Upon entering the museum and going through security, she paused to take a breath, attempting to scent out her mother’s magic but all she could smell was coffee, cleaners, and dust. She wandered through exhibits, each one dedicated to a different era of Ancient Greece. The displays were beautiful, the items arranged elegantly. Despite the intrigue, it was the people she trained her gaze upon, searching for familiarity in their expressions or their body movement. It was challenging to identify a god if they had manipulated their glamour too much.
She was not sure how long she wandered the museum, but after an hour, she’d made her rounds through every exhibit, save for the children’s wing. As she stared at its entrance—brightly colored with an exaggerated font and cartoonish columns, she caught a familiar smell—a musky, citrus that made her blood run cold.
Demeter.
Her heart beat harder as she stepped further and further into the colorful and interactive wing, passing wax statues and models of ancient buildings, following the scent of Demeter’s magic until she found her at the center of a group of children. She had definitely taken steps to hide her true identity, appearing older with greying hair and a few more wrinkles, however, she still maintained that haughty air that was so reminiscent of her mother.
It appeared she was giving a tour, and right now she was explaining the history of the Panhellenic Games and their importance in their culture.
This is not what she had imagined, even when she’d guessed Demeter was hiding in plain sight.
Watching her with the children was like watching another god. She was no longer severe and there was a light to her eyes Persephone had not seen since she was very young. Then Demeter looked up and met Persephone’s gaze, and all of that kindness melted away. The moment was brief—a flicker of disappointment and anger and disgust—before she turned her gaze back to the children, a smile dancing across her facing so wide, her eyes creased.
“Why don’t you spend some time exploring? I’ll be here if you have any questions. Run along!”
“Thank you, Ms. Doso!” The children said in unison.
Persephone did not move once the children spirited away, but Demeter turned toward her, narrowing her eyes, lifting her chin into the air.
“Have you come to kill me?”
Persephone flinched. “No.”
“Then you have come to reprimand me.”
Persephone did not respond immediately.
“Well?” Demeter’s tone was sharp.
“I know what happened to you…before I was born,” Persephone said, noting the surprise in Demeter gaze, in the way her lips parted. Still, it was only a moment of weakness, a moment where Persephone glimpsed her mother’s true pain and anguished before she buried it again, scowling.
“Are you claiming to understand me now?”
“I would never pretend to know what you have gone through,” Persephone said. “But I wish I had known.”
“And what would that have changed?”
“Nothing, save that I might have spent less time angry with you.”
Demeter offered a savage smile. “Why regret anger? It feeds so many things.”
“Like your revenge?”
“Yes,” she hissed.
“You know you can stop this,” Persephone said. “There is no fighting Fate.”
“Do you believe that?” Demeter asked. “Given the fate of Tyche?”
Persephone’s lips flattened. It was Demeter’s admission.
“She loved you,” Persephone said.
“Perhaps—and yet, she too, told me I could not fight Fate and here I am—her thread cut by my hands.”
“Everyone can murder, mother,” Persephone said.
“And yet not everyone can murderer a god,” she replied.
“So this is your path,” Persephone said. “All because I fell in love with Hades?”
Demeter’s lips curled. “Oh, righteous daughter, this is beyond you. I will take down every Olympian who sided with Fate, every worshipper who holds them in high regard, and eventually, I will kill them, too, and when I am finished, I will tear this world apart around you.”
Persephone’s anger shook her body.
“You think I will stand aside and watch?”
“Oh, flower. You will have no choice.”
It was then Persephone understood there was no reclaiming the Demeter beneath the surface. That goddess was long gone, and while she appeared ever so often—when she smiled at children and when she recalled her trauma, she would never be that person again. This is who she thought she had to be for survival.
She’d lost her mother a long time ago and this…this was goodbye.
“The Olympians are looking for you.”
Then Demeter offered a horrible smile. She looked as if she were about to speak when she was interrupted.
“Ms. Doso!” A child called and Demeter turned, her twisted mouth and narrow eyes vanished, replaced by a smile and sparkling eyes.
“Yes, my darling?” Her voice was quiet and cool—a tone reserved for sweet lullabies.
“Tell us the story of Heracles!”
“Of course,” she offered a laugh that sounded silvery. Her gaze shifted to Persephone and once again her false facade melted away, and she spoke. “You should fear their search for me, daughter.”
Then the Goddess of Harvest turned, dismissing Persephone without another glance.
Demeter’s words were a warning, and it cast a horrible shadow over her heart. Persephone took a deep breath, hating how her throat filled with the taste of her mother’s magic, and left the museum.
CHAPTER XXVIII – A TOUCH OF TERROR
Persephone did not return to work after her visit to the museum. Instead, she teleported to the Underworld and went in search of Hecate, finding the goddess in her meadow, waiting. She was dressed in black robes today, matching Nefeli who sat, poised behind her, like an omen. She slowed upon seeing them, anxiety erupting in her chest. Hecate never waited for her—she was always doing something—gathering herbs and mushrooms, making poisons or cursing mortals.
She halted at the edge of the meadow and stared at the goddess.
“I felt your rage the moment you entered the Underworld,” Hecate said.
“I am changing, Hecate,” Persephone said, her voice broke.
“You are becoming,” Hecate corrected. “You feel it, don’t you? The darkness rising.”
“I do not wish to be like my mother.”
It was her greatest fear, something she’d thought about since the night she’d asked Hades to take her to Tartarus so she could torture Pirithous.
“I do not flinch at torture,” Persephone said. “I wish for vengeance against those who have wronged me. I would kill to protect my heart. I don’t know who I am anymore.”
“You are Persephone,” Hecate said. “The Fated Queen of Hades.”
Her chest rose and fell with heavy breaths.
“You should not feel ashamed of hurting people who hurt you,” Hecate said. “It is the nature of battle.”
They had spoken of combat and of war—they were words that had been threaded through conversations over the last few months—battle with Demeter, war with the gods.