Page 36 of Hades and Persephone: Threads of Fate

I don’t understand myself anymore. I’m not entirely certain that I’ve ever understood myself.

At home on the farm, a day like this would have called for comfort soup. Something like baked potato soup or lasagna soup. Something full and rich and delicious. Here, after a day in the hot sun, the idea of eating something so heavy can make a girl turn from exhausted to nauseated really darned quick.

As though called into reality by the direction of my thoughts, my phone on the counter begins to vibrate. Mom’s name lights up my screen before I ignore the call. Again.

I don’t want to talk to her about why I haven’t been talking to her.

I also don’t want to talk to Leuce about why I’ve ignored the call. I pour wine into two glasses and turn to Leuce, who has slid onto a barstool at the kitchen island. The cut of her slightly transparent, silver-threaded top parts to expose a lot more of her breasts than would have made me comfortable a mere month ago.

Now, I’m used to Leuce’s outfits. I’m used to her overgenerous flashes of skin. I’m also used to the odd, entirely unexplainable pinches of arousal that sproutfrom the deepest seeds of me when she’s near. It’s the same seed that sprouts when I’m close to Minthe.

Even as I refuse to pay the feeling any mind, I can’t ignore the fact that it’s there. It floats in like déjà vu, and leaves on the same wave. It’s there now, even as, like usual, I ignore it.

Sliding a glass over the counter to her, I lift my own and sip. I should really know better than to imbibe while I’m trying to keep the very few threads of sanity I possess, but…it’s Friday.

I also want to probe her about Hades. She might know what’s going on with him, considering she spends her days at his side, his true working assistant, while I am—his companion.

I trace the rim of my glass with my fingertip. “Hades has seemed tense lately.”

Leuce lifts a silver brow. “Has he?”

I feel my frown tip low and work to right it. “You haven’t noticed?”

She lifts one shoulder. “Hades can be a moody beast. I try not to pay the swing too much mind.”

My righted frown tips again. “Oh.” I study the beautiful woman across from me. With her dark skin accented in silver and white, and her faded green eyes, she’s exceptionally attractive. I can’t help but wonder why Hades is choosing to spend his time with a girl like me, when he has women like Leuce and Minthe surrounding him.

I know it can’t be because Leuce and Minthe aretogether. In the time I’ve known them, I’ve come to understand that their relationship is a very, very open one.

And Hades engaged in relations of a similar kind before…

I hedge, “You’ve known Hades a while, then?”

I swear, Leuce’s eyes sharpen. There’s something cat-like about Leuce. I noticed it the very first moment I met her outside the Tower of Pluto. She’d inspected me even then with a feline curiosity. A lethal grace.

Finally, she speaks. “I have. A very long while, in fact.”

“How long?”

She smiles coyly, licking a pebble of wine from the rim of her glass. She purrs, “Long.”

I clear my throat, trying to ignore the blush that scorches my skin. “So—” I can’t make myself ask the question that burns on my tongue. To cool the sting of it, I take a big gulp of my wine. Leuce waits with a kind of patience that could test even the Gods,if the Gods were real. Courage somewhat gathered, I force myself to ask, “Did you know his wife?”

The surprise that flashes in her eyes is entirely genuine. She leans forward and breathes huskily, “He told you about his wife?”

I nibble the corner of my lip. I’m not sure if I’m treading water here that would be better left undisturbed. Still, I can’t help myself. I admit, “I met Herman.”

Leuce’s brows furrow and smooth as understanding settles in. “I see.”

I nod. “He let it slip that Hades was married.”

“And what did Hades say about her?”

“Nothing, really. Just that—well—that she was murdered.”

I don’t add that she was very obviously promiscuous in a way I can’t imagine I will ever be.

Sadness flashes in Leuce’s eyes. It doesn’t ebb as she murmurs softly, “She was.”

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