A Touch of Malice (Hades x Persephone Saga Book 3)
A Touch of Malice: Part 1 – Chapter 12

Persephone had not returned to Iniquity since the first time she’d visited. She’d come with the hope of saving Lexa and had left with nothing but the knowledge that she did not know Hades or his empire very well.

The club was a speakeasy-style and accessed by members with a password. This space was neutral territory and behind these walls, deals were made with balance in mind. After learning about the evil Hades was willing to let exist in the world, Persephone often found herself wondering the same—what malevolence would she allow if the results brought peace—if they prevented war, for instance?

They manifested in a room that looked similar to the one she’d met Kal Stavros, the owner of Epik Communications, a Magi, and a mortal who had offered to save Lexa in exchange for Hades and Persephone’s story. She hadn’t had a chance to refuse before Hades arrived and ended the bargain, permanently scaring Kal’s face.

The accused sat beneath a circular pool of light. Her long, dark hair was silky and straight. She kept her head pressed against the back of the chair, a black snake slithered slowly around her neck while two others made their way around her arms, another six slinked in a circle around her feet. Her hatred was palpable as she glared at them, her mouth set in a hard line.

Persephone inched forward until she stood at the edge of the light.

“I do not need to tell you why you are here,” she said.

The woman glared and when she spoke, her voice was clear, not a hint of fear or even rage. Her calm put Persephone on edge. “Will you kill me?”

“I am not the Goddess of Retribution,” Persephone said.

“You did not answer my question.”

“I am not the one being questioned.”

The woman stared.

“What’s your name?” Persephone asked.

She lifted her chin and replied, “Lara.”

“Lara, why did you attack me in The Coffee House?”

“Because you were there,” she answered, nonchalant. “And I wanted you to hurt.”

The words, while not surprising, still stung.

“Why?”

Lara did not reply immediately, and Persephone watched as the snake paused its slithering to lift its head from her neck to hiss, exposing venomous fangs. She jerked, squeezing her eyes shut, preparing for the bite.

“Not yet,” Persephone said, and the snake stilled. Lara looked at the goddess. “I asked you a question.”

This time, as the woman answered, tears rolled down her face.

“Because you represent everything that is wrong with this world,” she seethed. “You think you stand for justice because you wrote some angry words in a newspaper, but they mean nothing! Your actions are by far more telling—you, like so many, have merely fallen into the same trap. You are a sheep, corralled by Olympian glamour.”

Persephone stared at the woman, knowing her anger had grown from something—a seed that had been planted and nurtured by hate, so she asked, “What happened to you?”

Something haunting bled into Lara’s eyes—it was an expression that was hard to explain, but when Persephone saw it, she knew it for what it was—trauma.

“I was raped,” she hissed in a barely-there whisper. “By Zeus.”

Her admission came as a shock despite Zeus being known for this behavior—a fact that should not be fact at all. Power had given Zeus, and so many others like him, a ticket to abuse for no other reason except that they were male and in a position of authority.

It was wrong and the behavior was at the core of their society. Even among the goddesses, who were equal, or in some cases, more powerful, assault was used as a means of control and oppression. Hera was a prime example—deceived and raped by Zeus, she was so ashamed, she agreed to marry him. As his queen, even her role as Goddess of Marriage had become Zeus’s.

Beside her, Hades stiffened. She glanced at the God of the Dead whose jaw ticked. She knew Hades punished those who committed crimes against women and children severely—was he motivated by his brother’s actions? Had he ever punished Zeus?

‘I’m sorry this happened to you,” Persephone said.

She stepped toward Lara, and the snakes that had kept her firmly in her seat, vanished into tendrils of smoke.

“Don’t,” Lara snapped. “I do not want your pity.”

Persephone halted. “I am not offering pity,” she replied. “But I would like to help you.”
“How can you help me?” she seethed.

The question hurt—it felt the same as when the woman had approached her in Nevernight and rebuked her. Still, she had to do something. She had never experienced the extent of Lara’s nightmare, but even then, Pirithous still haunted her in a way she never imagined.

“I know you did not do anything to deserve what happened to you,” Persephone said.

“Your words mean nothing while gods are still able to hurt,” she offered in a painful whisper.

