Chapter IV

Chapter IV

The False Oracle

“Are you sure you do not wish for me to take you to work?” Hades asked, standing outside Nevernight. He gripped Persephone’s ass, his cock growing harder the longer he held her close, but he found that he did not want to let her go, even with Antoni waiting to take her to work.

“I am sure you have more important things to do than take me to work,” she said.

“Nothing is as important as you,” he said.

She arched her brow. “My life will never be the same now that all of New Greece knows about us,” she said. “I’d like to keep parts of my routine, even if they seem…impractical.”

He had anticipated this and did not argue, though he glanced at Antoni, who had instructions to see her safely to work and report on anything amiss.

“Will you come to me tonight?” he asked.

“I think I should stay at the apartment tonight,” she said. “Lexa misses me.”

Disappointment made his body heavy, though he tried to mask it by pressing a kiss to her forehead. He knew this was what she had wanted—a balance between the life she shared with him in the Underworld and the one she had here with her friends and roommate.

“Of course,” he said.

“You aren’t…mad, are you?” Though she peered up at him, she almost seemed to shrink, as if she were either embarrassed by her question or expected him to express his anger.

Instead, he frowned, brows lowering over his eyes. “Why would I be mad?”

“I just…didn’t want to disappoint you.”

Her words confused him, but he thought he could guess where this was coming from, and it had everything to do with her mother.

He lifted her chin. “Will I miss you?” he asked. “Yes, but I am not disappointed.”

Persephone stared at him for a moment, then lifted onto her toes and kissed him on the mouth. She took a step away before he could hold her any tighter or deepen the kiss. It was time for her to go.

A new sense of dread filled him at the thought of what she would face today. Given their public reunion, it was likely she would endure not only questions from her curious coworkers but an onslaught of other media.

As Persephone slid into the back seat of his black Lexus, Hades’s gaze shifted to Antoni. The cyclops nodded and then shut the door, rounding the car to enter the driver’s side. Hades watched as the car slipped into traffic and disappeared down the street.

He took a deep breath. It was an attempt to loosen the knots in his stomach, the strange dread that still consumed him at letting Persephone out of his sight. It was ridiculous. He knew she needed freedom, and he had no desire to be like her mother, to keep her sequestered and sheltered from the world at large. Those actions would only make her wilt, but he did want her to recognize that the world was a different place when people knew her name, and he feared that she would come to understand that too late.

Hades returned to the Underworld, teleporting to his office. He approached the bar to pour a glass of whiskey when he found his cabinet was empty.

Strange, he thought, and surveyed the room, noticing that the door to the balcony was slightly ajar. He approached and stepped out, looking down to find an explosion of broken glass on the cobble-stoned courtyard below.

“What the fuck,” he said under his breath and teleported to the ground. The glass crunched beneath his feet as he appeared, once again looking around in confusion. It appeared that every bottle of alcohol he owned had found its way over the edge of his balcony.

In all the time he had existed, this had never happened.

The air changed suddenly, filling with a smoky, earthy smell.

Hades turned to see Hecate appear, cloaked in black velvet. The Goddess of Magic often wandered the world at night, wrapped up in various missions of her own making. Hades never questioned her whereabouts, trusting that whatever she was up to was warranted.

Except that today, he suspected she had something to do with the mess at his feet.

“Where have you been?” Hades asked.

The goddess turned toward him, removing her hood, revealing her dark, braided hair. “Meddling,” Hecate replied sheepishly.

Hades had no doubt and indicated the glass littering the ground. “What happened here?”

Hecate let her gaze fall, though Hades suspected she didn’t need to look.

“Persephone and I had a little fun after you left last night,” Hecate answered.

“A little fun ?”

The goddess did not even blink, her dark eyes as passive as ever. “We needed to find another way to expend her energy since you couldn’t.”

“It wasn’t that I couldn’t ,” Hades grated out.

“So you wouldn’t? Even worse.”

“Hecate,” Hades warned.

“Do not be upset with me when it is you who could not perform.”

Hades snapped his fingers, and pieces of the glass assembled into the shape of a bottle in his hand, full of amber liquid. He took a drink.

“If you are going to continue to question my ability to give my partner pleasure, I would be more than happy to prove otherwise with a detailed account of how I spent my night.”

