Persephone's Orchard (The Chrysomelia Stories)

by Ringle, Molly

  Good, Sophie thought. She and her mother were treating each other like adults, then, despite the mom-and-sick-kid act. “I saw you kissing a man. In the car, by the library, a few months ago. And you text someone a lot now, which you never used to do, and you’re gone more than usual, more than your classes would need you to be.”

  “You’ve been wondering for a few months? Honey, you could have asked me sooner.” Her face looked pale, her wavy hair dark beside it. She laid her hand on Sophie’s foot, through the blanket. “Have you heard of the term ‘companionate marriage’?”

  “Not exactly.” Sophie already began to guess what it meant, though.

  “It means different things depending who you ask, but in our case it means we’re staying together because we care about each other, we love you kids, we want to keep the house, the fruit stand, et cetera. But, romantically…”

  “You can see other people.” Sophie kept her hands clenched around the mug.

  “Yes.” Several silent seconds passed, then her mom added, “He’s a nice man named Sam—”

  Sophie twitched and looked away. “I don’t have to know this.”

  “But he understands I’m not leaving Terry. I promise you I’m not.”

  Another sign they were being adults: Sophie’s father had become “Terry” instead of “your dad.”

  “I assume Liam doesn’t know any of this,” Sophie said.

  “No. He’s twelve. I don’t think he’d get it.”

  Sophie nodded, swishing the honeyed tea back and forth. “I won’t tell him.”

  “Does this make you feel better, at least?” Her mom sounded anxious. “Is there anything else I can answer?”

  “I guess it does make me feel better.” Sophie put on a weak smile. “Except for the whole fever and cold thing. That’s still making me feel like crap.”

  Late that evening, while Sophie was in the middle of explaining the visit via alternating texts to Tabitha and Adrian, her cell phone buzzed. Her dad was calling.

  She answered, with a measure of reluctance. “Hey, Dad.”

  “Hi, hon. I had a talk with your mom. Sounds like she told you a few things.”

  “Yeah. I…it’s fine, I swear.”

  “Is it really?”

  “Well…okay, it’s weird. But I think I can get used to it.” I hope, she added silently. This did seem the kind of thing that could send a daughter to a therapist if she dwelled on it too much.

  “I want to reiterate what she said,” her dad went on. “We are good, we are not splitting up, and most of all, we love you guys.”

  “I love you too. I just…worry you’re not as happy as you could be.”

  “Aw, you’re fresh out of a breakup, sweetie. I know it’s hard to imagine being happy without a smokin’ romance. But it is possible.”

  Sophie lifted her eyebrows, dryly amused. He had no idea the flood levels of smokin’ romance inundating her life these days. “Sure, maybe,” she said.

  “When you get all tired and middle-aged, you’ll see. Having you and Liam to love and be proud of—well, that’s enough for this old guy’s life.”

  “Dad, you’re not old.”

  “Tell that to my back. It’s yelling at me for lifting pumpkins all day.”

  She chuckled, which made her cough. “So…are you, you know. Seeing anyone?” God, did that feel weird to say to Dad.

  “Nah. Not interested. It’s your mom who’s still got the, uh, inclination to do those things.”

  If this was a way of saying, “She’s got a higher sex drive than me,” Sophie really didn’t want to continue the conversation. “Oh. Well, I’m glad I know the truth.” She coughed again. “This cold’s kicking my butt. I better go to bed.”

  “Get better soon. Goodnight, honey.”

  Shortly after hanging up, she wrapped up her text messaging as well, sending Tabitha a goodnight, and Adrian too. Right now she felt uneasy on all fronts.

  She could cross one concern off her list, yes. Mom and Dad weren’t divorcing. But it only caused her to add double underlines to another major concern: Sophie mattered in a gigantic way to her parents. Dad’s life was complete only because of Liam and her. In short, one thing she couldn’t easily do was become immortal, vanish into the spirit realm, and write off most of her earthly relationships. Sorry, Adrian.

  But even as she acknowledged that problem, an ache spread under her ribs, the same way it had felt when Persephone was trying to give up Hades.