Persephone could not speak because there was nothing to say. She could argue that not all gods were the same, but those words were not right for this time—and Lara was right, what did it matter that not all gods were the same when the ones who hurt went unpunished?

It was then she remembered something her mother had said.

Consequences for gods? No, Daughter, there are none.

The words made her sick and she clenched her firsts against them, swearing that one day, things would be different.

“How would you have Zeus punished?” Hades asked.

Both Persephone and Lara looked at him, surprised. Was he asking because he planned to do something about this? Persephone’s gaze shifted to Lara as she spoke.

“I would have him torn apart limb by limb and his body burned. I would have his soul fracture into millions of pieces until nothing was left but the whisper of his screams echoing in the wind.”

“And you think you can bring that justice?” Hades’ voice was low—a deadly challenge, and she realized that while she’d been here to sympathize, he was here to get to something else—her loyalty.

Lara glared. “Not me. Gods,” she said. “New ones.”

Her eyes took on a glassy, almost hopeful look, as if she were imagining what it would be like—a world with new gods.

“It will be a rebirth,” she whispered.

Rebirth. Lemming. They were words she’d heard before and they made Persephone think that Lara was connected to the same people who had attacked Harmonia and perhaps Adonis, and it sounded like they were desperate to usher in a new era of gods by any means possible.

“No,” Hades said—his voice seemed to thread through her, throwing her out of the strange possession she had been under. “It will be a massacre—and it will not be us who dies. It will be you.”

Persephone looked at Hades and took his hand.

“What happened to you was horrible,” Persephone said. “And you are right that Zeus should be punished. Will you not let us help you?”

“There is no hope for me.”

“There is always hope,” Persephone said. “It is all we have.”

There was a beat of silence, and then Hades spoke, “Ilias, take Miss Sotir to Hemlock Grove. She will be safe there.”

The woman stiffened. “So you will imprison you?”

“No,” Hades said. “Hemlock Grove is a safe house. The Goddess Hecate runs the facility for abused women and children. She will want to hear your story if you wish to tell her. Beyond that, you may do as you please.”

***

Persephone was exhausted and an ache was forming behind her eyes, spreading to her temples. She could count the days she’d slept through the night in the last three weeks on one hand. She cupped her coffee between her hands and sipped, her thoughts turning to Hades. Her heart clenched tight every time she thought of how he’d found her, broken and bleeding in their bed, his eyes full of panic and pain. She’d wanted to comfort him, but the only words she could find were ones to question her own sanity and perception of reality.

That had only seemed to irritate him.

She shivered, suddenly recalling the way her skin split as her magic roared to life, the way Hades had looked when he’d asked if she knew the difference between his touch and Pirithous’, how she’d cried in his arms until she fell asleep, waking later to find him returning to their room, face splattered with blood. The Persephone who had unknowingly invited the God of the Dead to play cards would have been fearful, disgusted, but she was no longer that goddess. She had been deceived and betrayed and broken and she saw Pirithous’ end as judgement and justice—even more so now that she’d heard Lara’s story.

She could hardly blame her for the attack. She’d channeled her pain in the only way that made sense to her. Surely Zeus saw that his actions were making organizations like Triad stronger?

Her office phone rang, startling her, sounding louder than usual. Maybe it was because she was sleep deprived, but she snatched it from its cradle quickly, mostly to silence the sound, and then remember she needed to answer.

“Yes?” Her greeting came out more like a hiss and she followed quickly with something a little more professional. “Can I help you?”

“Lady Persephone, I am sorry to bother you,” Ivy said on the other end. “I have Lady Harmonia here. She says she does not have an appointment with you. Should I send her up?”

Harmonia was here to visit? That surprised her. She hadn’t expected to see her so soon after her ordeal. More importantly, she hadn’t expected Aphrodite to let her out of her sight.

“Yes, of course. Please, send her up.”

She stood, smoothing out her jumper and hair. She felt self-conscious today, having had no time to get ready when she and Hades returned home from Iniquity. She’d thrown on the most comfortable work outfit she owned and wrangled her hair into a braid that was not at all interested in remaining a braid.

She stepped into the waiting area which had been redecorated to fit Persephone’s style—a couch with modern lines sat against the wall. A set of colorful floral portraits hung above it, while two spacious sapphire chairs sat opposite. A glass table separated the two, and a vase of white narcissus sat at its center.