“Hmm,” Hecate hummed, almost warmly, and answered, “I think I’ll pass.”

“If you’re finished critiquing my sex life, I’d like you to accompany me on a business trip.”

Despite the labor Hera had assigned, the pressing matter of Leuce’s return, and the unrelenting media Persephone would face today—which Hades mostly blamed Kal for—he still had to deal with Acacius, the false oracle who was carelessly offering prophecy without any consideration for the consequences.

“Is that what you’re calling your interrogations?” she asked.

“Do not act as if you disapprove,” he said.

“Oh, I fully support persecution when it’s deserved,” she said.

“This is deserved,” Hades said. “I have reason to believe this mortal has obtained a kind of relic that allows him to see the threads of the present and future.”

“So what has he done to incur your wrath? Tell people when they will die?”

“No,” Hades said mildly. “He’s offering outcomes—athletics, cards, racing.”

Hades had to admit it was unusual. In the past when he had handled a mortal who’d come into possession of a relic with sight, they’d already traumatized themselves and others by offering insight into death dates, lovers, the potential for children.

Everyone wanted to know the future until they didn’t.

“What a waste,” Hecate said, and Hades wondered if she was more upset that there was no particular drama to this case. Then she yawned. “But you know I do not go out in the daylight.”

“Are you saying you would forgo the chance to punish a false oracle who sacrifices cats for divine favor?”

Hecate cringed noticeably. “How criminal. I’ll be ready in ten minutes.”

* * *

Hades did not often shape-shift and rarely had reason to, even when he was confronting those who broke the rules of his Underworld, but this was a special case. He had used this tired, mortal skin upon his initial visit to Acacius a few days prior to the race, begrudgingly approaching the greasy, dark-haired mechanic to evaluate his so-called skills. When he had entered the musty shop, Acacius stood behind a counter, pen in hand, filling out forms. He had not even looked up as he’d asked in a bored monotone, “What can I do for you?”

The man would likely not have been so dismissive if Hades had been in his usual form, but he reminded himself that he was there to bargain. He took a breath to release his frustration before resting a coin on the countertop. Hades pushed it closer, then let his hand fall to his side.

Acacius looked at the coin for a few seconds—long enough for Hades to know he was interested. Obols were not used as currency in New Greece, and while Charon no longer demanded them for entrance to the Underworld, they were a prized form of payment in the black market, one that granted access to Hades’s club, Iniquity.

“What do you want?” Acacius asked.

“The winner of the Hellene Cup,” Hades replied.

Acacius took a moment to respond, and in that brief silence, Hades searched for any signs that he was using a relic. Often, a user had to touch the item to channel its power, but Acacius did not stop writing notes, nor did Hades sense a burst of energy that would signal the use of magic.

“A second obol,” Acacius said.

Hades’s hand curled into a fist, but he said nothing and instead summoned another coin, placing it on the counter.

He would take them back later.

“Titan,” Acacius said.

“Titan is not favored,” Hades replied.

“You asked for the winner of the Hellene Cup. I gave it.” Acacius dragged the coins toward himself, letting them scrape loudly against the counter. Hades ground his teeth. “Now leave.”

The dismissal had ignited Hades’s magic then, just as it did now, making it vibrate against his skin. He could have dropped his glamour and reveled himself to the mortal, but he felt he’d have more leverage later.

Threatening death and eternal torture did not always work on the underbelly of society. They tended not to fear him as much as those on the straight and narrow, which was why Hecate’s presence was necessary. Every mortal feared her, even if they didn’t know it quite yet.

New Athens was made up of districts. Some were known to the world at large and their purpose evident—the fashion district and the pleasure district were two examples. Then there were those that were unknown, pockets of New Athens that might look pleasing enough in the daylight, but when night fell, they transformed into terrifying and violent landscapes.

The worst of these was called Hybris, named after the daimon of the same name who presided over violence, recklessness, and hubris. Its proximity to a major motorway, a railway, and a port meant that it was the perfect area to move a combination of illegal materials across New Greece. Despite this, the district proved useful to Hades, and he had even made use of its inhabitants’ abilities to gain various weapons, relics…even people.

It was one reason he allowed it to continue, but not without oversight.

