now. I can’t go anywhere until I’m stable. Let’s wait for me to heal. Hopefully Ares will get all the intel on the demigods, their weaponry, and find Hades by then.”
“And if he doesn’t?” Poseidon demanded.
“Then I’ll stay until he does.”
Persephone opened her mouth to argue, but I cut her off before we could go around the circle again.
“We have bigger problems than ‘what if’s’ right now.” I drew in a deep breath. “I have nightmares.”
Swearing, Persephone closed her eyes. “I didn’t even think about that.”
Poseidon quirked his brow. “I’m failing to see the significance of—”
“As in screaming in my sleep, waking up in an uncontrollable panic, nightmares. I can’t control what I say, and if they hear ‘Elise’ screaming about Zeus or either of you or gods forbid, Adonis, that’s going to raise some questions I can’t answer.”
The sea god swore. “And right now, you can’t just not sleep or go into a dreamstate.”
Slipping into the kind of directed dreaming that allowed gods to communicate in their sleep took power. Not much, but that didn’t matter right now. “I’m powerless.”
“Can Ares drop you into a dreamstate?” Persephone asked.
“Probably.” It didn’t take much power to push someone into that divine space between sleeping and waking. But he couldn’t keep me there for more than a few seconds without an actual dream to push me into. “But I don’t think he’s got enough power to generate a dreamscape on his own.”
“We’ll take shifts,” Poseidon decided. “All Ares has to do is drop you into a dreamstate, maybe generate a ’scape long enough to hold you while we swap over.”
“Great. Now that that’s settled—” I injected a lightness into my tone that I didn’t feel. “What happened to Hades?” Something had, for sure, but no one would give me a straight answer as to what. “Where is he?”
Persephone looked close to tears. “I don’t know.”
I opened my mouth to ask for more details, but the dreamscape gave another violent shudder. “I’ll find out whatever I can,” I promised, hoping against hope that I was going further under, not waking up.
“It’s not working. I can’t keep you here anymore.” Persephone blinked rapidly, and I knew she was fighting to keep her composure in front of Poseidon. “Aphrodite!” Her voice rose in panic.
I pulled her into a fierce hug, trying very hard not to think about the fact that unconsciousness wasn’t pulling at me. My mind was clearer now than ever, which meant that if I was leaving the dreamscape, I was waking up. Please let the surgery be over. “Take care of yourself.” Over her shoulder, my eyes locked with Poseidon’s, my message clear. Take care of her.
He nodded.
“You, too,” she whispered, her voice breaking as the dreamscape gave a final lurch and dissipated around me.
Chapter IV
Medea
SO, IT TURNS OUT the morning after pill doesn’t work if you’re already pregnant. I was writing from the uncomfortable chair at Elise’s bedside. Adonis had watched her entire surgery, his tension palpable. As soon as he’d relaxed enough for exhaustion to take over, I’d slipped down to the pharmacy and returned before he’d realized I was missing. I kind of want to take it anyway, just to be sure, but the pharmacist convinced me to wait until I actually talk to the OB when she comes in tomorrow morning.
My phone buzzed with another text. Jason had sent dozens of questions for me to ask Adonis while Elise was in surgery. But Adonis had watched every cut, every stitch with such riveting attention that looking down at my phone to check my messages seemed rude.
I cannot believe I was paranoid enough to suspect Jason. All that time I lived as a medical experiment made me forget how to trust people. Jason would never get me pregnant on purpose. I’ve just seen too much TV.
My phone buzzed again, and I looked over to where Adonis was still hunched over Elise, his hand laced through hers, head resting in the sliver of space between her hip and the edge of the bed. I’d been there before. I knew what it was like to suddenly realize the extent of your own pain and crash. He’d managed some strained small talk before his eyelids flagged, and I was content to let him sleep. My questions could wait.
Being here brings back memories, I wrote, returning to my journal, shifting positions in the uncomfortable plastic chair. Not that I was here, of course. But underneath the ocean-themed decor, it smells the same, and that’s enough to take me back.
I remember lying in a hospital bed like this for what felt like forever. I don’t think my stepdad even knew what was going on. Every time he visited, his eyes would glitter with sympathy and he would say meaningless phrases like, “Stay strong, kiddo.”
He was so convinced I was sick that I believed him. At first, I thought I’d switched places with my stepbrother. That I’d misunderstood what my parents had asked me to do when they told me I was a match for his bone marrow. I was convinced they’d given me his cancer so he could be better, and I could die. To be fair, I was, like, six. It made sense to me.
I remember being so angry. Screaming into my pillow and crying myself to sleep, wondering what I’d done wrong. Why had they picked him over me? But then, I’d try to be so good when Mom visited. Like if I was just sweet enough, loving enough, good enough, she’d switch us back.
I drew in a deep breath, the antiseptic smell of
the hospital stinging my nose. The incessant beeps coming from the machines attached to Elise made it hard to focus. My stepbrother never visited. I think they told him I’d died. He sure was surprised to see me later, though that might have been the gun to his head.
I thought I’d felt angry before. Betrayed. But that feeling didn’t even begin to touch the way I felt the day I realized they were farming me out for parts and selling me to the highest bidder.
“They wanted to call it ‘Hope.’”
That’s one of the last things my mother ever said to me. I wonder what “they” would have said if they’d known “Hope,” their miracle cure, their golden fleece, was a terrified girl who had to be strapped down to the bed, screaming and crying, every time the doctor walked into the room because she knew what his presence meant. That this time, blood wouldn’t be enough. “They” needed more.
Adonis stirred, rustling the pockmarked covers on Elise’s bed.
I slammed my journal closed, my hands shaking with rage.
“Did I miss anything?” he asked with a groan, stretching, then wincing. His hand moved to his side as he pushed the plastic chair back enough to expand his legroom. “Did she—?”
“She’s still out.” I forced the anger out of my voice and focused on sounding cheerful. Cheerful was disarming, likable, even. People who liked me tended not to hold me down and slice me open. Or at least, they looked guilty when they did.
Adonis gave me an odd look, and too late I realized that cheerful was out of place at a hospital bedside.
“Umm . . .” Flustered, I ducked my head, staring at the blue and pink bits of color spackled through the reflective tile floor. Flustered could work. “I’m not really sure how to go about doing this.”
“Doing what?” His voice went hard.
I felt my face heat, but forced my gaze over the bed to meet his. “I’m supposed to ask you questions.”