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“Tell me!” Hades commanded.
“Sis-Sisyphus de Ephyra, you say?” Vasilis stuttered.“N-No. I think you are mistaken, my lord. I don’t know anyone by that name.”
Hades hate lies. They had a taste and a scent, bitter and pungent. His brows slammed down over his eyes, and as he advanced upon the Magi, he changed his tune.
“I mean, did you say Sisyphus de Ephyra? I thought you said Sisphus de Phyra,” he continued, his laugh awkward while sliding along the wall, away from the two gods.“Yes, yes… Sisyphus was here just yesterday.”
There was a beat of silence, and then Hades spoke, words slipping between his teeth.“Where is he now?”
“I-I don’t know.”
Hades’ patience was a thin thread, and it snapped. He snapped. Claws protruded from the tips of his fingers. As he stepped toward the man, there was a crashing sound that came from the back room where the mortal had been. Hades glared at the mortal before changing course and making his way toward the back room.
“Wait—”
“Are you asking for Hades, God of the Underworld, to slice your face to bits?” Hecate asked.“Because I will gladly watch.”
“You’re looking for Sisyphus? I’ll tell you where he is! Come…come back!” he called as Hades disappeared behind the curtain.
He found himself in a dark hallway that emptied into a larger room. The air was cold and stale, smelling faintly of decay, wax, and something akin to burnt hair. It was cleaner than the storefront and full of sleek glass cases, under which were a variety of carefully displayed items. It was clear why Vasilis had not wanted Hades to venture here. He was selling relics—tattered fabric and bits of jewelry, shattered spear tips and slivers of shields, bones and broken pottery. These were things that had been scavenged from the battlefields after The Great War. He wasn’t sure why, but seeing the remnants of war was never easy for him. It reminded him of the trauma of Titanomachy, of bloody battlefields and broken corpses.
Still, Hades searched the darkness for the source of the noise and found it. A set of books had been knocked from a shelf. Hades bent to pick them up, and as he straightened, his gaze met that of a black cat with yellow eyes. The creature hissed at him, and he hissed back. The cat yowled and hopped from its place, disappearing into the darkness.
“We have ourselves a black market dealer,” Hades called to Hecate.
Vasilis shuffled into the room first, his hand stretched into the air as if he were surrendering. It was then Hades noticed a familiar image etched on the pale skin of his wrist—a triangle. Hades’ eyes narrowed.
“So, you are a member of Triad?”
The Magi froze.“Not by choice.”
It was the fastest answer he had given, and it rang of truth.
“Then why is their mark upon your skin?”
The question left Hades feeling uneasy. He could not help thinking of Persephone and the mark upon her wrist. The one he had placed there against her will.
“What did they do?” It was Hecate who asked the question, her tone gentle, seeing something within the mortal Hades had not, apparently.
“They burned her,” Vasilis replied, lowering his hands.
“Who?” Hades asked.
“My cat.”
“Your cat?” Hades was not impressed.
“They burned her right in front of me,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.“I thought she was gone forever, but their leader…he kept her collar. He said he would return it if I joined them. They…needed magic.”
“A golem?” Hades asked.
Vasilis nodded.
Hades understood now. The Magi had agreed to serve Triad in exchange for the collar. It was the only item left that belonged to his cat, but he had not wanted it because he was sentimental. He’d wanted it for a purpose—the collar could be used to resurrect her, which by the looks of it, had been successful.
“So, you traded your freedom for a collar?”
“What would you trade for something you loved?” the Magi countered.
