Hades comes off the door and drops into the seat where Charon just was, pulling it closer. Then he takes my hand in both of his, tracing the lines of my palm. “No soul is born evil. There are proclivities, leanings, but like carbon is compressed and fired into a diamond, pressure and pain can transform a soul into something terrible.”
The empathy Hades hides from the world is showing. He felt for this person and what made him into a monster. For his mother, too.
“I can see alternate futures when they come to me, sometimes—what could have been if things had been different.”
“And this could have been different?”
He nods. “So many lives ruined.”
This is what the King of the Underworld must endure. “I wish I could help.”
He searches my eyes, a small smile playing around the corners of his mouth. “You do?”
Warmth blooms in my face, but I leave my hand right where it is. “Yeah.”
His dimples peek at me for a quick second. “Yeah.” He takes a long, slow breath, then releases it in a rush. “Let’s change the topic.”
I get needing emotional space, so I try not to be hurt by the distance threading his voice. But I pull my hand back and scratch an itch on my arm. “Were the other gods mad about having to wait for me?”
Hades groans. “How about something else?”
That’s not a good sign. “What happened?”
“They sent Asclepius and the Daemones down,” he says. “They understood after they saw the shape you were in.”
His voice isn’t right.
“Tell me the bad news. Go ahead. Rip it off like a Band-Aid.”
He leans back in his chair. “I’ve never understood that expression.”
The casual pose doesn’t fool me at all. “Then you’ve never worn a Band-Aid that got stuck to hair or part of the scab.” I pin him with a hard look. “You’re stalling, Phi.”
“Uh-uh.” He shakes his head. “You don’t get to call me that.”
I frown. “Charon does.”
“Yes.”
“Then why can’t I?”
He crosses his arms. “My star…has anyone ever called you stubborn to your face?”
“You’re still stalling.”
He looks bored, reminding me of the night we met.
“Fine. I won’t call you Phi. But back to the Band-Aid… I’ll imagine much worse things. It’s better to tell me now and get it over with.”
He glances to his right at a window with curtains drawn across it. “They didn’t wait.”
My heart plummets to my gut. “They went ahead with the next Labor without me?” Shit. “Who won?”
“Diego.”
Double shit. Now he’s won two, and Boone’s counting on me.
“Start from the beginning, and tell me everything,” I demand.
Hades runs a hand through his hair, the pale lock flopping onto his forehead, making him appear disheveled. “Damn.”
“What happened to your poker face?” I tease with a wan smile. “Now I really need you to tell me.”
He looks away, and I can tell he’s debating it, but eventually his expression flattens to something grimly resigned. “Fine.”
I exhale deeply. He really could have said no.
“Samuel won Hephaestus’ Labor, beating Trinica by only two seconds. His prize was a compass Hephaestus made that will always point the correct way to go.”
“Three Strength virtue wins in a row,” I say. “Do you get the feeling the Labors are rigged?”
Hades lifts a single eyebrow. “When have my siblings ever played fair?”
Good point.
“Demeter’s was the eighth Labor,” he continues. “She had them run through the Fields of Forgetting. If they succumbed and got lost, storms would chase them down.” After a pause, his voice is gentler when he says, “Neve didn’t make it.”
My stomach turns over, then over again. Another of us is gone?