Page 69 of Curse the Flame

Only the man standing in the megaron isn’t Theseus, though he appears as though he is. Somewhere in the Underworld, I sense the hero’s shade, so I know that he really is dead. That he’s slated to become one of the Unmentionables tells me that he had an untimely death; suicide, I sense. But there is still a living version of the hero standing there, watching my blossom with those eyes…

But Cassandra warned me. The former princess risked my wrath—Hades’s wrath—by walking into my realm and admitting that she plotted against all of us. I was willing to hold her until passing her off to Zeus for immortal judgment… and then she told me her truth.

She knew. She saw. She was witness to everything Aiden Murphy did mirrorside, but that’s not all, either.

Do you remember the black shades?

I do now. At first, I wasn’t quite sure what she meant. Most oracles speak in riddles, and Cassandra was no different. But while Hades disregarded what she said, Aiden… he listened. I listened.

And I knew exactly what she meant.

Back when I worked for him, Teddy Thanos always wore aviators. Inside. Outside. At night. In rooms so dark, I could see my reflection in the mirrored shades while I sat across from him, waiting for another name on my hit list.

I never asked why. Back then, I didn’t ask Teddy much of anything. He pointed me toward men he said deserved to die, and I believed him because I needed to. Because the alternative meant admitting I was nothing more than a murderer with good intentions.

Now Theseus stands across from me with black eyes fractured by thin lines of white. The same sort of eyes that Hades instinctively recognizes as those that belong to his missing prisoner…

The god rises up inside of me, cold and furious, but neither of us moves. Not yet, at least. Not when Kronos made the first mistake.

The bastard chose Theseus’s story.

Fine with me. We’re more than happy to finish it.

Willow’s hand catches the back of my suit jacket.

She isn’t hiding. My blossom doesn’t hide nearly as often as she should. She’s only staying close enough for me to protect her while still leaning around my shoulder to see what’s happening.

I shift in front of her. She shifts with me.

I move again, eager to keep her safe. So does she because she has no idea that’s at stake at the moment.

Any other time, I might appreciate the stubborn little dance between Willow and me. Right now, a man with Kronos’s eyes just announced he came for my wife, and I finally understand why the reborn Apollo seems so sure that Hephaetus would rather blow the top on Olympus than let Ares try to take his wife away from him.

I’d do the same if that’s what it took. But I’m not the god of the forge. I’m the god of the Underworld, and I have my own tricks up my sleeve.

Careful to keep Willow behind me, I call out the hero’s name. “What exactly are you doing in my realm?”

Take the bait. Say it again. Let the magic know what sort of legend you’re trying to repeat…

He can’t resist.

“I told you.” His gaze slides past me, a cruel smile on his lips. “I’m here for Persephone.”

The shadows under my throne stir, ready to be summoned at will.

It’s simple. The Other recognizes the story just as I do. That’s one of the stranger things about this place. The magic likes myths. Give it the right pieces—a hero, a god, the queen he came to steal—and it starts filling in the rest. It takes effort to change the story, and even then there are some elements… like, oh, a pomegranate… that can’t be defeated.

In this case, it’s another chair.

The air cools notably though I feel like I’m burning up from the inside out with rage. Darkness stretches across the floor toward Theseus as I call on my shadows.

He looks down as the first tendril winds around his sandal-covered foot. He doesn’t react. Doesn’t try to escape the shadows welling up around his feet. Doesn’t even stop smiling.

And that tells me everything I need to know.

Theseus might have been arrogant enough to challenge Hades once, but he learned what happens when a man tries to steal the queen of the Underworld. He wouldn’t stand calmly while the same trap closes around him twice.

You know what? Kronos would. Chaos wouldn’t want to avoid the story. He’d try to see how badly he could twist it.