Aphrodite

  “No.” Her bitter voice and the look on her face told me this topic was closed.

  I frowned, torn between curiosity and her obvious desire to drop the topic. “How are you doing, anyway?” I watched Persephone out of the corner of my eye as we walked down the hall. “Since Zeus.”

  She knocked on a door. “Busy. All the realms, the god stuff, it can be pretty overwhelming. That’s why—and I know you’re mad at her for this—but that’s why I’m so grateful for Melissa’s ‘no divinity allowed’ policy.” Persephone shot me an apologetic look. “She gave me a place to go where the entire planet isn’t my responsibility. When I visit her, I can pretend all that stuff with Zeus never happened, and like, veg out, you know? Watch TV. Eat junk food. Gossip.” Be normal.

  That last bit wasn’t spoken, but I knew Persephone well enough to know that desire was in there somewhere. Especially when it came to spending time with her favorite human. I waited until she charmed the next room’s resident before saying, “I’m not mad at Melissa.” Mad wasn’t the right word for someone I’d considered a friend outlawing any references to the defining feature of my life. “I just . . .” I sighed, sweeping my hair behind my shoulders. “Persephone, we are gods. That doesn’t disappear no matter who we hang out with. Life doesn’t compartmentalize like that. I know we’re both pretty new at this, but—”

  Her green eyes glittered and she whirled on me, her chin held high. “I know what I am. And I’ve come to terms with everything that means, good and bad. I’m not ducking my responsibilities or wishing them away.”

  “Okay.” I held up my hands in mock surrender as we moved into the next room. “But doesn’t it bother you that she doesn’t accept this huge aspect of who you are?”

  Persephone shook her head. “She accepted that I was a goddess long before I did. She knows me, Aphrodite. Almost better than I do. I needed that space. I need a place where all of this”—she waved her arms—“isn’t relevant.” Persephone fell silent as we searched the next room. This one contained five beds. Searching through the luggage took nearly half an hour. When we emerged into the hallway, she gave me a thoughtful look. “Melissa’s taking this psych class, and she says everyone assumes different identities based on who they’re with. You talk about work stuff and act professional and different at work than you do at school, or with a group of friends versus strangers, or with your significant other. You speak a different language, even. She called it . . .” She trailed off, struggling to remember.

  “Code switching?” I knocked on the next door.

  “Yeah, that’s it.” There wasn’t an answer, so Persephone pulled out the key we’d gotten from Miguel.

  “Right.” I went straight to the wardrobe, rifling through the life jackets. “But it’s not about having different identities, it’s using different aspects of the same identity. Nothing actually goes away when you’re not—”

  “I know.” Persephone’s voice echoed from the bathroom. “But I think the illusion keeps me sane. I talk to Melissa about nothing. Silly things, unimportant stuff. Human stuff. I talk to Cassandra and Helen about the same types of things, only that’s Underworld stuff. And I talk to you about the Zeus stuff, or goddess stuff Hades wouldn’t get.”

  “You don’t talk to anyone else about Zeus? Even Hades?” I hated to ask about Hades. He and Persephone had hit equilibrium, so everything she knew, he knew, and vice versa. Hades could be listening to this entire conversation through Persephone now. Persephone swore neither one of them eavesdropped much. Not only would listening in be rude, but it was also difficult if they were trying to focus on something else. But still.

  “Especially Hades.” Persephone bit her lip as we moved on to the next room. “He’s been different. I think . . .” She looked down, her hand frozen above the door. “I think after everything happened last year, it, I don’t know, got to him.”

  I knocked for her. “We’re going to look around your room,” I told the startled man in a black bathrobe. “If there are any divine weapons, long silver stake-like things, you’ll want to let us know now.”

  He blinked. “Um, okay.”

  We searched the room. “What happened got to him?” I dumped the man’s suitcase on his bed. “You were abducted and tortured. What the hell does he have to whine about?”

