The woman turned and started toward an open living area. As she passed Hades, she spoke, “Lord Hades, you are most unwelcome.”
He rolled his eyes but fell into step beside Persephone. Heat unfurled in her chest as he grasped her hand. She tried to pull free, but he held tight, and she relented. Despite how angry she was with him, it helped that he wanted to touch her.
Aphrodite’s home was what she expected—luxurious, open, romantic—and then there were elements that weren’t at all what she imagined—modern lines, metal art, and polished wood. It was a fusion of the Goddess of Love and the God of Fire, and yet, from what she had heard and seen of the two, it surprised her that their distinct differences meshed so well—and so obviously—in their home. She’d expected them to live separately and for that to be obvious.
They were led down a hallway—on one side were windows, on the other canvases sprayed with blush pink and gold. Persephone kept her gaze on the art, unwilling to look out upon the garden opposite and see all of Aphrodite’s tropical plants weighed down with snow.
The maid paused to open the door and announced them as she entered. “My Lady Aphrodite, Lady Harmonia—Lady Persephone and Lord Hades are here to see you.”
They stepped into a library and while it had the same floor to ceiling windows on the wall opposite her, it somehow seemed warmer. Perhaps it was all the mahogany bookcases, lined with leather bound and gold embossed books, or the lamps which cast an amber glow upon the walls. Aphrodite and Harmonia sat side-by-side on a settee upholstered in rich velvet the color of the cold ocean outside. In front of them was a tray with a steaming pot of tea, mugs, and small sandwiches.
Persephone couldn’t look away from Harmonia. The blonde goddess was a beauty just like her sister. She appeared more youthful, her face less angled, and her expressions softer. Apollo’s magic had done a lot to heal the cuts and bruises that had marred her skin last night, but it was evident she had been through trauma. It haunted her eyes and the energy around her. She sat as if she feared she might break—or perhaps as if she trusted no one, even though she was safe. Curled up on her lap was Opal, who was freshly bathed, her fur white as snow once more.
Persephone tried not to stare at Harmonia’s horns—or what was left of them, anyway. The white bone looked wrong jutting out of her silk-like hair.
Would they grow back, she wondered? Could they be restored with magic? She did not know because she’d never known anyone to get close enough to a god or goddess to dehorn them. She would have to ask Hades later.
“Thank you, Lucy,” Aphrodite said, and the animatronic bowed before departing. The goddess’s eyes shifted to Persephone and then to Hades.
“I see Hermes failed to follow instructions,” she comment briskly.
“You can thank Apollo for that,” Persephone said.
“Persephone and I are doing this together, Aphrodite,” Hades said.
There was silence.
“Persephone,” Aphrodite said. “Please, have a seat.”
She took a chair opposite the two goddesses. Aphrodite continued as if Hades were not darkening the room, though he came to stand behind Persephone.
“Tea?” she offered.
“Yes,” Persephone’s voice was soft. She wanted something warm to break the chill in her bones.
Aphrodite poured tea and slide the cup and saucer toward her.
“Sugar?”
“No, thank you,” she said, taking a sip of the bitter drink.
“Cucumber sandwich?”
It was strange to watch Aphrodite play hostess, and Persephone got the impression she was being so courteous because of the role she wanted her to fill in finding Harmonia’s attackers.
“No, thank you,” Persephone said.
Silence followed, and it was Harmonia who broke it with a soft clearing of her throat.
“I suppose you are here to speak with me,” she said, her voice was low and soothing, she spoke carefully but lyrically.
Persephone hesitated, her eyes shifting to Aphrodite for a second. “If you are feeling well enough. We need to know what happened last night.”
She couldn’t tell how Harmonia felt about taking them through the trauma of her encounter with her attackers. She didn’t flinch or blink. It was as if she were locking up all her emotions in an effort to communicate with them.
“Where shall I start?” She asked and looked to Hades.
“Where were you when you were attacked?” he asked.
“I was in Concorida Park,” she said.
Concorida Park was in New Athens. It was large and had many wooded paths.
“In the snow?” Persephone asked.
She offered a small smile. “I go for a walk there every afternoon with Opal,” she said. The fluffy white dog in her lap grunted. “We took our usual route. I didn’t sense anything untoward—no violence or animosity before they attacked.”
The fact that Harmonia walked through the park often and took the same route probably meant that someone knew her routine and planned the attack. The snow also ensured few witnesses.
“How did it happen?” Hades asked. “What do you remember first?”
“Something heavy consumed me,” she answered. “Whatever it was, took me to the ground. I could not move, and I could not summon my power.”
There was a long stretch of silence and then Harmonia began again.
“It was easy for them after that—they came out of the woods, masked. What I remember most was the pain in my back—a knee settled on my spine as someone took my horns and sawed them off.”
“No one came to your aid?” Persephone asked.
“There was no one,” Harmonia said and shook her head. “Only these people who hate me for being something I cannot help.”
“After they took your horns, what did they do?” Hades asked. The question was careful, but almost made Persephone cringe.
“They kicked and punched and spit upon me,” she answered.
“Did they say anything while they…attacked you?”
“They said all sorts of things,” she said. “Broken things.”
She paused for a moment, her lashes gathering with tears. “They used words like whore and bitch and abomination, and they sometimes strung them together into a question like where is your power now? It was as if they thought I was a goddess of battle, as if I had done some sort of wrong against them. All I could think is that I could have brought them peace and instead they brought me agony.”
Persephone did not know what to say, perhaps that was because there was nothing to say. She had no ability to understand the people who had hurt Harmonia or their motive. It was hate, pure and simple. Hate for what she was and nothing more.
“Is there anything else you remember? Anything that you can recall now that would help us find these people?” Hades continued. Then he added gently, “Take your time.”
Harmonia thought, and after a moment, she started to shake her head. “They used the word lemming,” she said. “They said you and your lemmings are all headed toward destruction when the rebirth begins.”
“Lemming,” Persephone repeated, and looked up at Hades. “That is what the woman at The Coffee House called me.”
She’d also heard the word rebirth before, in the article Helen had written about Triad. Were these masked attackers members? Or just rogue supporters?