The funny thing about how it had been decorated is that Persephone had not asked or given any direction. She’d just returned to work the day after Hades had gifted her the space to find everything arranged. When she’d asked him about it, he blamed it on Ivy.

“She cannot stand empty space,” he said. “You gave her an excuse to decorate. She will be forever in your debt.”

“You’re the one who let me office here,” Persephone replied. “She should be in your debt.”

“She already is.”

Persephone hadn’t asked for clarification. Whatever deal was between him and Ivy was working in both of their favors.

Her attention turned to the elevator which dinged as it hit her floor. As it opened, she could hear Ivy speaking to Harmonia.

“Lord Hades keeps us busy. Most recently he purchased several acres in preparation for his plans to start a horse rescue and rehabilitation ranch…”

Persephone raised a brow. That was new information. She made a mental note to ask him about that later, but for now, she focused on smiling as Ivy and Harmonia left the elevator.

The Goddess of Harmony looked very different than last Persephone saw her, for which she was relieved. No longer bruised and broken, she appeared healed, at least outwardly. She wore a top with bell sleeves, skinny jeans, and boots. Her long blonde hair was curled and fell in waves over her shoulders. A large bag hung on her shoulder, and Persephone noticed Opal’s small face poking out from inside.

When Harmonia saw Persephone, she smiled.

“Good morning, Lady Persephone,” Ivy said, inclining her head.

“Good morning, Ivy,” she replied. “Good morning, Harmonia. I did not expect you.”

The goddess blushed. “I’m so sorry. If this is a bad time, I can come back.”

“Of course not, I am glad you are here,” Persephone said.

“Can I get either of you anything? Coffee? Tea, perhaps?” Ivy asked, ever the hostess.

“Coffee for me,” Persephone said. “You, Harmonia?”

“The same.”

“Of course! I will be right back.”

The two watched until Ivy disappeared down the hall, then Harmonia turned to Persephone, smiling softly.

“She is very kind,” Harmonia said.

“Yes, I adore her,” Persephone said, and then gestured to her. “You look well.”

“I am better,” she answered, though Persephone saw a flash of unease in her eyes. She recognized it the same as she recognized it in herself—a monster that dwelled beneath the surface. It would have her looking over her shoulder for months, years—maybe forever.

“Come, have a seat in my office,” Persephone said, directing her inside and closing the door.

They took a seat on the couch, and Harmonia picked Opal up from her bag, settling the dog in her lap.

“I did not expect you to be out and about so quickly.” Persephone said.

“What else am I to do?” she asked. “Hide until they are all found? I do not think that is possible.”

“I am sure Aphrodite would disagree.”

Especially since Adonis had been murdered.

Harmonia offered a faint smile. “I am sure she would. It is actually Aphrodite I came to speak to you about.”

Persephone raised her brows. “Oh?”
Her eyes fell to Harmonia’s hands which raked through Opal’s long hair nervously.

“I believe my sister was the intended target of my attackers,” she said.

“What makes you so sure?”

“They said so,” she answered.

The bottom dropped out of Persephone’s stomach.

“Are you worried Aphrodite will come to harm?”

“No,” Harmonia said. “I worry that the intention of these people is to prove just how vengeful the Olympians can be, and I fear they targeted my sister.”

“Why start with her? There are other gods far more temperamental.”

“I do not know,” Harmonia admitted. “But I cannot help thinking that another god—an Olympian—helped them attack me.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I recognized the weapon the used to restrain me—the feel of it, anyway. It was a net, similar to one Hephaestus made but the magic was not his.”

“Whose magic was it?”

Harmonia started to speak when there was a knock at the door and Ivy entered.

“Just brining your coffee,” she said, setting a tray on the coffee table.

“Thank you, Ivy,” Persephone replied.

“Anything for you, my dear. Call if you need me!”

Alone again, Persephone poured each of them a cup of coffee, and as she handed Harmonia her cup and saucer, she asked, “Whose magic?”

“Your mother’s.”

“My…mother’s?” Persephone sat with that information for a beat. She did not question how Harmonia knew who she was, she was certain Aphrodite disclosed that information. “What did it smell like? The magic?”

“Unmistakable,” Harmonia replied. “It was warm like the sun on a spring afternoon, it smelled like golden wheat and the sweetness of ripened fruit.”

