Patrick had to stuff his rage down deep, but some anger still came out in his voice. “Nice of you not to answer her.”
Persephone arched an eyebrow. “You’re here, are you not?”
Patrick scowled. “If this is some fucked-up game the Fates are playing—”
“The future is unknown to them all right now.”
“There will be a new future after Samhain,” Hermes said, sounding almost cheerful as he tucked his hands into his back pockets. “Even odds on which side wins.”
“Hermes.”
“Come now, dearest. We both know that to walk upon the earth and be seen again is to be remembered.”
Hermes smiled at her, but Persephone didn’t return one of her own.
Patrick cleared his throat, tapping a finger against the iron box. “I have an idea, but I need your help, Persephone.”
“It is not my place to aid you,” she said.
“Maybe not, but the whole reason you indebted me was to get Macaria back. In order to do that, we need to halve Ethan’s power. I’m betting Eloise is being held in Salem somewhere, and Hades would know where. He’ll talk to you if you ask him to. Hermes can pass on the message for us.”
Persephone’s formidable attention shifted from Patrick to Hermes. The messenger god removed his hands from his pockets and shrugged expansively. “Pattycakes has never had the best ideas.”
“Indeed,” Persephone said, glancing back at Patrick. “I have nothing to say to my husband.”
“Pretty sure he’s got plenty to say to you,” Patrick replied.
“That is irrelevant.”
“War says otherwise.” Patrick lifted the iron box for her to see. “Loki said they’d swap Eloise for this, but we all know they’d soon as kill her than hand her over alive.”
“My high priestess is not worth the Morrígan’s staff.”
“Yeah, well, the Morrígan likes war, and we’re going to give her one. Look, just come with me to talk to Hades. Think of this trade like your own personal Trojan horse.”
“Dying won’t pay your soul debt.”
Patrick gritted his teeth in an ugly smile. “I don’t plan on dying.”
His plan wouldn’t work without her though. Hades would murder him on sight if he went alone and handed his body over to Ethan. In a situation like this, Patrick wasn’t above playing dirty. Hades and Persephone had spent over twenty years on opposite sides of this fight, trying to save their daughter in their own way—Hades by never leaving Macaria while she was effectively held hostage and Persephone aiming at the heart of Ethan’s power through Patrick.
Divorce wasn’t an option for them, but he’d settle for an argument because at least the two immortals would maybe be on speaking terms that way.
“You told me to win this war, and this is how I’m doing it,” Patrick said. “Don’t you want your daughter back?”
Hope wasn’t just a mortal thing; he could see the spark of it in Persephone’s gold-brown eyes. “You would not be here if I didn’t.”
“Then let me pay my soul debt. You want Ethan dead? This is how I kill him. All you have to do is have a conversation with Hades.”
None of them spoke, the only sound between them that of the wind blowing across the Underworld and the waves lapping at the shore of the River Styx. What felt like an age passed before Persephone stepped closer, lifting her hands to frame Patrick’s face. Her touch was warm, bringing with it the scent of spring, but her words reminded him of winter ice.
“Play your part to the end and bring my daughter back to me. I’ll allow no flowers to bloom on your grave if you fail,” Persephone said.
Patrick didn’t blink. “No daisies. Got it. Now let’s go have a talk with your husband.”
She withdrew her hands and gestured imperiously at Hermes. “We will speak to Hades alone. Tell him to bring my high priestess. Carry my request with great speed.”
Hermes placed a hand over his heart and bowed. “I shall be but a moment.”