  And she already knew that resolution hadn’t stuck.

  “HAVE YOU HEARD the rumblings against Zeus?” Demeter asked Persephone, as they walked toward a patient’s house. It was a few days before the spring equinox, and rain was turning the road to mud. The women wore extra woolen cloaks draped over their heads to keep dry.

  “No,” said Persephone. “What’s wrong?”

  “Only what we’ve all expected for years. He can’t stop seducing mortal women. Maidens and married ones alike. And though he claims he’s careful, two girls have died in the last year in miscarriages. Those who manage to escape pregnancy still end up with broken hearts and irate families.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “Hera’s no help, of course. She takes the arrogant stance, claiming it’s all jealous lies on the part of girls with a crush on him. And Zeus dodges responsibility, says the pregnancies could easily have been caused by other men.”

  “Which, I’m sure,” said Persephone with a sigh, “does not make the families any less furious with him.”

  “Quite the contrary. It’s starting to make all the immortals look bad.”

  “How are things with the others? Apollo, Athena, Artemis, Poseidon…?” Persephone added the name as casually as she could, more aware now of the tenderness of unsatisfied love.

  “I gather they have contented followers on the whole. But even they hear grumbles and insults more often these days. Artemis said there’s an unruly pack of men who jeer at her for not wishing to take any of them as lovers, and an arrow hit her while a group was out hunting recently.”

  “Gracious.”

  “She wasn’t hurt, of course, not for long. And the man who fired the arrow swears it was a mistake. But she suspects it wasn’t. As to Poseidon, his mortal wife lately got accosted by a bunch of bitter old women wanting to know why he couldn’t perform miracle cures for them, or protect their sons and grandsons from dying at sea.” Demeter shook her head. “They’ve only known of us for ten or twenty years, yet already they’re completely misinformed about what we are and what we can do.”

  “Well, they call you ‘gods.’ And you encouraged it. They want you to be the gods in the stories.”

  “Wonderful. Let them tell us how exactly we’re supposed to climb up onto the clouds and grab hold of a lightning bolt, let alone raise the dead.”

  That was all it took: one mention of the dead, and Persephone’s mind slid straight to the Underworld, forgetting its speculation on whether her mother still loved Poseidon.

  They trudged along, the mud squelching beneath their deerskin boots, water seeping in between the stitches to chill Persephone’s feet.

  “In short,” Demeter added, “it’s not a good time to align yourself with immortals. Know that if you wish to marry Adonis, I’ll miss you terribly, but I’ll be pleased that you’re safe and taking on a normal life.”

  “Oh, Mother, the people don’t bother me. And they love you. We’re safe, I dare say.”

  “They don’t all love me. Didn’t I tell you, some wench yelled at me a few days ago? ‘How much grain for the village could that fancy gold crown buy?’ She was not asking in friendly jest, I promise you.”

  Persephone linked her arm into Demeter’s. “Then I’m sure she was drunk.”

  “Well, yes. That she was.”

  They both laughed.

  But the central message wasn’t lost on Persephone: marry Adonis, not Hades.

  If Hades honestly didn’t want her, there was no choice at all. In her time spent with Ap
hrodite, her head full of outlandish seduction ideas, she entertained notions that she could sway him. But the rest of her days, such as now…well, why would he want her? Look at her: a limping mortal with mud all over her feet, and maybe fifteen years left before wrinkles and gray hairs overtook her. What a prize.

  She bowed her head, and plodded along in the rain with her mother.

  SOPHIE GROANED UPON awakening. Pain rushed back into her consciousness, throbbing at the back of her throat and deep inside her nose. Sweat dampened her pajamas, thanks to her fluctuating temperature. She hauled herself upright to blow her nose.

  It was 9:00 a.m. on Saturday, and Sophie had the room to herself. Melissa had left last night to visit her parents for the weekend. Of course, Sophie thought, the one weekend her roommate was gone, she was so ill she could barely function, and therefore couldn’t realistically use her room for a hot date with her gorgeous new boyfriend.

