Page 23 of For the Love of the Gods

“Where are you going?” His voice sounded close, like he’d taken a step to follow me.

“Out!” I yelled, slamming the door in his face.

I ran out of there as fast as I could. My throat was tight and prickly, the first signal that I was on the way to a tremendous cry. When I felt like this, the only thing I could do was move. If I stayed still, I would end up in a dark, dark hole of my own guilt and grief and I wouldn’t be able to pull myself out.

Especially not when I was thrown so off-kilter this week. I was married for Fates-sake. And Daphne, the one person who I could trust to tell everything to, to function as my sounding board and call me on my bullshit and drink to commiserate with, was gone.

My brother. Daphne disappearing. Dominic being a royal pain in my ass. It was verging on too much.

But the only way was forward. It wasn’t naive, bright-eyed optimism that kept me somewhat at peace. It was survival. There was so much death and cruelty and sadness that was unavoidable in the world, in my life. The only way to keep moving, even if I was doing so out of the expectation that my days were numbered, was to appreciate the little moments. Enjoy what I could, make the things that were just okay into something good because at least it wasn’t explicitly bad.

I would be back to myself, to that mindset, tonight. But right now, I had to see the Fates.

The patchwork job that Dominic’s magic had pulled on our palaces was confusing, and I hadn’t had a chance to explore, but I found my way back to my room eventually. I changed into a simple black dress and heels and stepped right from my closet into the Fates’ lair.

It was the same routine. I asked my question, they said no. I asked if they needed anything done, they directed me to the Styx. Apparently Charon needed some help.

Charon was truly immortal, the same person guiding souls across the Styx for a millennia.

The gods themselves were not actually immortal. We had power, but we lived and died like humans. The power was passed down through family lines, both through children and chosen heirs, our last names representing the first person to carry the mantle. Humans would assume I knew everything about how our world worked, but even I didn’t know why there were unchanging pillars of power like Charon and the unstable dynamic of heirs for the gods.

I stepped onto the shore of the Styx moments later, my heels sinking into the glittering black sand of the river bank. I hopped onto a stone path before I could fall. Just as I did, Charon appeared on the river in front of me, leaning against his oar at the stern of his boat.

“Lady Pluto,” he greeted, his thin lips pulling apart to reveal yellowing teeth. He may be immortal, but he looked old as hell.

“Charon.”

I stepped into the boat with as much grace as I could manage, and let him steer me down the river to one of the many entrances to the Underworld.

There was a young man running towards the gate—trying to escape—pulling a woman behind him with one hand while the other was clasped over his eyes.

I sighed in disappointment. Onefailedattempt-turned-myth and countless grieving lovers lost their lives trying to pull their dead partners out of here.

At least this one wouldn’t require my power. I made quick work of it, stepping up to the couple and gently pulling the man’s hand off his eyes. He looked terrified, as he should, with the goddess of death standing in front of him.

He cried, begged. I said sorry, fielded his requests. I felt for him, I really did. But he was dead the second he stepped foot in the Underworld and there was no cheating death. There was nothing I could do, despite how much I wanted to.

It was a lesson I clearly had not learned, but I was a god. The rules didn’t apply to me like they did to humans. They had no power with the Fates, no ability to barter. I, however, could make them listen to me.

Eventually, whether it be a thousand or a million favors later, they would cave and finally say yes. I imagined that day often, when I would walk into that dungeon and ask, “Will you exchange my soul for my brother’s?” and they would agree, setting things right.

I was able to corral the young man in minutes, and requested as kindly as I could that he follow me. He looked confused, I was asking him to turn around, the one thing he was not supposed to do. He hesitated, but eventually caved, tossing a solemn look over his shoulder at the woman he came to save.

Moments later, they both moved, dragged by an unseen force to Charon’s boat. I deposited two gold coins in his hand, paying their passage back, and watched as they drifted back down the Styx.

My heart squeezed, and I moved to flee the banks of the river before it consumed me.

It was the reminder of my own grief, of my own mistakes, that almost blurred my mind enough to keep me from paying enough attention to the wilted, decaying flowers under my feet. Roses and narcissus flowers that had been blooming, fueled by the last licks of life near the Gates days prior, but now lay dead and squashed under the pale sun.

I crouched, picking up a wilted flower in my hands, and watched it crumble into dust at my touch. It was sucked completely dry of life, as if poisoned. Dread pooled deep in my chest at the realization.

Of course, this would be easy. Nothing ever was in my life. The hopeful side of me, one that hardly came out, was praying that it was a result of some internal shifting of power beneath the Underworld. Maybe this flower bed was firmly sustained by me, and when my life was tied to Dominic’s it lost its life.

But maybe, it was intentional. Breaches happened, whether it was someone seeking revenge for my sins or trying to pull a loved one back to life like the young man had. We were vulnerable right now, barely a full day into a world-altering new reality.

The only thing that could solve this was swift action. Motivated by a to-do list and more than a little fear, I stood and rushed toward Charon’s docked boat, the clicking of my heels echoing through my head.

Chapter 7

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