Chapter 12

Chapter

Twelve

P ersephone

After the hard hits of the last week, I’m happy to lounge on Hades’ boat for the day. The sun is high and hot, and I’m soaking every last ounce of it up as I lay on the deck between sleep and wakefulness. Beside me, Hades is reading a book that looks utterly ancient.

“That thing looks like it should be in a museum.”

“It’s an old family tome.”

“That you keep on a boat?” I ask bizarrely. “What if it sinks?”

“There is a legend that the book is blessed by the old Gods.” His lips curl into a rugged smile and he winks at me. My heart flips. “It would survive.”

I snort. “Sometimes you say the craziest things.”

He grunts.

I prop myself up on my elbows, the sun kissing the bare skin of my back. If my mother knew I was wearing nothing but my panties on a yacht alone with a man—well, her head would spin.

“You don’t actually believe the book is blessed, do you?” Hades turns a page, but offers me nothing more than a shrug. I lower back to the deck. I took off the shirt I’ve been wearing, and am using it as a pillow. “I still think you should give it to a museum.”

He gives me another grunt, but again says nothing more. Unable to bite my tongue, I press, “What is it about?”

“The Gods and Goddesses.”

I perk up. “Really?”

“Mm.”

“Hades!”

His eyes drift to me and his smile is roguish. He knows what he’s doing. If there’s one weakness I have, it’s the old myths. “Will you tell me what you’re reading?”

“I’m reading about the eternal soul of a God or Goddess, and the body that hold it.”

I frown. “Aren’t all souls eternal?”

He pauses, the words stuck for a moment on his tongue. “In a way, yes.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The soul of a human is fleeting. It’s like a light, winking in and out of existence. Humans live many lives, and through those lives, they learn many lessons. Their souls pass these lessons into the next life, and the next, and so on.” He closes the tome gently. “The soul of a God or Goddess is much different. It spans only one existence, for the body of a God or Goddess is as close as one can get to being immortal.”

I squint at the sun over his shoulder. “So, the book says a God can’t die.”

“The body of a God can die. It’s been done before, in fact.” Hades shifts closer to me, his eyes holding firm to mine. “In all of your research into Greek Mythology, had you ever come across the forms of the Gods?”

I shake my head in confusion, but say, “They were like humans.” I prop myself up on my elbows again. “All the statues depict them as such.”

“Yes,” Hades hums. “But the old text describes the Gods of possessing two forms. The form of a man, so that their subjects could relate, and the form of a God. The beast within them in which humans could not relate, feared, and revered. Do you know much of that form, Persephone?”

“No.” I frown. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.” I point to the book. “Is it in that book?”

Hades nods. “What I am trying to find, is an answer to what happens to the immortal form of the God, if the God ever meets his mortal end. ”

“Well,” I begin. “If a God is truly immortal, then he wouldn’t have died.”

“All things are truly immortal, for the soul is immortal,” Hades explains. “The difference between the human soul and the soul of a God is that the human soul forgets much of its previous lives. A human soul cannot live any one life long enough for the wisdom of past lives to truly root within their souls. Therefore, they take fragments of each life onto the next, rather than entire lessons. A God’s soul does not so easily forget, and in fact, clings to memories of what occurred.” He offers me a somewhat devilish grin. “It is why Gods are so often thought of as vengeful. We don’t quickly forget, and very rarely forgive”

“You’re talking about reincarnation, though. Getting a new body with every life.”

“In the case of humans, this is what happens, yes.” He taps the book. “I am curious about what happens to a God or Goddess when their immortal soul is stripped from their mortal forms. Stripped of their immortal memories.”

“Well, wouldn’t they just be reborn with a new body, then. Like humans?”

His eyes drift over my face, my body. They land back on my eyes with a look in his that I cannot read. Finally, he nods. “A new human body, yes. But what of the God they conceal under their skin. What of the being of fear and reverence strong enough to contain the power within the immortal soul? What happens to that part of the God or Goddess if their mortal form is destroyed?”

I shake my head. “I don’t think there is another form, Hades. A beast under the flesh of a man—that’s—it’s fantasy. Fiction. It’s not real.” I gesture to the tome. “The text probably speaks to the ‘beast’ in reference to the perceived power within the Gods. For the owner itself is beastly rather than a literal beast appearing where there was the flesh of a man,” I stammer, grasping for an example. “Consider Lucifer. He is depicted in culture as this hideous beast. Frightening and damning. Evil incarnate, really. The devil. But he was the most beautiful of all the angels. I believe the beastly perception of him comes not from his ability to transform into a literal beast, but from the parameters that we as humans have of what we believe evil to look like, because evil is ugly. How could he be so capable of tempting so many if he was so frightening? As humans, we’re attracted to beauty. So, it would make sense that he would possess a magnetic attraction that would call sinners and innocent alike to want to sin? Wouldn’t it?”

