Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 83786 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83786 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
“Next.”
Another video pops up. It’s similar, except it’s Eurydice sitting on Charon’s lap and laughing at something Orpheus is saying. She’s wearing the same thing she was in the video call we had earlier today, a white T-shirt with a funky geometric graphic on the front.
“And to be thorough—one more.”
I don’t want to open the next text, but I have no choice. The third video is of my mother, her arms crossed over her chest and her face set in her best “I’m not mad, I’m disappointed” expression as she lectures Eros and Psyche. He sits on a chair and Psyche stands behind him, kneading his shoulders.
I tuck my phone carefully back into my pocket, feeling like I’m moving in slow motion. “You’ve made your point quite effectively.”
“As they say, a picture is worth a thousand words. I’d say a video is worth even more. I’ll be in touch.” Then the brazen bitch steps back and waves me at the door. “Get going now. It would be awkward to explain to your guards why you’re having meetings with a mysterious woman in the bathroom. Someone might ask questions.”
Part of me wants to charge her, to call my team to fulfill my threat. I don’t. I stand there, my stomach roiling, until I have to rush back into the stall and lose what little I managed to eat today.
Circe tsks. “Darling, you’re going to need a stronger stomach than that to get through what’s coming.”
“Fuck. You.” I climb unsteadily to my feet and move to the sink to wash my mouth out as best I can, all while she watches with those sharp, green eyes. “It will never work, you know. You won’t win.”
“I already have.” She shakes her head almost sadly. “Now, get going.”
I stalk out of the bathroom. Nephele jumps at whatever she sees on my face, her eyes wide. “Is everything okay?”
“Peachy.”
Circe is threatening my fucking family.
I knew they were in danger, but I should have realized Circe wouldn’t risk bargaining without ensuring she’d come out on top. No doubt she’d arranged for those snipers to pull their respective triggers if she didn’t walk away from this meeting. Going through all this effort might be a compliment, but it doesn’t take away the fear rotting away my insides at the impossible task she’s set before me.
Hades and Demeter, two of the titles least likely to abdicate and flee the city, ironically for similar reasons. My mother loves being loved and damn near worshipped. Hades couldn’t care less about the perception of power, but he’s content to use it to protect the people of the lower city. Both of them leverage their respective positions for the greater good.
My mother has expanded the food provided to the city almost exponentially in the last decade, purchasing land owned by various families and companies and bettering the systems and working conditions. She takes her job deathly seriously, and even her plots to set her daughters up with powerful people have been misguided attempts to both protect us and ensure her end goals are fulfilled. Yes, that benefits her first and the city a far second, but it does benefit the city.
Conversely, Hades spent most of his life embracing being the boogeyman of Olympus in order to ensure no one fucked with the lower city. Even now, he’s willing to miss an opportunity to leverage his position to amplify his power because that would mean leaving his portion of the city unprotected.
I can’t think of a single thing that would convince either of them to leave. They’re both far more likely to laugh me out of the room and then try to kill Circe personally. If it could be done, they would have already accomplished it.
No, fuck that. I didn’t marry godsdamned Zeus, didn’t spend months in his bed, didn’t conceive his future child, for it to end like this. Absolutely not.
I yank my phone out. “Give me a few.”
“Um. Sure.” Nephele falls back a few steps to give me the illusion of privacy.
It’ll have to be enough. I should probably move away from the bathroom doors, but a small, petty part of me is happy to let Circe stew in there a little longer. I dial Persephone, punching through her Do Not Disturb without hesitation.
She answers, breathless. “Callisto? What’s wrong?”
I have to close my eyes at the bittersweet sensation of hearing someone say my name. Not one Hera among many, but Callisto Dimitriou, singular and unique.
“Callisto?”
I wish I could avoid involving Persephone. Her situation is a perfect inversion to my misery. She loves her husband, her new role as queen of the lower city, loves the children she’s currently pregnant with. She deserves all the best things, and I’m about to drop a bomb on her life. “I need to see you. It’s important. An emergency.”