A Touch of Chaos (11 page)

“Persephone.”

She opened her eyes and found Hecate standing over her. It took her a moment to get her bearings, and then she realized she was in her bed. Thanatos must have taken her from the Asphodel Fields.

“Hecate,” she whispered as she sat up, an ache forming between her brows. “Is everything all right?”

“I believe I have found Hades,” Hecate said.

Persephone had been so desperate to hear those words for so long, she could hardly believe they were true.

“Where is he?” she asked, rising to her feet.

Hecate did not respond immediately, and Persephone's soaring hope quickly turned to dread.

“Hecate?”

“He's at Knossos,” she said.

“Knossos?” Persephone asked, confused. Knossos was a city on the island of Crete. “But there is nothing there but ruins.”

“Come,” Hecate said, extending her hand.

Persephone could already feel Hecate's magic, ancient and electric, curling around her. Her heart rose in her throat as she took the goddess's hand and they teleported.

She half expected to appear before the ruins of Knossos but was surprised when she was brought to Hades's office at Nevernight. Hermes lay on Hades's desk while Apollo took shots of vodka from behind the bar. A mortal sat with his hands tied behind his back. He was an older man with a sharp nose, round wire glasses, and a mostly bald head.

“What's going on?” Persephone asked. “Who is this?”

“I'm Robert,” said the man.

“He's Robert,” Apollo and Hermes said.

They all spoke in unison. It made Persephone flinch.

“And who is Robert?” Persephone asked with more patience than she felt.

Hecate had just found Hades, and these two were…well, she wasn't sure what they were doing.

“I'm an architect,” said Robert.

“He's an architect,” Apollo and Hermes said.

They sounded bored.

Persephone exchanged a look with Hecate, who rolled her eyes before sending a surge of magic in both gods' directions. Hermes shot up from Hades's desk and landed on the hard marble floor, a sharp obsidian thorn in the spot where he had once lain. The vodka in Apollo's glass turned to sand just as he shot it into his mouth. He spat it out quickly, choking on the dirt.

“What the fuck?” they said.

Hermes climbed to his feet from the floor, and Apollo searched frantically for something wet, settling on an open bottle of wine to gargle.

“My husband is missing, and Hecate tells me that he is at Knossos, and instead of taking me to him, she brought me to you,” Persephone said, her voice shaking with anger. “
One
of you tell me what the
fuck
is going on.”

Hermes and Apollo exchanged a look.

“I'm afraid that is why I am here,” said Robert.

Persephone's eyes fell to the mortal.

“And what do you have to do with my husband and Knossos?”

“I am an architect,” he said.

Persephone could not keep a handle on her magic, and she didn't want to. It flared to life, heavy and dark, as black spires shot from the tips of her fingers.

The mortal's eyes widened, and he seemed to press himself farther into his chair.

She felt a hand on her arm and turned to look at Hecate.

“What the idiots are trying to say is that the ruins at Knossos are no longer ruins,” Hecate said.

“Theseus has been rebuilding the labyrinth,” said Apollo.

“So we thought we would find his builder,” said Hermes.

“
Architect
,” Robert corrected.

“But it turns out Robert here was just the
first
builder,” Apollo continued.

“
Architect
,” Robert said again.

“The first one?” Persephone asked.

“He hires and fires them,” said Hermes. “The—”

“
Architects
,” Robert and Hermes said at the same time.

“Why?” Persephone asked.

“He thinks it will add to the perplexity of his labyrinth,” said Apollo.

“I told him it wasn't so,” said Robert. “All he needed was a great architect, but he wanted it to be
inescapable
.”

Persephone frowned, holding the mortal's gaze.

“And…why are you here again?”

“We
thought
we would get to torture him into telling us how to get through the labyrinth,” said Hermes. “Turns out he's
cooperative
.”

“I think you are upset about the wrong thing, Hermes,” Hecate advised.

The God of Mischief crossed his arms over his chest.

“You are telling me Hades is trapped in a labyrinth?” Persephone asked.

“It is more than likely,” said Robert. “I do not know much about Theseus's plans beyond the fact that he wanted a type of prison. He insisted it be constructed from adamant.”

“Well, that is unfortunate,” said Hecate.

Persephone looked at the goddess. “What is it?”

“It is a metal that was forged by Gaia,” Hecate said. “It
means that entering the labyrinth will be like becoming a mortal. It also means we cannot teleport inside or out.”

The more she learned, the more anxious Persephone became, but things were making sense. Now she knew why she could not feel Hades's magic.