Hades and Hecate appeared before a large, metal building. A matching metal fence kept most of the building obscured from view, so it was impossible for outsiders to tell how large it was, but Hades knew it was extensive. Behind its facade as a mechanic shop was a business that received stolen goods, sold them, and moved them across New Athens, and it was all owned by Acacius.

“Charming,” Hecate said, but it was clear she was not impressed. She stood beside Hades, concealed in her black robes.

He glanced at her. “You look like Thanatos.”

“Better Thanatos than a greasy mortal,” she replied. “Why are you hiding anyway? You’re not one for dramatics outside your relationship.”

Hades glowered. “I’d rather Acacius not realize he’s dealing with me until the last possible moment.”

The two entered the open gate. There were six garage doors, each open and occupied by a variety of cars. A few of the men who milled about in the lot stared openly, probably because Hecate looked like Thanatos.

Hades groaned inwardly.

“Can I help you?” A man approached, wiping his hands on an oil-stained towel. He was dressed in a blue button-up with the name Giorgos embroidered on the left pocket.

“Is Acacius here?” Hades asked.

“Who’s asking?”

Annoyance made his spine stiffen, and for a moment, he forgot he wore the skin of a mundane mortal. At the same time, Hades felt the energy shift between them. Hecate was casting a spell. The smell of her magic permeated the air, likely undetectable by the man opposite them. Hades could tell when the spell hit because the man’s expression shifted to friendly confusion.

“Sorry. Let me take you to him.”

Hades glanced at the goddess whose face he could not see beneath the hood she had pulled far over her head.

“What would you do without me?” she asked.

“Be far more inconspicuous,” Hades replied.

The garage felt humid and smelled like oil and gasoline, and while it was lit by rows of fluorescent lights, there were dark pockets throughout the warehouse-like shop. Hades imagined they concealed various illegal goods. Now and then, the sounds of an engine revving or a car squealing interrupted the chatter of the workers.

Acacius was working under the hood of a red car. Hades recognized him even before Giorgos called out his name.

“You have visitors.”

Acacius kept his back to them, continuing to work beneath the hood of the car. He was taking his time to greet them. It was the behavior of a man who believed he had both time and power, and Hades supposed that, as of right now, that was still the case. Beside him, Hecate grew impatient, and when he felt her cast another spell, he gave her a warning look. He needed this to unfold as naturally as possible.

When Acacius finally straightened and turned to face them, he had a cigarette in his mouth, which he removed only to blow smoke in their direction. He was a round man with a swath of dark, curly hair. His lips were thin, and when he spoke, he revealed a set of uneven, oddly spaced teeth.

“I don’t return payment,” he said, then his eyes shifted to Hecate. “So you and your friend can go back the way you came.”

His soul was almost as unpleasant as his exterior, the only bright spot being the dedication he had to his family.

“I haven’t come to seek repayment,” Hades replied. “Your prediction was right.”

“So what? You want to strike another deal?”

“Of sorts,” Hades replied.

Acacius stared and was either smiling or scowling. Hades could not tell which. Acacius placed his cigarette in his mouth and spoke as he turned to close the hood of the car.

“Let me guess. Another horse race?”

“Not quite.”

The man turned, narrowing his oily eyes at Hades. He stepped closer and took the cigarette from his mouth. This time, he blew the smoke directly in Hades’s face.

“Your gambling habit is low on my priority list, got it? So unless you have something far more valuable to trade, I suggest you leave.”

Hades had already sensed that they were surrounded—the mechanics in the shop had formed a circle around him and Hecate.

“How adorable,” she said, her covered head moving from left to right. “They’re trying to threaten us.”

“Shut your friend up,” Acacius said, poking his fingers in Hades’s face.

The best thing about this disguise and why Hades had wanted to wear it was that Acacius and his gang would underestimate him, which made the next few seconds more satisfying than ever.

The god snatched Acacius’s fingers and bent them back. A crisp, clear snapping sound preceded Acacius’s pained screams.

Simultaneously, his men jumped into action. Hecate whirled, throwing off her hood, sending a wave of magic through the air that halted everyone in their stride.

Hades stepped toward Acacius, who knelt on the ground, cradling his hand. As he approached, he smothered the mortal’s smoldering cigarette with his boot and knelt face-to-face with him. With his stern expression gone, Acacius looked younger—a boy playing a man’s game. Hades was about to show him just how unprepared he was to deal.