  Persephone closed the dresser drawers. “I kind of think that’s the problem. Like, maybe he doesn’t feel like he has a right to be upset or whatever because what I went through was worse. Only it doesn’t work like that. We all went through hell last year. The things Zeus did were frickin’ traumatizing. And not just for me. But I can’t bring myself to talk about it with him. I need what Hades and I have to be separate, untouched. He’s my sanctuary, you know? I’m safe there. Maybe not the healthiest approach, but . . .” She fell silent for a moment. “You’re not the only one who has nightmares.”

  “Maybe you should try not sleeping.” I winked at her and knocked on the next door. “Put Hades to use.”

  Persephone ignored the double entendre. “He definitely helps. I couldn’t imagine waking up alone after—” She broke off. “I honestly don’t know how you handle this all on your own.”

  “I just don’t sleep.”

  Persephone shook her head. “We probably all need therapy.”

  I laughed. “Think Athena would charge us?”

  Persephone giggled, and we both tried to ignore the fact that it wasn’t silly. We were all so shattered and broken, no amount of therapy would ever be able to repair us to the point that the cracks didn’t show.

  “She probably would. So . . .” She let the word drag, her voice teasing as she shook a pillow free from its case. “How’s not sleeping going, considering you’re sharing a room with Adonis?”

  I laughed, yanking open a suitcase. “Adonis and I are not together.”

  “Really?” Persephone pulled open the closet door. “Melissa thought you were head over heels for him.”

  I scowled, dumping out a beach bag and shifting through the contents. “And she still dated him? Nice.”

  “She felt bad about it.” Persephone checked the pockets of a long jacket. “So . . . was she onto something?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  Persephone stopped in the middle of the hall and stared me down until my defenses crumbled.

  “I think I fell in love with the idea of him. The reality’s pretty disappointing.”

  “How do you mean?” she probed, as we moved on to the next room. A woman holding a sleepy-looking girl in footsie pajamas opened the door with a scowl.

  “Do you have any idea what time it is?” the woman snarled. The child in her arms started wailing.

  “We are so sorry,” Persephone said, turning on the charm. “But we need to search your room.”

  “I can’t charm him.” I waited until Persephone finished questioning the mom before continuing. “Even accidentally. Everything he says and does is real, you know?”

  “I do, actually.” Persephone said. “Aphrodite,” she scolded when I took a stuffed bear from the little girl.

  “Baby jaguar,” the little girl moaned. “My baby jaguar. Give him—” She fell silent under the influence of Persephone’s charm.

  “You can hide things in stuffed animals,” I explained, giving the “jaguar” a cautious squeeze. “He’s clean. Here you go, kiddo.”

  The little girl snatched her toy from me, giving me a look so cutting, I stepped back.

  “Anyway,” I said, once Persephone convinced the kid to go back to sleep. “He can’t hurt me. He’s not strong enough. So we balance. And when the whole thing went down with Zeus, he saved me. He trusted me, believed in me at a time when no one else could.”

  “But?” Persephone prompted after a moment’s silence, closing the door as quietly as she could so we didn’t reawaken the sleeping dragon. br />
  “That’s not actually him. I put him on this pedestal and made him into a symbol. But it wasn’t fair to him. He can’t live up to that, you know? And the real Adonis wouldn’t want to anyway.”

  Persephone nodded, knocking on the next door. “I get that.” Another vacant room. Which meant no luggage to search. Still, we went through the drawers and furniture.

  “Uh-huh.” I couldn’t imagine another being, least of all Persephone, “getting” something I barely understood about myself.

  Wait, another vacant room? I paused in writing a giant “V” on this square of the ship’s map, trying to put my finger on why so many unbooked rooms bothered me. Persephone flipped on the lights, and the thought fled.

  “No, really, I do get what you’re saying.” She raked her hair back, her hand stopping at the top of her skull. “I used to get a crush on literally every guy who was ever nice to me and it wasn’t them, you know?” She flushed. “I always felt out of place, so I’d get really grateful when I got any attention at all. But I was too shy to act on my feelings, thank gods.”

