“What powers does Persephone have?”
From my peripheral, I saw him cross his arms and knew this line of questioning would likely upset him. I knew I was right when he answered in an annoyed tone.
“You can make things grow with a thought and make the air smell of orange blossoms.”
“I can’t do either of those things.”
He snorted. “Refusing to use your powers proves nothing but your willful nature.”
Willful? Frustrated, I looked up at him again.
“Then how am I supposed to prove that I’m human? What’s something a human can do that Persephone can’t?”
“You are a goddess, descended from the Titans. There is nothing a human can do that you cannot do.”
“There has to be something.” I turned away to pace as my mind raced.
The differences between the gods and the humans were simple enough. One set was immortal and had untold power, and the other had neither.
Confirming my humanity with mortality was an obvious non-option. I wanted out of Hell, not a permanent residency. Although, I did wonder how Persephone, as an immortal goddess, was a pile of bones on a rotting bed. Her death shouldn’t have been possible.
My thoughts veered to my recent meal with Hades and how he’d eaten that tiny cube of ambrosia. He’d said something about Persephone not eating the ambrosia to renew herself. So maybe the gods weren’t really immortal but only eating ambrosia to have infinite life? If that were the case, and I wasn’t eating ambrosia, Hades wouldn’t see any sign of my mortality as evidence of my humanity anyway.
I wanted to groan in frustration. Instead, I steered my thoughts away from possible death and focused on the power aspect of the gods.
Proving I didn’t have power would be tricky. As Hades had said, I could be pretending not to use it. So what evidence could I give that would support my lack of powers? Back home, all the creatures seemed to know I was human. Even if I’d never met them before. I’d assumed they had some kind of internal radar or that I’d smelled differently in some way.
I paused my pacing near the tub and glanced back at Hades.
“Do humans smell different to you?” I asked.
He scowled at me.
“Each soul smells of misery and hopelessness, as agreed. Add nothing more to their tortures. They suffer enough.”
It took a second for what he said to sink in and another second after that to realize he believed I was asking about humans because I—or rather Persephone—wanted to torture them. Gods, Persephone had been one mean bitch.
I thought of my dead uncle, and my chest squeezed.
“What do you mean? How are the human souls being tortured?”
“Do not dare claim ignorance in this,” Hades warned, prowling toward me. “Or do you wish to hear me speak of what I sacrificed for you? Does it bring you delight to know you’ve stolen their chance for an afterlife filled with peace?”
The thunderous anger in his expression suddenly melted away, turning to sadness and regret in a blink.
“I did not steal your peace, Goddess. If you but allow yourself, you could find peace here with me.”
He reached for my cheek like he would caress it, and my pulse immediately spiked.
The need for his touch heated my blood and warmed my face, but he didn’t give me what I wanted. His fingers hovered a breath over my skin, stroking only air.
I closed my eyes and fought the urge to lean into him and make contact.
“I didn’t mean the souls,” I said, desperate to bring the conversation back on topic. “I meant the living.”
Hades exhaled heavily. “You well know that I am forever locked away in this place. If I ever knew a human’s scent, that memory is long gone.”
Hoping that troubled breath meant he was no longer trying to touch me, I opened my eyes. His hands were once more at his sides. I held his gaze for a tense moment then stepped around him and resumed my pacing.
