Page 52

Maya laughs, short and sweet. “Sweetie, the Godsarecreatures of myth.”

“Interesting.” Maya’s eyes watch my finger as I tap my lips, frowning. “So, where did the perception of Heaven and Hell originate, then?”

“If I had to guess, I’d say Zeus. Very few human souls ever make it to Olympus. He’s just despicable enough to rejoice in the constant fear humanity lives in as they strive to one day enter the golden gates of his beloved realm. To let them think that’s where thegood soulsend up. When almost all souls end up here.” Emotions blaze in her eyes. “I would choose Tartarus over the emotional torment that living in Olympus would be.”

My brows snap high. “It’s that bad?”

“Everything you think of the Underworld and Olympus should be flipped. Except the darkness and light part. There's a lot of darkness here, but it's the good kind of darkness.” She tucks a stray strand of hair behind a pointed ear. “Olympus is, well, it's light and bright, but it's filled with manipulation. It's chocked full of backstabbing, self-serving, hideous Gods.”

“Therearepeople there, though, right? Human souls, I mean?”

Maya gives me a frown. “I've never been to Olympus.”

“But you know, don't you?”

A deeper, husky, but still feminine voice answers my question, and I turn to the door of the closet to see Hecate. “There are human souls in Olympus Persephone, but they are not cared for the way the souls in the Underworld are cared for.”

“What does that mean?”

“They are slaves,” she says simply. “In every sense of the word.”

“Slaves?” My belly tightens. Sickness churns.

“They are used to serve and pleasure the Gods. Olympus is not a fair and beautiful place.” She steps into the room, her presence far bigger than mine and Maya’s. “You must guard your back.”

Clearly, Hydra is no longer snoozing on the balcony after her fly, because there is a low growl that echoes in my mind before her voice sounds,“I will guard your back.”

I nod, ignoring Hydra and replying to Hecate. “I will be careful.”

She dips her chin and moves deeper into the room, floating in that way she does. My eyes drop to the canvas she carries. It is painted, though not in Hades’ style.

It is darker than anything I've seen Hades paint, and he can paint some dark stuff.

She sets the canvas down on the bench beside my suitcase, tapping it with a black painted nail.

“I don't paint,” Hecate begins. Maya shifts, looking disturbed by the hideousness that is this artwork of crushed bones.

The center is a shattered skull, the fragments of bone rupturing outward. Blood flies in the way of the skull fractures, and snakes slither from shadows that feel all too real, coiling around bone and peering from broken eye sockets. Spiders crawl.

The painting looksaliveand that is horrifying.

“Please excuse the mess of it.” Hecate’s lips curl into a small, slow smile.

I stutter, “Wh-what am I supposed to do with it?”

“Take it with you.”

“Take it with me?” I think my voice just raised at least two entire octaves. I feel my brows climbing even as I try to keep my face neutral. But—well,I just can't hide my shock.

It's notmyfault. This is a truly horrifying painting.

“Hecate,” I begin cautiously. “I appreciate the gesture, but I don't think this is going to fit in with the ambience of Olympus.”

“It won't.” Her smile stretches cat-like. “Just as your dresses won’t.”

Understanding settles inside me as she fingers the dark gowns I’ve chosen for my stay in Olympus.

“You don’t want me to fit in.” It’s not a question.