Chapter IX: Hades

CHAPTER IX

HADES

Hades did not particularly enjoy the pleasure district.

He usually only visited to check in on Madelia Rella, who had come to him in search of coin to establish her first brothel. Madelia was different from others who had reigned in the district, as she’d always been vocal about the rights of sex workers. She promised Hades that if he offered up his power, she would use it for good, and she had, though it had come at a great cost, and that cost was trafficking.

The more rules brothel owners had to follow, the more ways many sought to undermine them. Undocumented sex workers could not be held to the same standards, which meant unsuspecting people were disappearing off the streets and forced into this labor.

It was a vicious cycle, as was all life in the Upperworld.

But Hades had not come for Madelia; he’d come for Apollo, suspecting he would be at Erotas, after having visited the god’s apartment in the Crysos District and finding it empty. He wondered why Apollo kept a residence there at all; he was hardly ever there.

Hades appeared in the foyer of Erotas in a plume of dark smoke. As he manifested, a few people screamed, but the madam, Selene, hushed them all. She was an older woman, beautiful and refined. Hades did not know her, but he was aware that she had run this brothel for a long time, and by all accounts, she took care of her workers.

The madam took a step forward and curtsied deep, her hands locked in front of her.

“Lord Hades,” she said as she rose. “What can I do for you?”

He admired the fact that the woman could hold his gaze. None of the people gathered behind her did.

“I’m here to see Apollo.”

A few giggles broke out behind her.

“Silence!” Madam Selene ordered, glaring at everyone in disfavor. “Imbeciles! Do not mock the God of the Dead.”

The room went quiet, and a thick tension grew. Hades could feel the anxiety and fear permeating the air, though he wasn’t certain if it was his presence or Madam Selene’s disdain that perpetuated it. He had a feeling that part of the reason the madam was able to run this multistoried brothel so effectively was because no one wished to earn her disappointment.

The madam met Hades’s gaze.

“Of course. Allow me to escort you to his quarters.”

She turned without hesitation, and as she did, her workers parted, pressing themselves against the wall as she and Hades walked past. Once in the hallway, they entered a mirrored elevator. The madam pulled a key ring from the pocket of her long skirt, using it to access Apollo’s floor. Hades noticed how tightly she held it in her hands. For all her composure, he made her anxious, and she was right to be.

Hades watched her in the mirror. Her jaw was set, her chin lifted, and her chest rose and fell rapidly.

“Do I make you nervous, Madam Selene?”

“Anyone would be nervous in the presence of such a god,” she said.

Hades chuckled, and he looked at his feet as he spoke. “Could it be that you are nervous because you once allowed my fiancée to go to auction?”

Madam Selene jerked her head toward Hades. “She said she wouldn’t tell.”

“Are you suggesting my future wife, the Queen of the Underworld, is a liar, Madam?”

“No, of course not. I—”

“She didn’t tell me,” he said. “Apollo did.”

The madam took a deep, shuddering breath. “Have you come to kill me, then?”

Hades laughed, but she looked stricken.

“No,” he said. “Though I will ask for your penance.”

She swallowed. “And what might that be?”

“A favor,” he said. “To be collected at a future date.”

“I hardly have anything of value to offer, my lord,” she said.

“You have your soul,” Hades said and met her gaze.

She stared, still and silent, likely waiting for him to steal her soul.

“But I can take that at will,” he said. “I’ll determine what is valuable, Madam, and trust me when I say, I will collect.”

When he met her eyes again, she nodded once.

The elevator doors opened then, and Hades stepped out into Apollo’s suite. Unlike his Crysos apartment, this was extravagantly decorated. Everything was patterned, none of it the same—a floral couch, striped pillows, curtains stitched with small diamonds—and all of it was trimmed in gold and dripped with jewels.

This should be a torture chamber, Hades thought. It definitely made him feel mad.

Hades moved into the adjacent room where a spotless tub sat on clawed feet. Beyond that was a massive bed upon which Apollo lay flat on his back, arms and legs spread wide. He wore a robe, but it was open, exposing a very obvious erection, and he was snoring.

