“Why?” the Amazon asked. “I am familiar with sex.”
Everyone stared, surprised.
“What?” she asked, sounding exasperated. “I may not know modern society, but sex is not modern.”
Hermes chuckled and Sybil smirked.
“You’ve had sex?” Leuce asked.
Zofie rolled her eyes. “Of course.”
“But…we played Never Have I Ever,” Leuce said. “And you didn’t drink! Not once!”
Zofie was quiet for a long moment and then said, “I think I misunderstood the game.”
They laughed and watched for a while, commenting on various acts and positions. Couples mingled, trading and engaging in different types of sex, but overtime, Persephone noticed a few leaving the floor—one-by-one, moving into the darkness.
She stiffened.
“Where do you think they’re going?” Sybil asked.
“I don’t know,” Persephone answered.
“Shall we investigate?” Hermes asked.
“Someone needs to stay and watch for Helen,” Persephone said. “Sybil, Leuce—will you watch for her and text when she arrives?”
“Of course,” Sybil said.
“Zofie, I need you to stay here with them.”
“My orders are to protect you, my lady.”
“Actually, I swore an oath to protect her tonight,” said Hermes. “You will forgive me for not trusting anyone else to do so.”
The Amazon glared at Hermes and started to protest when Persephone interrupted.
“Zofie, this is important. I am ordering you to protect my friends. If Helen is here with Triad and she recognizes any of us, we’re in trouble.”
“Very well, my lady,” she said, still glaring at Hermes.
Persephone shed her jacket and the two left the suite, placing cloth masks over their faces before heading to the floor of the club. Hermes paused in the darkness of the stairwell.
“Do as I do,” he said, and drew her arm through his as they wandered onto the floor. They took their time, strolling around beds of tangled limbs and couches with men and women lost in the throes of passion. What struck her was how quiet it was here—even with music and moaning.
One couple smiled at them—the man was poised between his partner’s legs.
“Would you like to join?” he asked.
“We’re more than happy to watch,” said Hermes.
They didn’t seem upset as the man went down on the woman. Persephone averted her eyes, feeling strange standing in the center of this room, watching people freely engage in sex so openly. She was not sure she could do this; was not sure she would feel comfortable with people watching her or Hades. She was possessive—he was possessive. It would not end well.
Soon, they moved into the darkness, navigating down a hallway where a man stood.
“My Lady,” he said.
She stiffened at the title, but realized as Hermes released her arm, he was there to help her down the steps. She accepted his hand and walked ahead of Hermes into a circular, crowded room, lined all around with columns and recessed archways. It was a theater but built more like an amphitheater. The stage sat at the lowest point of the room and at its center was a goddess.
She was being restrained, her arms and legs pulled tight across a black bench. She was not conscious and there was blood dripping from a wound at her head.
Persephone froze for a moment, a cold trickle of fear shivered down her spine. She did not recognize the goddess, but she sensed that she was still alive. Bystanders booed her and threw things at her, others chanted cut her horns over and over.
“That is Tyche,” Hermes said.
Persephone jumped. She hadn’t felt the god approach, but now that he was near, her anxiety lessened a bit.
“Tyche,” Persephone whispered back. “The Goddess of Fortune and Prosperity?”
“The only one,” he replied, his voice grim. She looked at him, noting the tightening of his jaw and the hardening of his eyes.
“What are we going to do?” Persephone asked.
They had to help her.
“We wait,” Hermes said. “We do not know who or what is on their side.”
Persephone felt dread at that comment—an overwhelming force that pulled her into a fast current. She thought of the weapon that had taken Harmonia down and her mother, whose magic had powered it. What would they face here?
She studied the large crowd but did not find Helen among them.
More people joined until the room was packed and hot. The mask stuck to Persephone’s skin, uncomfortable and wet. With more people, came more anger and taunting. There was violence in the air, and she pressed closer to Hermes, feeling more and more uncomfortable. The god tightened his hold on her, which was less comforting than it should have been because she knew Hermes, too, was tense.
Sudden applause drew their attention to the stage where a man stood. He was dressed in a navy suit, tailored to his large body. He had wavy blond hair and eyes so bright and blue, she could see their sparkle, even from a distance.
Demi-god, she thought.
“That is Okeanos,” Hermes said.
“Who is Okeanos?”
“He is a son of Zeus,” Hermes said. “He has a twin, Sandros. They are not usually far from each other.”
Persephone watched Okeanos as he circled Tyche like a predator, a look of disgust upon his face. He stopped at her head, and took hold of one of her horns, breaking it effortlessly. The snap made bile rise in Persephone’s throat, but drew cheers from the crowd. After he had broken the second horn from her head, he held them aloft like a trophy while the crowd hailed him like some hero from ancient times.
Then, he tossed them aside as if they were nothing—as if he had not just mutilated the goddess restrained upon the table.
“The Olympians make a mockery of power!” he shouted. “They parade around, celebrities more obsessed with their image and their wealth and hurting mortals than granting your desperate prayers.”
The crowd roared in agreement.
“It is a tale older than time. Gods outlive their usefulness to the world and must be replaced by new ones, those who understand it and see its potential. We are those gods. It is time to take back our world.”
More cheers.
Persephone felt sick. It was the narrative she’d expected, and the one Helen had perpetuated. These demi-gods really wanted to overthrow the Olympians. The problem was these people—Adonis, Harmonia, Tyche—were not Olympians—they were innocent. What was the point of hurting them?
Movement from Tyche drew Okeanos’ attention. The Demi-god continued to speak as he approached the goddess.
“We will have a rebirth! A new world where your prayers are answered, where the gods intercede only when asked, where they heal and do not hurt, but the price is dire.”
He picked up a blade that must have been sitting above Tyche’s head. It gleamed, sharp and dangerous.
“Are you willing to pay it?” He asked and the crowd responded with a resounding yes.
Just then, Persephone smelled her mother’s magic. It drew her attention and sent her heart racing. For a moment, she felt panic, her breath came in short gasps and her vision blurred, but as quickly as she felt the magic, it was gone and when her eyes returned to the stage, Amphion was lifting the blade.