Demetri took off his glasses and stared at her. “It’s three things, Persephone. How hard can it be?”
His comment flustered her. “It isn’t,” she snapped. “But I have other stories—”
“Not today,” he cut her off. “Today, you have three things to accomplish by five.”
Persephone set her teeth so hard, she thought her jaw might break.
“Close the door as you leave.”
She slammed it. Probably not the best move, but it was better than filling the guy with holes from the thorns she wanted to throw at him. She took a few breaths, deciding it would be best if she just got through the tasks Demetri had assigned.
When she was finished, she could comb through the information she’d received over the last few weeks trying to decide on her next story.
She had several options available to her and a million lines of inquiry, but the information she gravitated toward always included her mother. The Goddess of Harvest should be renamed the Goddess of Divine Punishment because she was definitely fond of torture and her methods were vicious, often forcing mortals into starvation or cursing them with an unquenchable hunger. Now and then, when she was really pissed off, she would create famine, killing off whole populations.
My mother is the worst, Persephone thought.
By the time lunch rolled around, Persephone was entertaining herself with thoughts of writing about Demeter. She could see the headline in black, bold letters:
Nurturing Goddess of Harvest Deprives Whole Populations of Food.
Then she cringed, imagining the fallout.
It was likely Demeter would take revenge and probably in the most devastating way Persephone could imagine—revealing that she was actually Demeter’s daughter.
With that thought, Persephone left the Acropolis and met Sybil at Mithaecus’ Cafe for lunch.
Her mind was chaotic, going in several directions—dwelling on Lexa’s healing and Hades anger, making it hard for her to focus on anything the oracle was saying, which made her feel guilty because Sybil had news.
“I had a job offer this week,” she was saying, which got Persephone’s attention. “From the Cypress Foundation.”
Persephone lit up. “Oh, Sybil! I’m so happy for you.”
“I should be thanking you,” she said. “I’m sure you’re why they picked me.”
She shook her head. “Hades knows talent when he sees it.”
The oracle didn’t look so certain.
Persephone couldn’t explain why, but her excitement for Sybil dwindled quickly, as a heavy feeling settled on her chest. It was a combination of feelings—guilt, hopelessness, and a ton of unspoken feelings.
“I have to hang out with Apollo,” she said abruptly.
Sybil stared at Persephone.
“That was the bargain,” Persephone explained. “I just...want you to know.”
“I’m glad you told me,” she replied, and Persephone couldn’t help thinking she was too nice, too understanding.
“Do you remember at the Gala, when you told me my colors and Hades colors were all...?”
Her voice faltered; the question poised on her tongue. Sybil’s eyes were searching, and she pressed her lips together. Persephone wasn’t sure if it was because she was trying to keep from saying something she would regret, or if she was trying not to smile, either way, Persephone had to ask.
“Are they still...tangled up?”
“They are,” she said quietly. “I wish you could see it. It is beautiful, sensual and chaotic.”
Persephone offered a humorless laugh. “Chaotic is right.”