“So the only way to reach him is to go through the labyrinth,” Persephone said, more to herself than anyone else.

“Do you know which part of the labyrinth you built?” asked Apollo. “We could find the other architects and piece together a map.”

But Robert shook his head. “It would be too hard to say which part was mine, and I imagine it would be the same for the others.”

Persephone studied the mortal. “Why are you so compliant?” she asked, a little suspicious.

“Theseus never asked us what gods we served,” said the man. “I have always been pious, and pious I will always be.”

His sincerity rang true.

“Thank you, Robert.”

He smiled. “Of course, my lady,” he said with a nod. “Er…would anyone be willing to…untie my hands? They're a little numb.”

Persephone turned her gaze to Apollo and Hermes. “Take him home, and one of you…grant him a favor.”

Apollo and Hermes exchanged a look and then spoke in unison. “We can't.”

Then Persephone remembered what Aphrodite said—that Zeus had stripped them of their powers.

“Well, how did you get him here?”

“The old-fashioned way,” said Hermes.

“I think you mean the mortal way,” said Apollo.

“We abducted him from outside his work,” Hermes explained. “Antoni helped us.”

“Did anyone see you?” Persephone asked.

“Does it matter?” asked Hermes.

“It does if Theseus's men are watching,” said Persephone.

Hermes pursed his lips, and Apollo frowned.

“I doubt Theseus would waste his resources on me,” said Robert. “I am one cog in his machine.”

“And if one breaks, the whole thing comes down,” Persephone said. “Theseus does not like loose ends.” She looked at Hecate. “What can be done?” She did not wish for the man to suffer for his loyalty to the gods.

“I can cast a protection spell,” Hecate said. “Though they are not infallible.”

“I am grateful for anything,” said Robert. “I only wish I could've helped more.”

Persephone met the mortal's gaze. “You have helped enough. Thank you.”

Hecate teleported with Robert and returned in seconds.

“Will he be safe?” Persephone asked.

“I'm not sure anyone is safe,” said Hecate.

Her words made Persephone's stomach drop.

“You will not be able to take responsibility for every mortal who crosses paths with Theseus,” said Hecate.

“No, but I would rather not see them die for helping us.”

“He made his choice,” Hecate said.

Persephone could not argue. There were greater things at stake.

“We have to go to Knossos,” she said.

“Hold on, Seph,” said Apollo. “This is clearly a trap.”

“I am aware,” she said, but it changed nothing.

“I know you are eager to bring Hades home,” said Hecate. “But we must proceed with caution. Apollo is right. It is evident Theseus used your ring to trap Hades, and it is likely he knows we will track its energy. He wants you in that labyrinth. He is
counting
on it.”

Persephone did not doubt that either. Theseus was toying with them.

“I think I know someone who can help,” said Hermes. “Or at least let us know what we're up against.”

“Who?” Persephone asked.

“Her name is Ariadne,” he said. “Ariadne Alexiou.”

Dionysus entered the Crysos Gallery of Art and wove his way through the crowd, heading straight for the bar. The attendant must have seen him because he already had a glass of wine prepared. Dionysus snatched it with a nod and continued through the fray, observing the gathering.

He was looking for anyone he recognized, but not because he wanted to chat—it wasn't exactly a friendly crowd. It was more a matter of assessing competition for the upcoming auction. While those in attendance were making a show of observing artistic masterpieces, it was not the art up for sale tonight—it was women and young men.

Dionysus had come in search of Medusa, a gorgon who had the power to turn men to stone. She had last been seen on the shore of the Aegean. As he'd feared, Poseidon had found her, and once he'd had his way with her, he claimed to have left her alone.

“
If I had known the value of her beautiful head, I'd have
cut it off where she lay
,” he'd said, informing Dionysus that she could only turn men to stone once her head was separated from her body. It was a cruel revelation, and it left Dionysus uncertain as to whether it was best to find her at all. But if it wasn't him, it would be someone else who valued her use over her life. Even if he did not manage to find her, he could at least extricate a few sex-trafficked victims and make note of the rest.

Eventually, the maenads would rescue them all—at least that was the goal. He hesitated to call it a plan, because he'd done this enough to understand that plans never went smoothly. Sometimes they were too late.

His chest tightened.

One day, he hoped they could put an end to this vicious cycle of abuse.