Loud.

Hades watched the god for a moment, and then his eyes shifted to an empty bottle of vodka that sat on the table beside the bed. Another lay on the ground.

Fuck.

Apollo was difficult to deal with when he was sober, but drunk?

Hades gave a frustrated sigh, swiped one of the empty bottles off the floor, filled it with water from the tub, and then poured it over Apollo’s face.

The god flailed beneath the stream.

“What the fuck!” Apollo sputtered.

Though he was awake, Hades did not stop until the bottle was empty. He let his arm drop to his side as Apollo glared back at him.

“You snore,” Hades said.

“I do not snore!” Apollo snapped.

“Yes, you do,” Hades said. “I just heard you.”

Apollo ignored him and pulled on the hem of his robe with two fingers. “You’ve ruined my kimono.” He pushed off the bed and discarded the robe as he walked bare-ass naked to a wardrobe across the room. He threw open the doors to reveal several kimonos of the same color and pattern.

Hades shook his head. “What the fuck?”

“What, Hades?” the god snapped, taking a robe from one of the hangers and slipping it on as he raged. “It’s fashion, something you would know little about since the only color in your wardrobe is black, but I suppose that is fitting since it’s the color of your soul.”

Hades raised a brow. He wasn’t so certain this was about fashion as much as it was about what Apollo found comforting, but he did not say that aloud.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

Apollo took a deep breath. “Yes, actually,” he said, slamming the wardrobe doors. “No thanks to you. What are you doing here anyway?”

“You were supposed to conduct the autopsy on Adonis,” said Hades.

“I did,” said Apollo. “And he was full of holes.”

That was no surprise given they’d found a knife handle near Adonis’s body.

“Any idea what he was stabbed with?” Hades asked.

“Something curved,” Apollo answered, running a hand through his wet hair.

“How do you know?” Hades asked.

“Because when I stuck my finger in the wound, it curved, Hades. For fuck’s sake. You asked me to do an autopsy. I fucking did it.”

Hades wasn’t sure what disturbed him more, Apollo’s moodiness or the knowledge that whatever had aided in taking Adonis’s life was a curved blade.

It made him think of one blade in particular—his father’s scythe.

“What’s wrong?” Hades asked.

“What’s wrong?” Apollo repeated, whipping around to face the God of the Dead. “I don’t know, Hades. Perhaps I am angry because I was waterboarded awake.”

Hades rolled his eyes and sighed, but Apollo wasn’t finished.

“Or maybe it’s because I spent most of my day elbows-deep in a fucking body after being summoned to a fucking crime scene at four in the gods-damned morning.”

Hades watched the god as he started to pace.

“Or maybe it’s because I haven’t fucked anyone in a month, but you would know nothing about that because you get fucked every night, multiple times a night.”

“I…do not know what we’re talking about anymore, Apollo, but I think you need therapy.”

“What I need is everyone to leave me the fuck alone!”

There was silence, and then Hades asked, “Apollo…are you in love?”

“What? No!”

“Who is it this time?”

“Don’t make it sound like it means nothing,” Apollo said.

That was not Hades’s intention, though he had known Apollo for a very long time. He’d had a revolving door of lovers, some willing, most unwilling, and he’d claimed to love them all.

“All right then,” Hades said. “What makes this one different?”

“I don’t know,” Apollo said, frustrated. “That’s the problem. I just want him.”

“And what? He doesn’t want you?”

The god was silent.

“Apollo?”

“I don’t want to find out,” he muttered.

“What?”

“I don’t want to find out!” he shouted, and his eyes were glassy. “You don’t know what this is like, but I have loved so many, and they have never loved me back.”

“Apollo—”

“I don’t want to want this man,” he said. “It would be better for both of us.”

All Hades had wanted was to know what had killed Adonis. Why was this his life?

“The problem is that you do want him,” said Hades. “So what are you going to do about it?”

Apollo blinked. “What do you mean?”

“You want this man, whoever he is—”

“Ajax. His name is…Ajax.”