  She staggered to the bathroom, figuring she’d feel better after a shower, and might be able to face a study session at the library. But, as with yesterday, dragging herself to the dining hall for breakfast was enough to make her dizzy, and all she could stand to swallow was a few bites of oatmeal and a cup of chamomile tea.

  Bringing toast and an orange back to her room, she flopped into bed and resigned herself to feeling miserable.

  Well…mostly miserable.

  How you feeling? Adrian texted, shortly after she returned from the dining hall.

  The sight of his name, his simple three words of concern, made her feel like she could survive the day.

  Been better, she answered. Goddess of phlegm, they call me.

  Ha. Nice. Want anything today? Soup?

  Nah. Thanks, but I look and feel gross. Talking to you helps, though.

  Good. Text me whenever you like.

  I will. She set the phone down at her side, and picked up her Chem textbook.

  ADRIAN POCKETED HIS phone and got up to make coffee in the Airstream’s little kitchen. He didn’t need caffeine, technically, nor did it affect him anymore, but coffee’s smell and taste comforted him, reminding him of lazy afternoons studying with Zoe, or Saturday mornings reading across the kitchen table from his father, back when he was a mortal. Back before he became cut off from the world.

  Outside in the wilderness, a clean blue sky glimmered behind the row of evergreens. Splashes of yellow and red along the hillside signaled foliage changing color for the winter. Dew, or possibly an overnight rain, had drenched everything and bent the meadow grasses over.

  Autumn. Demeter searching the Earth desperately for her kidnapped daughter, and in her grief letting the world’s plants die and the weather turn cold. Or so the mythology had it.

  While the kettle heated, and Kiri chowed down on her bowl of dog food on the floor, Adrian leaned on the counter and thought of Demeter, and what Sophie had told him about her father lately. As Demeter or as Terry, that soul put the happiness and safety of her (or his) daughter first. Adrian sympathized with that.

  The problem was, he put Sophie’s love and companionship first among his own priorities, just as he had with Persephone. Even knowing what a lonely, difficult, dangerous existence this was, he wanted her in it with him, living centuries if not forever.

  Selfish perhaps. But everyone was allowed a vice, and desiring her seemed like it was destined to be his.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  HOW YOU DOING? SAID THE text from Adrian. It was dark outside now, and Sophie had just slurped down an overly salty but somewhat nourishing cup of chicken noodle soup.

  Surviving, she texted back. Extreme stuffy head. Fever of 101. But conscious.

  Sorry. Sounds awful.

  Yeah. But these memories do help. Distraction, at least.

  They are that. And some nicer ones should come soon.

  Finally the making out with Hades part? she guessed.

  Perhaps…and now I’m blushing.

  She smiled, blew her nose for the nine hundredth time that day, and tapped in a response. Sweet. OK, I’ll try to sleep soon. Hope I feel good enough tomorrow to see you.

  Me too. Take care.

  Night.

  Sophie wasn’t sure what awakened her in the middle of the night—a faint sound, perhaps, or the sensation of someone moving near her. But when she opened her eyes in the nearly-dark room, she saw the solid shape of a person sitting on the edge of her bed.

  She gasped, and flew into an upright position, grabbing at the desk lamp and switching it on.

  Quentin.

  Sophie could barely breathe, let alone shout.

  Professor Quentin smiled pleasantly. She wore a lavender rain jacket and a black OSU baseball cap. Her cane leaned on her knee, her hand wrapped around it. “Hello, dear. We need to talk.” She lifted her other hand, showing Sophie’s pepper spray, which evidently Quentin had picked up from the desk. Quentin chuckled. “I’ve got this, in case you’re looking for it.”

  “How’d you get in?” Sophie’s voice was only a squeak. Her cold had moved into the laryngitis stage, apparently. Great timing: just when it would’ve been useful to scream.

  “Oh, that was easy.”

  Sophie shot a glance at the alarm clock. It was 12:30. She scrambled out of bed, her legs shaking. “But you’d need keys. I….”

  Professor Quentin chuckled. “I have my ways. But that isn’t the point.” She lowered her chin, keeping her pale blue eyes fixed on Sophie. “I know you’ve been in contact with Adrian. And the woman too—Rhea, if that’s really her name.”