He made his way into the adjoining room, which, while more spacious, was far more crowded, likely because it featured mostly erotic art. Dionysus scanned the room, his eyes passing over portraits of Aphrodite in the hands of mortal lovers and glades full of naked nymphs, until he caught a glimpse of someone he recognized, though she was the last person he'd expected to find here, and that was because she shouldn't have been here at all.

Detective Ariadne Alexiou stood across from him, and he could not help the eruption of heat that started in his groin. His heart pumped harder, and blood rushed to every limb, making him very, very aware of the heaviness between his legs.

Motherfucker
, he thought.

She was supposed to be at his club, Bakkheia, training with the maenads, yet she was here, wearing an electric blue dress that only drew more attention to her beauty.
He couldn't help thinking about how she had wrapped those long legs around his waist when he'd fucked her against a cave wall on the island of Thrinacia or how he'd twisted his fingers into that thick, dark hair just to gain better access to her mouth. She had tasted so sweet, and she'd felt so good around him.

Fuck, he ached for her.

She had yet to notice him, but as he took a step in her direction, a man handed her a glass of champagne.

What the actual fuck?

“Ari,” Dionysus said as he approached. He felt almost breathless, but he knew that was his frustration.

She was in the middle of taking a drink when she spit it back into the glass, her eyes wide with surprise. Clearly she had not expected him to be here either.

“Dionysus,” she said. “Hi.”

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“You know Lord Dionysus?” the man beside her asked.

Know
was an understatement.

“Yes,” she said. “Casually.”

“Casually,” Dionysus repeated. “Sure.”

Her gaze seared his skin. He knew what she was saying without speaking.

Don't fuck this up for me.

He pointed to the two of them. “So what's
this
?”

The man, who was young with a swath of blond hair, hesitated and stuck out his hand. “Leander Onasis,” he said.

Dionysus looked at his hand and then met his gaze. “I didn't ask who you were,” he said.

The mortal blushed and dropped his arm. He started to speak, but Ariadne interrupted.

“Leander,” she said and offered an apologetic smile. “Would you give us a minute?”

He hesitated, glancing at Dionysus. “Of course,” he said. “I'll, uh, see you in the room?”

“Sooner,” she said.

He grinned before walking away, and Dionysus glared, unable to suppress the jealousy and anger that shot up his spine.

“Really? Sooner?” he asked.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” she asked between her teeth. “We had an agreement.”

“You wanted to go back to work,” he said.

“This
is
work,” she snapped.

“Really? Because I happen to know your boss put you on traffic duty.”

“Are you stalking me now?”

“Never stopped,” he said, though it wasn't stalking, and she knew it.

They'd agreed that she could go back to her day job as a detective for the Hellenic Police Department, but she had to accept that the maenads would also watch her every move. He was going to have to have a conversation about this, however.

“Did you arrive with him?”

Her eyes were like fire, and they singed every inch of his skin.

“Is this about my job or the men I fuck?”

“I thought this was work,” he shot back.

“You are such an asshole,” she seethed.

She spun and stormed away. He followed, catching up to her.

“Ari—”

She rounded a corner and turned toward him abruptly. “Don't call me that!” she snapped.

“What? Your name?”

“That is a nickname. It denotes familiarity, a privilege I have not given you.”

“I fucked you. I'd say we are pretty familiar.”

“I gave you access to my body,” she said. “That doesn't mean we're close.”

Her words stung, and Dionysus tightened his jaw against the terrible things he wanted to say. He wasn't sure what he'd expected but he'd hoped that when they returned from the island, she'd still want him.

It turned out to be the opposite.

“Do you regret it?” he asked after a moment, unable to keep the pain from his voice.

“We're not talking about this here,” she said, averting her eyes, glassy with anger.

“Now seems as good of a time as any,” he said, because he knew outside this moment, she would continue to avoid him.

When she met his gaze, the full force of her fury hit.

“Every time you do this, I regret it more and more.”

He searched her face desperately for any sign of a lie but found nothing.

She was telling the truth.

He took a step back, swallowing hard.

“Watch your back,” he said. “You aren't among friends.”

“Thanks for the advice,” she said, returning to Leander, who welcomed her with a smile and a fresh drink. After a few moments, she seemed to relax around him, and Dionysus hated that she could not seem to do the same with him.

It took all his power to tear his gaze from her, but he finally left her for the main floor, returning to the bar for a second glass of wine when he was swiftly cut off by a man with a badly bruised face.

His name was Michail Calimeris, and he was the owner of Maiden House, a brothel in the pleasure district.

“Well, if it isn't Lord Dionysus,” he said.