Hades is silent for a long moment. I watch the sun play with the shadows in his eyes, taunting them to dance before he finally speaks. “Do you think your devil could be influenced by one of the Gods you believe are no more than myth?”

My devil? My mouth goes dry. Inside my chest, my heart flutters. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“The Olympian Gods predate the Christian religion by more than a thousand years. The Titans ruled before that, and before the Titans, there was Uranus and Gaea, predated by Chaos.” His eyes hold mine firmly. I can’t look away even if I wanted to. “Do you think, perhaps, considering the forms of the Gods we know to be true…” He taps the book again. “That the devil has been crafted in the image of one of the Olympian Gods, for example, Hades.”

I’m slow to do it, but I shake my head. I stammer, “You don’t believe in God?”

Hades watches me closely. I feel as though he’s slowly but methodically peeling back the layers of me to read the script of my making—the fabric that weaves my very soul. Finally, softly, he asks, “Do you believe in God, Persephone?”

“I believe in something more. Something bigger.” I shrug helplessly. “Yes. I do—believe in God, that is.”

“And what God do you believe in?”

“Hades…”

He shakes off his question, asking another, “Taking the Greek Gods into consideration alone, saying they possess their two forms, consider what could happen to the eternal soul if either of those forms were delt a death blow. If the souls were stripped from their earthly bodies. Where does the power go?”

I can’t help but think of demonic possession. Rejecting the idea, I stammer, “C—could the soul not possess another body with a new birth?”

“You think they would simply reincarnate, then, as humans do. Born again. New.”

“You don’t think it’s possible?”

“In theory, yes, I suppose it’s possible.”

“But?” I press.

“But I think the eternal soul of the God, and the power within that soul, might eventually craft that new body it’s claimed as its own, into the original it possessed.” He studies me as though he’s trying again to see under my skin. “And from that crafting, I can’t help but wonder if it rebirths the form of the God who once contained it. The God capable of wielding its power.”

I don’t know why, but his words spark a discomfort within me that I can’t quite settle. The discomfort is so massive that I hear myself serving up the opinion I rejected only minutes before. “Or what if the soul is never reborn, but instead possesses a form already here?”

Hades raises a brow. “You think the eternal soul of a God would possess a human form?”

I shrug. “You offered the theory that current religions pull from ancient religions. Demonic possession is a very real part of Christianity today. In theory, could today’s demonic possession have stemmed from one of the ancient Gods having lost their mortal forms, their immortal forms overtaking the body of an innocent instead?” I give a slight pause. “Theorizing the ancient Gods are real and not simply myth, of course.”

Hades’ eyes bounce to mine. “They are real. That being said, I suppose, in theory, possession is possible.”

“If there’s any credence to what you’re saying, possession has to come from somewhere.”

Hades nods thoughtfully. I can’t miss the fact that he continues to ignore that I’m clearly not subscribing to his belief that the ancient Gods were—and still are—real. He flips a few pages, scans ancient text that I still can’t believe he has on a boat, and frowns. I watch the lines appear between his brows as he reads, waiting.

I can’t help myself. “So?”

Hades’ eyes drift from the page to me. There’s a smile toying at his mouth. He asks lazily, “So…what?”

“So? Have you found anything in that big book?”

“You’re awfully interested for a girl who doesn’t believe in the Gods.”

“It’s my nature.” I force my head back to the shirt only to pop back up again with a sigh. “Well, have you found your answers?”

“No.” Hades closes the book with a thud. “I doubt I will.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not looking for what happens to the soul of a God who finds his way into the body of another. I’m looking for what happens when the immortal soul of a God or Goddess finds their way to the Tree of Life. What happens when they pick a leaf, agreeing to be born again? New. What contains the Godly power their soul possesses, if the human flesh they wear can’t?”

I shake my head, trying and failing to comprehend all that he is saying. I settle on, “There is no form but the human form, Hades. As neat as it might be to believe in more…” I sigh, almost sadly. “It’s just us on this planet. Everything else is myth. Legend. Something the ancient people used to give themselves answers for the things they couldn’t explain. Stories to keep their children in line.”

“Is that really what you believe?”

There is something about the way he asks that question. Something in his tone or the look in his eyes, that calls gooseflesh to the surface of my skin. Still, I force myself to say, “It’s the only thing that makes sense.”