  And I wasn’t. Yup. Got that subtext loud and clear. “You think I’m insecure and desperate for affection?” I wasn’t sure how to take that.

  She pressed her lips together and glanced down at the carpet. “I think you’re lonely. I’m not explaining this well.” She sighed. “I’m saying I get it. I know what it’s like to feel different and alone, and I know what it’s like to seize onto that one kind gesture and read so much into it that everything the person says or does becomes . . . more. And you’re right, putting him on a pedestal isn’t fair to him. But it’s also not fair to you, because you end up putting all this stock into someone who maybe doesn’t deserve it.”

  My throat went tight. “Yeah.”

  “Besides, there’s always Ares,” she teased.

  “He’s not interested.” I held my hands up in response to the “oh please,” look she gave me. “No, trust me, Persephone. I’ve been there. He’s not interested. But even if he was, it may not be either/or, you know? You and Hades are just weird. The divine default is not monogamy.”

  She shrugged. “Your love life, your choices. Date no one. Date one person. Date thousands. Date who or whatever you want, but—” She pushed her hair out of her face.

  “But?” I repeated, unsure what she was getting at.

  “Be careful.” Her voice rose in question to make it clear she was making a request and not an order that I’d be forced to follow. “The pedestals I put boys on were low, because all they’d done is act nice. But it still hurt when they said or did something to bring them tumbling down. Your situation sounds a bit more loaded.”

  I chose my words carefully. “I appreciate your concern . . .”

  “But mind my own business?” Persephone flashed me an apologetic smile and ducked her head. “I’m sorry. I’m probably just projecting my own stuff on to you anyway.” She knocked on the next door. “Oh, did you hear about what happened with Cerberus?”

  Tantalus opened the door and grinned when he saw Persephone and me standing before him. “I have dreams that start like this.” He opened the door and motioned for us to enter. “Come on in.”

  Chapter XX

  I WALKED INTO Tantalus’s suite and found myself in a mirror image of the room I shared with Adonis. After a moment’s hesitation, Persephone followed me inside.

  “You’re sweating,” I observed, looking Tantalus over. He wore dark flannel pants and a white shirt. His golden hair looked messy, and sweat glistened on his neck. “Something wrong?”

  “Am I?” Tantalus pulled at the neck of his shirt. “Well . . . this room did just get quite a bit hotter.” Persephone made a disgusted sound, and he turned his attention to her. “And who are you?” he asked. “I know I haven’t seen you on board.” He closed the door, using the movement to plant a hand next to her. “How about we get to know each other better?”

  I grabbed his arm and dragged him toward the living room, noting that Tantalus’s balcony door stood wide open. “Can you search upstairs?” I asked Persephone. “I’ll question him and get started down here.”

  “Deal.” The relief was evident in her voice.

  “Question me?” Tantalus asked. “Search? What are—?”

  I turned on my charm; surely using my powers once wouldn’t hurt too badly. My stomach clenched, but the pain felt more like a dull throb than the usual knife-to-the-gut variety. “Yeah, we’re searching your room, and you’re going to truthfully answer everything I ask, then forget we were ever here. Oh, and by the way,” I added once Persephone disappeared up the stairs. “You’re welcome.”

  “For what?”

  I pushed him toward the couch and motioned for him to sit down. “I just saved you from a world of hurt. Don’t flirt with her. She’s not interested.”

  He sat down, looking toward the steps, as though hoping to catch another glimpse of Persephone. “Who is she?”

  “Not interested. That’s all you need to know.”

  Tantalus raised his eyebrows. “If you’re going to ‘question me,’” he emphasized the phrase and gave me a wry look, “I have a feeling I’m going to need caffeine. Want a soda?”

  “Sure.” I followed him to the kitchen and took a seat at the bar while Tantalus rummaged through the fridge.

  Since Tantalus was in the know, I deviated from the usual questions, taking a more direct route. “Are you trying to kill me or any of the other gods?”

  “No.” Tantalus gave me an odd look and poured soda into two glasses. “Rum?”