Dionysus had gone to the mortal at the start of his search for Medusa, but things had escalated quickly when Michail had recognized Ariadne as a cop. She'd ended up killing two of his men.

It was just another reason she should not be here.

“Michail,” Dionysus said. “You're looking…recovered.”

It was a lie, but it was also the nicest thing he could think to say to a man he loathed.

“I'm on the mend,” Michail replied as if talking to an old friend.

“If you'll excuse me,” Dionysus said, attempting to step around Michail, but he was stopped when the mortal stuck out his hand.

“You'll forgive me,” Michail said. “But I don't think I will.”

Dionysus took a step back and then glanced to his left and right. In the time he'd been with Ariadne, the gallery had been cleared of civilians, and the only people who remained were Michail's men.

They surrounded him on all sides.

Dionysus held Michail's gaze.

“To what do I owe this honor?” he asked thickly.

Michail gave a wicked smile. “I just wanted to have a friendly chat.”

“You don't look particularly pleasant.”

“It might have something to do with the nose job you gave me when you slammed my face into the floor.”

Dionysus shrugged. “An improvement if you ask me.”

“No one did,” Michail said tightly.

There was a beat of silence, and then Leander walked into view with Ariadne. One of his hands was clasped tightly over her mouth, and he held a gun to her head. Dionysus's fingers curled into fists as he tried to assess how he was going to get them out of this situation.

Fuck.

He shifted his gaze from her to Michail again.

“You should have just let me have the detective,” Michail said.

“She's not mine to give.”

“It sure didn't look like that to me,” he said.

Dionysus imagined not, given that Michail had walked in while Ariadne was grinding against his cock, but intimacy did not equal possession or ownership.

“So you've decided to take her?”

“I've decided to kill her in front of you,” he said.

“You think I would let you?”

Michail chuckled. “You may be a god, Dionysus, but what power do you possess beyond filling glasses with wine and a sharp pine cone?”

Dionysus was used to people questioning his divinity. He was the God of Wine and Revelry. His influence on the world was minimal compared to the Olympians, but these mortals had not been alive during the time of his madness. They did not know what he was capable of when pushed.

And this was testing his limits. The edges of his vision were already turning red.

“You forgot one,” Dionysus said. “I'm pretty skilled at breaking faces.”

“But not skilled enough to realize when you've been lured into a trap.”

Dionysus had to admit, that stung a little. The truth was he had not thought twice about coming tonight. He'd been to similar auctions many times; he'd taken this one for granted. Still, trapping a god was never a good idea.

Trapping Dionysus was worse.

“I am impressed,” said Dionysus. There was a tremor to his voice that some might have mistaken for nerves, but it was really anger.

Michail's eyes gleamed with pride. “Thank you.”

“Not with you,” Dionysus said. “I'm impressed that you think you've trapped me when I have most certainly trapped you.”

Dionysus summoned his thyrsus. The men in the room laughed at what they called a pine cone–tipped staff, but the fennel was a symbol of his power over nature, over hedonism and pleasure.

It was also a weapon, and his vision was red.

He hurled the staff at Michail like a spear, and it went straight through his chest, striking the wall behind him with a loud crack.

There was a moment of stunned silence.

Michail was still on his feet though there was a hole in his chest. He staggered, and blood burst from his mouth, spattering the floor.

Then he fell to the ground, dead.

Dionysus's gaze shifted to Ariadne and then to the men surrounding him.

They all looked horrified.

“I forgot to mention,” he said. “My pine cone is pretty sharp.”

Leander cocked his gun, and the men started to close in on Dionysus, only to freeze when a strange lurching sound escaped from somewhere deep in their throats.

They exchanged looks, both confused and fearful, before a dark liquid burst from every orifice of their bodies in a stream so powerful, they were thrown backward into the walls. When it was over, they fell to the floor like dead fish in a pool of red wine.

He'd turned their blood to wine and filled them full of it.

As he stood there, his vision started to clear, but he knew the madness was not over—this was just the start. He was about to spiral.

He had to get Ariadne out of here.

He crossed the room and plucked his thyrsus from the wall. When he faced Ariadne, he was surprised to find that she had not fled. They were both covered in blood and wine, and the smell of it thickened the air between them.

He reached for her, brushing a finger across her cheek.

“Are you afraid?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, but she did not push him away.

Dionysus held his breath, and his hand moved to the back of her neck. He stepped closer until she was forced to tilt her head back to hold his gaze and there was no space between them.

“Now you know who I really am,” he said, and then they vanished, leaving the mayhem behind.