She crossed the workroom floor and before she made it to her desk, Demetri popped out of his office, handing her a stack of papers.
“Obituaries,” he said.
When Persephone didn’t take them, he dropped them on her desk.
“You have to be kidding me, Demetri. I’m an investigative journalist.”
“And today you are editing obituaries,” he said.
He turned and went back into his office. She followed.
“You’ve given me menial tasks since Kal called off the exclusive.” Since I found out about your fucked-up love potion, she wanted to say. “Was this the trade off?”
“You wrote an article that resulted in negative publicity for this company and hurt your reputation. What do you expect?”
“It’s called journalism, Demetri, and I expect that you’ll stand up for me.”
“Look, Persephone, no offense, but when it comes down to saving my own ass or saving yours, I’m choosing myself.”
Persephone nodded. “You’ll regret this, Demetri.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“No,” she said. “I’m offering you a peek into the future.”
“Do us a favor, Persephone. Stop sending your god after your problems.”
“You think Hades will be the one to dismantle you?” Persephone asked, taking deliberate steps toward the mortal. Demetri tensed, unnerved by whatever he saw in her expression.
She shook her head and continued, “No. Your fate is mine to unravel.”
With the prophecy spoken, Persephone turned on her heels and left Demetri’s office.
***
Lexa was in the kitchen the next morning with another pot of coffee. The same thick, burnt sludge she had made the day before, but Persephone didn’t care. She accepted the drink, sitting at the bar.
“Are you alright?” Lexa asked. Persephone was so surprised by the question, she burned her lips trying to sip on her coffee.
“I’m sorry, what?” Persephone asked.
“Are you alright?”
Persephone sat her mug down. “I should be asking you that question,” she said and sighed. “I guess I’m just not looking forward to work.”
She explained what had happened the day before.
“When I started there, I was so...ecstatic. I was ready to find the truth, to give a platform to the voiceless. Instead, I’m made to make copies, edit obituaries, and make up predictions.”
“I think it’s time to start your own paper,” said Lexa.
Persephone shook her head. “How?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know, but how hard could it be? Just do what you already do—give a voice to the oppressed.”
Persephone tapped her nails against the countertop, considering Lexa’s proposal. It was something she’d joked about before, but this didn’t seem funny. It felt like a real possibility. She thought of all the reasons journalism had appealed to her—she’d wanted to find the truth, serve justice, speak for the voiceless—all things she could do on her own with no Demetri and no Kal.
“Thanks, Lex. You’re amazing. I hope you know that.”