  I declined. He shrugged and turned his back to me, pouring a shot into one of the cups.

  “Do you know of anyone who might want to?”

  “Nope.” He put the drinks on the bar and sat across from me.

  I took a sip. “Are you in possession of any weapons that could kill a god?”

  “No!” Tantalus drew back in surprise. “Is there such a thing?”

  “Not that you’re going to remember.” I ran him through the rest of the questions and finished my drink.

  When I started searching the kitchen, Tantalus stood. “Can I help?”

  “Nope.” Standing on my tiptoes, I scanned the top of the cabinets. The boat lurched and I lost my balance, making me stumble back into Tantalus. “Sorry.” I turned to face him as he steadied me.

  “Sure thing.” His eyes met mine, then widened in surprise. A broad grin broke out across his face, weakening my knees.

  Yeah, okay. He acted arrogant and self-absorbed, but he also looked really hot. What girl wouldn’t react to finding herself in his arms?

  Tantalus tilted my chin up. “If I kiss you, you’re not going to turn me into a plant or anything, are you?”

  I laughed. “Well I won’t promise anything, but . . .” I touched my lips to his, keeping the motion light and teasing. “Don’t you think I’m worth the risk?”

  “Hell, yeah.” Tantalus yanked me to him, his mouth meeting mine with practiced skill. He was one good kisser, and I’d know. I closed my eyes and let all my frustration, anger, and fear from the last two days fuel my kiss. My teeth grazed his bottom lip and he let out a low groan, pressing me against the cabinets as his hands roamed beneath my sweater.

  “Hey, Aphrodite?” Persephone called from upstairs.

  What the hell was I doing? Breaking away from Tantalus, I struggled to catch my breath. I should be searching the suite, not making out with the incredibly hot . . .

  My thoughts trailed off into oblivion as I stared into Tantalus’s gold eyes. I yanked him back to me using the drawstring on his pajama pants. His mouth crushed against mine as he swept the countertop behind me clear. Something clattered to the ground and shattered.

  Stop! I jerked my head, breaking off eye contact with him. “You’re using charm,” I accuse
d, as I scrambled down from the countertop.

  “Always.” Tantalus shrugged. “I can’t exactly turn it off. I gotta say”—he slid a hand down my arm, trying to pull me back to him—“it’s nice knowing that was all you.” At my puzzled look, he tilted his head, gold hair falling into his eyes. “Well, you’re immune, right? I couldn’t possibly charm a god.”

  Footsteps thudded over my head. “Aphrodite?”

  “Rain check?” Tantalus suggested, releasing his hold on my arm.

  I stared at him, reeling in shock. He had charm? So, he was a son of Zeus. Three of Zeus’s demigods on one ship? What were the odds? How many kids did Zeus have? And if Tantalus always used charm, how come I hadn’t sensed him using any before?

  How come I couldn’t sense him using charm now?

  And how could he have charmed me? No one could charm me, except maybe Persephone. But if my powers were fading, maybe all the rules were changing. I needed to test my immunity, but in order to do so, I needed someone who knew what they were doing.

  “Hey.” Persephone rounded the corner into the kitchen. “You okay?”

  “I’m done in here.” I moved away from Tantalus. “Did you need help with something?”

  Chapter XXI

  THE REST OF THE search went by in a blur. I couldn’t keep my mind on the task at hand. Not even when we searched the shops. It was pretty bad when even designer clothes couldn’t hold my attention.

  “So now what?” Ares asked, when Persephone and I joined the rest of the group huddled on the top deck at the very front of the ship. From here, we’d be able to see anyone coming, and the constant wind made a shield unnecessary for blocking sound. The ocean still looked black as pitch, but the horizon showed signs of dawn approaching. We’d already dismissed the Muses, Graces, and minor deities, instructing them to don glamours and blend in with the passengers, keeping their eyes open for trouble, so our group consisted of just us seven. Artemis, Persephone, and I claimed the window ledges while Ares, Hades, Poseidon, and Athena stood.