  “Out. You need to get out.”

  “I told you, you don’t want to be in this fight, sweetie. Where’s your cell phone? Hand it over and let’s end this now.”

  Under her pillow. It was under her pillow, all too close to where Quentin sat. And the stun gun was in her backpack, hanging next to the door. Damn it. Sophie moved back to the bed and sat upon the pillow, trying to make it look like she was too weak to stand. Her hand crept under the pillow’s edge, behind her. “Look, I’m sick, and you have to leave.”

  “I imagine he’s seduced you by now,” said Quentin. “Into believing him, I mean, though possibly he’s seduced you in the usual way too. But imagine the problems, if you haven’t already. Say you have children together. Won’t you want them to live forever too? Then what about their spouses, and their children? It’s inevitable. You’ll want more and more of his kind. A whole race of them will soon exist, and then what?”

  “I told you, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Go.” Sophie captured her phone and surreptitiously pulled it out, keeping it behind her back.

  Quentin gestured conversationally with the leather-wrapped canister of pepper spray. “Some government’s sure to get their hands on this magic fruit, this fountain of youth. It’ll become a commodity. What if the next version of the Nazis get hold of it?”

  They wouldn’t, because no one would let them into the Underworld to eat it, which is the only way it works, Sophie thought. She tucked the phone up her pajama sleeve and stood, moving toward the door. “Really, you need to go. You’ll catch my cold if you stay.”

  “That cold. How do you know it isn’t something he gave you? Something from that other world?”

  “It’s a cold. I’ve had them before.”

  The professor squinted at Sophie. “But think of it. Microorganisms no one’s been exposed to in all these centuries. Plagues, incurable diseases, horrors we can’t imagine. He could be unleashing all that onto us, going back and forth between worlds.”

  “If it never was a problem before—” Sophie stopped, realizing her error too late.

  Professor Quentin smiled dryly. “So he’s been showing you those pretty pictures of the past. Hallucinations, dear. Some attribute them to demons, but I’m not as religious as all that. I’m sure neurotoxins are enough of an explanation. His world and powers are real, but there’s no guarantee they are what they seem to be.”

  “You’re making no sense.”

&nbs
p; “The Underworld—that’s not necessarily the real afterlife. The past lives he’s described might be total fictions. And so on.”

  Sophie thought of Grandpop’s ghost, the dreams, the rides in Adrian’s bus, the giant lion that had almost eaten her…could they all be hallucinations?

  Last week, she’d found a piece of long grass latched to her coat, topped with a tassel of reddish grain. Nothing like that grew on campus. It had ridden over from the spirit realm. Her gaze darted to it, still lying across her desk as a souvenir.

  Fury won out over fear. To think, this woman had made her doubt all of it—doubt Adrian—even for a second.

  Sophie reached for the doorknob. “If you’re not leaving, I will, and I’ll fetch my R.A. and have her throw you out.”

  “I wouldn’t open that door. Hand me your phone. Now.” Quentin’s eyes gleamed as she watched Sophie, and she lifted the pepper spray.

  “Trust me, you don’t want to use that. Hurts like hell if you’re anywhere near it.”

  “And you trust me, you don’t want to go out into that hall. Let’s have the phone.”

  Defiantly, Sophie pulled the stun gun out of her backpack—from a distance, she figured, its dark rectangular shape probably looked enough like a phone. “You want the phone? Come get it.” She opened the door and walked into the hallway.

  A tall man in a ski mask and dark clothes leaped at her. She managed to scream this time, though it was only a throaty croak, and she threw herself aside, crashing hard into another door. The man lunged at her again, and this time she was ready: she met his leg with the stun gun and stabbed her thumb against the button.

  A crackling buzz reverberated in the hallway. The man gave a strangled cry and crashed to the floor, limbs twitching.

  Footsteps thumped behind the door Sophie had bumped into, and someone opened it: one of the girls who lived across the hall. “Holy crap!” the girl said, and dashed back to her desk to grab her cell phone.

  Sophie dived into the girl’s room, not wanting to be left alone, still peering out into the hall.