Persephone did not respond.

“I did not wish to tell you in front of my sister,” Harmonia explained. “There is a chance I could be wrong…especially if the weapon they have was created from relic magic.”

That was a possibility.

“But you sensed no other magic?”

She frowned and offered a quiet, “No.”

“But…why?” Persephone asked aloud. “Why would she help these people so intent on hurting gods?”

“Perhaps because they’ve hurt her,” Harmonia supplied and then she explained, “Perhaps she targeted Aphrodite because she is one of the reasons you and Hades met.”

Something akin to shock settled upon Persephone’s shoulders. She had never considered that her mother would hurt those who supported her and Hades’ relationship—especially via a group of mortals who hated the gods. It did not make sense, unless they were missing something.

“If these mortals hate gods, why would they accept help from one?”

“Mortals are still powerless,” Harmonia said. “And it would not be the first time something like this has happened. Throughout every Divine war, gods have taken the side of their would-be enemy. Hecate is an example—a Titan who fought alongside the Olympians.”

That was true—and Hecate was not the only god to choose the Olympians. Helios had been another, and as she was often reminded, he used his allegiance as a reason to avoid helping the gods in any capacity.

“I’m so sorry.”

Persephone’s brows knitted together as she met Harmonia’s gaze. “Why are you sorry? You were the one who suffered.”

“Because it is not in my nature to add to your pain,” she said.

“This isn’t your fault.”

“Nor is it yours,” Harmonia said, as if reading her mind, and then the goddess offered as an explanation, “I can see your aura turning red with shame and green with guilt. Do not blame yourself for your mother’s actions. You did not ask her to seek vengeance.”

“It is not so easy,” she replied. “When so many suffer as a result of my decision to marry Hades.”

“Is it because you chose to marry Hades, or something far deeper?”

Persephone looked at Harmonia questioningly.

“At the root of Demeter’s anger is a multitude of fears. She is afraid of being alone and she likes to feel needed.”

It was true.

Demeter liked to be the savior, which is why it had taken her so long to disclose the mysteries of her cult, which included gardening. It gave her a sense of power and need when the world begged for food and water.

“Will you tell Aphrodite of your suspicions? That she was the intended target of your attack?”

“No,” Harmonia said. “Because she will only feel guilty. Besides, you’d have no chance at handling this situation quietly once Hephaestus found out. He would set the world on fire for her.”

Persephone smiled at those words. She’d heard the same thing from Hades and suddenly she felt like she understood the love the God of Fire possessed for the Goddess of Love.

“He really cares for her.”

“Yes,” Harmonia answered. “I see it in their colors every day, but it is a dark love they possess for one another, hindered by shared pain and misunderstanding. One day, I think they will come to accept one another.”

Harmonia looked at her watch. “I must return to Lemnos before Aphrodite comes looking for me.”

Opal grunted as Harmonia picked her up and returned her to the bag.

“Of course,” Persephone said, standing with the goddess.

As she opened the door, she found Sybil on the other side preparing to knock. The oracle dropped her hand and offered a smile which quickly faded when her eyes shifted to Harmonia, her expression becoming troubled.

Strange, Persephone thought.

“Sybil, this is Harmonia,” Persephone said. Perhaps she did not recognize the goddess, though that did not make sense with her background as an oracle.

“It’s…very nice to meet you,” Sybil said, though she seemed distracted.

Harmonia extended her hand. “A pleasure, Sybil,” she paused. “You are an oracle.”

“Was,” she said, almost breathlessly.

“You will always be an oracle, even if you do not work for the Divine,” Harmonia said. “It is your gift.”

There was a strange tension that filled the space between the three. Perhaps it was because of how Sybil’s job as an oracle had ended. It had been heartbreaking for her, to see something she’d worked so hard for crumble within seconds.

“I was coming to see if you were ready for lunch,” Sybil said.

“Perfect timing,” Harmonia said. “I was just leaving. Persephone, if you need anything, please reach out. Sybil, it was nice meeting you.”

Harmonia left, and Sybil turned to watch her go.

“What was that about?” Persephone asked, once she was out of sight.

“What?” the oracle asked, brows drawing together.

“Something’s off. What did you see when you looked at Harmonia? I saw your expression change.”

“Nothing,” she said quickly. “Let’s eat. I’m starving.”

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