“You want Ajax. So you can either tell him your feelings or you can do nothing, but if you do nothing, you will have to accept that he will eventually find someone else.”

“Who is to say that isn’t for the best?”

“You cannot compare every lover to Hyacinth, Apollo. That is not fair to you or the lover.”

“Would you not compare every lover to Persephone?” he countered.

Hades’s jaw tightened, and he glared at Apollo. He wouldn’t indulge his temper.

“I remember an Apollo who was willing to lose just to win the love of his life,” said Hades. “And here you are, not even willing to take a risk.”

“That Apollo died a long time ago,” Apollo said. “To think, you could have been rid of me if you’d just thrown me into Tartarus.”

Hades had rejected Apollo’s plea to die in the aftermath of Hyacinth’s death, and he’d had many reasons for it, one being that granting such a wish would have been seen as taking a life, and the Fates would have demanded a soul, a give-and-take, and there was no telling what they’d have done with a sacrifice as great as Apollo.

“While it is true you annoy the ever living fuck out of me,” Hades said, “and I could murder you for the bargain you struck with Persephone…I would miss this.”

“Miss what?” Apollo asked, confused.

“This,” Hades said, waving a hand at the whole of Apollo, “pathetic…”

“Pathetic?”

“…pitiable…”

“Pitiable?”

“…miserable…”

“Miserable?”

“…thing you have going on. It really exudes God of Light.”

“Fuck you,” Apollo said.

Hades chuckled darkly.

“You’re the one who asked what was wrong,” Apollo muttered.

“I also asked how Adonis died,” said Hades. “And all you told me was that he was stabbed with a curved blade.”

“Did you miss the part where I said multiple times?” Apollo snapped.

“Show me the body,” Hades said. “Show me the wounds.”

Apollo offered a sigh that sounded more like a growl, a single word slipping between gritted teeth.

“Fine.”

---

Hades manifested inside one of Apollo’s dark, cold temples. This particular one was no longer in use and was located in what was now known as the old agora in New Athens. In ancient times, this had been a lively public space where citizens gathered to celebrate, worship, play games, and demonstrate the arts. Now, in the aftermath of battles and deadly weather, it was mostly in ruins.

Apollo appeared and pushed Hades aside, striding to the corner of the room where a metal table was positioned against the wall.

“Don’t you think you should change?” Hades asked, as the god was still wearing his prized kimono. If he had thought water had ruined it, wasn’t blood worse?

But Apollo did not seem to care. He latched on to the white, bloodied cloth that covered Adonis’s body and pulled it off with a flourish.

Hades had seen a lot of dead bodies—a lot—so he was surprised that he was not quite prepared for this.

He approached the body slowly. Now that Adonis was clean, Hades could make out the wide wounds down his torso and along his legs and arms, even his face. Around each laceration, reddish-brown bruises had blossomed, as if he’d been stabbed to the hilt with more force than necessary. It was damage beyond anything Hades could imagine with a normal knife.

Then Hades noticed one wound on his side that did not seem to have stopped bleeding.

Strange.

“Apollo,” Hades said. “You are certain there’s nothing left in those wounds?”

“I dug in each of them,” Apollo said.

“Why is this one bleeding?”

“Dead bodies don’t bleed, Hades—” Apollo went silent as he came around the body and stood beside Hades. “I don’t think that’s blood,” said Apollo. The god stepped forward and stuck his finger into the leaking wound.

“Don’t you want gloves or something?” Hades asked, cringing at the squishy sound it made.

Apollo said nothing as he fished around. “Ouch! Motherfucker!” he said, pulling out his finger. As he did, he shook his hand, sending a spray of bodily fluids across the room.

Hades shielded his face. “What is it?” he demanded.

Still Apollo did not answer and grabbed a long pair of tweezers. This time, he shoved them into the wound, and after a few seconds, something clanked onto the metal table.

Apollo picked it up and rubbed his thumb over it. “What is it?” he asked.

“It’s the tip of a scythe,” Hades said. “The tip of Cronos’s scythe.”