“Now, about that bargain.”

“Wh-who are you?”

At that question, Hades let his glamour fall away.

Acacius’s eyes widened, but he did not tremble, and Hades wasn’t sure if that was something to be respected or concerned about.

“Hades,” Acacius breathed his name, and the god rose to his feet. The mortal remained on the ground, lifted on his elbow so his bruised and broken fingers were visible. “What do you want?”

“Nothing too taxing,” Hades said. “Just your cooperation.”

Acacius made his way to his feet before he asked, “In exchange for what?”

He was a foot shorter than Hades, yet still managed to appear hardened and unafraid in the face of death.

“Let’s not pretend you have anything to bargain with,” Hades replied. “We both know I could dismantle your empire with a snap of my fingers, so what will it be?”

“Depends on what you want from my cooperation.”

Hades stared, unamused. “The audacity,” he said, though he had expected this behavior. “I know you possess some kind of relic. Something that allows you to see the future. I want it.”

“That is a hefty price.”

“Give it to me, or I take it by force. Can you survive a bruised ego in this part of town?”

The answer was no, and Acacius knew it. His lips slammed into a hard line. “Follow me,” he said and turned to leave the garage.

Hades started to follow but paused when Hecate did not. “Are you coming?”

“No,” she said, a smile curling her lips. “I think I’ll stay.”

Acacius led him to an office inside the garage. It was lit with low, amber light, and as Hades entered, he noted several expensive furnishings, among them an ornately carved executive desk and accompanying leather chair, the back of which faced the door and a wall of windows, something Hades found odd. Usually, people of Acacius’s caliber did not sit with their backs to doors or windows for fear of assassination, but perhaps he felt comfortable in his own space.

Hubris , Hades thought.

Acacius moved behind the desk, removed a set of keys from his pocket with his uninjured hand, and opened one of the drawers. Hades watched him closely, not trusting that he wouldn’t try something stupid, like drawing a gun on him. While those weapons were known to be useless against gods, people still made the attempt. The last one to try was Sisyphus, and that had ended with the gun melted to his hand.

Instead, though, the mortal set a small box on the desk. It appeared to be a ring box, but what was inside surprised even Hades.

It was an eye.

“Is that what I think it is?” Hades asked.

“That depends on what you think it is,” said Acacius.

“You are wearing your chances thin.”

“It is the eye of the Graeae.”

It was exactly as Hades thought. The Graeae were three sisters who wore the skin of hags, though their true form was rather monstrous. The three had the bodies of swans, though their heads and arms were human, and between them, they shared a tooth and an eye.

“How did you come to possess it?” Hades asked.

“I took it from them,” Acacius said. “The Graeae.”

“You took it from them?” Hades repeated. “When?”

The Graeae had not been seen in centuries, choosing to self-isolate, fearing the evolution of man—and rightly so, as Acacius had demonstrated.

“They were obtained by hunters and brought to me,” he said. “Monsters are worth a fortune in the market.”

“So you sold them.”

There was a moment of silence, then Hades pounced. He grabbed a handful of Acacius’s shirt and slammed him down on his desk.

“Who did you sell them to?” he demanded.

The mortal’s hands dug into Hades’s arms as he held him down—even the broken ones.

“Di-Dionysus!”

Hades released the man.

“How long ago?”

“They were shipped off just yesterday.”

The God of Wine was as much a collector of monsters as Hades, and while Dionysus probably thought the Graeae would make a nice addition to his collection, it was likely what he really wanted was the eye, and Hades wanted to know why. What information did he hope to obtain?

Hades reached for the box and placed it inside the pocket of his jacket before heading toward the door.

“You cannot just take what’s mine,” Acacius said. “That eye was bought and paid for.”

“Perhaps my generosity has led you to believe you are entitled to make demands,” Hades replied. “It doesn’t.” At the door, Hades paused. “Dionysus will come for you. He always does. I would remain alert, not that it will do you much good.”

“You cannot leave me to him,” Acacius argued.

“Tell me one more time what I can and cannot do,” Hades said, and as he stepped outside, he found that Hecate had transformed many of Acacius’s men into topiaries.

“I think they look better this way,” she said. “I trimmed them after.”

Hades raised a brow. “I’m assuming they did something to deserve this?”

She shrugged. “They didn’t like cats.”