Chapter 3

Chapter

Three

P ersephone

"Damn, girl, you're like the friggin' poster child for tits and ass." Claire's lips twist to the side in a half-pout, half look of disgust that has me feeling far more self-conscious than I like.

"It's that bad?"

Willa shoots a jab into my ribs with her elbow as I'm trying to tug at the hem of Willa's short dress I wear. I hadn't packed anything for clubbing, because I'm not the kind of girl who clubs. Mom would pitch a fit, running straight for Pastor Tanner. The same pastor who'd once prayed the devil from my young soul .

Dad would—well, he'd just give me those disappointed eyes. The ones that accompany the thinning of tight lips before a slow head nod of disapproving acceptance. He's a man of few words. Even if he wasn't, Mom does the talking for him.

"Stop tugging," Willa commands. "It's not bad. You look hot."

Claire's eyes do another sweep, and she heaves a sigh. "She's right. You're stupid hot!" Under her breath, but with a teasing smile, she adds, "Bitch."

I don't understand Claire. She's the wild one, always shooting flirty smiles to all the boys. And they're there for it, gobbling up everything she serves like they're lost in the desert and she's water. I wonder when they'll realize she's a cactus, and they're going to get poked far before they get a taste.

"Holy crap!" Claire's jaw drops, spreading glossy lips wide. "Look at the line."

Willa stops, shoulders falling. "Shit."

I look between the two of them. "What? This isn't normal?"

Claire tears her eyes from the line that weaves up and down the street and into a torch-lit alley. "You think this is normal? Where are you from?"

"Alberta."

Claire's brows knit. "Where?"

"Canada," Willa answers for me, but she sounds direly bored. "She's a farm girl from an itty-bitty town. Is it even a town or one of those hamlet things? Never mind," she brushes off before I can answer. "I don't think she's ever been clubbing."

"Never!" Claire's eyes are big. She's being overdramatic.

There are tons of people who choose not to club. Not to imbibe and strip themselves of all inhibitions in the name of a good time only to wake cloaked in regrets. I know a whole town of them, in fact. Okay, maybe it's a hamlet. Whatever.

"Nope." I sigh, because this is already feeling like it's going to be a long night. I don't fit in with Claire. Willa, either, if I'm being honest. Though, at least I can talk to Willa.

Relationships with people my age have always felt stilted. They never come naturally, but I am trying. I promised myself on the plane that I would try.

I just wish it was easier. Not so forced. So awkward and stilted.

"That's wild." Claire's eyes dance wickedly. "We're going to get you so drunk."

Willa smirks at my nervous laugh as we settle at the end of a very, very long line. I'm already feeling the weight of exhaustion ten minutes later. I'm not accustomed to wearing heels. I don't even wear heels to church on Sunday. I'm a jeans, leggings, and sneakers kind of girl. In the summer, you can't find me in socks. I default to flip flops and sandals. I'm low-key, so these sky-high fire-red heels are beyond out of place for me.

The white slouchy dress is another matter entirely. It's far too short for comfort. There's no way I'm dancing tonight.

And it's backless. The fabric hangs from my shoulders in a sweeping fall to the small of my back. Because it's backless, Willa had insisted I go braless. Braless with D cups isn't practical, at all.

I don't know what I'm doing here, with these girls.

I'm not this girl.

I'm so out of place.

My anxiety spikes as the sound of pointed heels on the concrete draw my attention from my insecurities to a wildly tall, wildly beautiful woman that walks confidently along the line. Her hair is a shocking fall of silver-gray, her skin a lovely, smooth shade of black that is a startling contrast to the faded gray-green shade of her eyes. She's so beautiful, she doesn't even feel human to me. She looks like something other. Something mythical, which is what I'm guessing she's going for.

"Persephone!" a female voice calls from across the street, snapping my attention from the woman with the silver-gray hair to my supervisor. Beth is in her early thirties, but she's been talking about going out all week long. She just broke up with her boyfriend, and she's on the hunt for a good time.

She's also determined to call me by my birth name, even though I've told her repeatedly to call me Annie. That's the trouble with formal documents. People have access to your real name, and if they choose, they can use it. Beth thinks my name is too cool, considering what we do and the site we're working on excavating, to not call me by my given name.

Luckily, the rest of the team calls me Annie.

I'm waving to Beth when the woman moves in front of me, cutting my view of Beth. Her unique eyes slide over me from tip to toe, and back again, before her perfect lips part. She says something I don't understand, before following it with, "Persephone?"

I blink up at her. She emanates a kind of power I have no experience with. Her white suit is fitted to showcase the round curves and sharp lines of her lithe body. The plunge of her suit jacket is alarmingly low, and I can't help but feel my cheeks flare with heat as I tip my head to meet her striking eyes.

"I—I don't u-understand," I stutter, hating that I sound so immature in her presence. So caught up by her beauty.

Her head tips to the side only slightly, eyes studying my face as though she's attempting to see through me. Then, perfectly spoken English sounds between us. "Your name is Persephone?"

I nod. "Um. Yeah, it is."

I don't think she has a Greek accent at all.

Her eyes search mine, flaring with something that strikes a chord of alarm deep within me. "These are your friends? "

"Yes," I say as Beth arrives with her girlfriend in tow.

Gray-green sweeps over the women and she oddly says, "All such beautiful flowers."

Claire giggles and Willa makes a noise between a laugh and incredulous offense, but, thankfully, she says nothing.

Silver, as I'm coming to call the woman, waves her hand toward the entrance. "You are all exquisite." Her eyes never leave mine. "Please, take the VIP line inside." She pulls a black card embellished with gold from her jacket pocket, handing it to me with silver-painted nails. "Tell the man at the door that Leuce sent you."

My heart jolts, my love of myth colliding with my understanding of reality as I gape at her. "Your name is Leuce? Like the nymph?"

"You are knowledgeable of Greek mythology?" she purrs curiously, one silver brow cocked in interest. "Specifically, the mythology of Hades?"

"I—I love Greek mythology." Why do I feel like I could stand here and talk to this woman all night? She intimidates me, and yet, there is a piece of her that feels somehow, bizarrely, known to me.

I'm losing the plot. Really, I am.

She smiles. Behind me, someone gasps. Her effect clearly extends to more than just me, and for that, I'm grateful. At least I'm not the only one ensnared by her unique beauty .

"Is it really so shocking that my name be Leuce when yours is Persephone?"

"It's just—um—it's quite a coincidence, is all."

She gives me that delicate head dip again. "How so?"

"My name is Persephone. I'm visiting a club owned by a man whose name is allegedly Hades, and I'm meeting a woman who works for him named Leuce. Just a little bizarre, I guess."

She smirks. "Wait until you meet Minthe."

"Oh, now that's just too much," Willa says, moving closer to me.

Leuce's smirk widens into a full-blown smile. Her unique eyes twinkle. "There is always the possibility that they're stage names, of course."

"That makes sense." Willa nods, sliding her arm through mine. "I bet everyone in this club has a mythical stage name."

I'm inclined to agree with her, because the alternative really is just too much. Still, I can't help but ask, "And Hades?"

Leuce's eyes flare bright. "What of Hades?"

Good God, the way she purrs his name. It's—I don't even know what it is.

"Is his name real?"

"I assure you, Persephone, that Hades is very, very real."

"I mean his name, not him. Of course, the God of the Underworld isn't real. I'm talking about the man who owns this club. The one they call Hades. Is that a stage name, too?"

"Like I said, Hades is very real, Persephone." She waves her hand to the now empty VIP line. "Please, go ahead and enjoy your time in the Tower of Pluto."