A Touch of Chaos (15 page)

Several heads in the elevator turned toward him in that moment, and Lilaia managed an awkward laugh, giving him what looked like a playful shove but was actually a hard nudge in his ribs with her bony elbow.

“I know you can pull off an
induction
,” she said loudly, and then she lowered her voice and spoke through gritted teeth. “It's what comes
before
that worries me.”

He started to speak, but the elevator stopped on the third floor and emptied. Dionysus followed Lilaia. To their left was a waiting area, and to their right was a locked door that led into the labor and delivery suite.

Lilaia used her badge to enter. They did not need to look at room numbers to know which room belonged to Phaedra. They could tell because only one had a guard.

He was facing them as they approached, thick arms crossed over his chest.

“You're late,” the man said. “Lord Theseus isn't gonna be happy.”

“Lord Theseus can suck it,” said Dionysus. “His wife isn't the only patient I have in this hospital.”

Dionysus was proud of that retort.

The man—Tannis, Dionysus recalled—slammed his palm against Dionysus's chest, halting him in his tracks. The god met the man's beady-eyed gaze.

“Watch your mouth, Doctor.”

Dionysus pushed his hand away. “How will your boss feel when he learns you delayed me further?”

Tannis scowled at him but took a step back.

Dionysus gave him a hard look as he entered the room, only once he was inside, he very much wished he'd stayed outside.

Phaedra lay on a bed in the middle of the room. A nurse stood between her legs, pushing them back, her knees almost to her ears. Lilaia pushed past him and hurried to Phaedra's side, helping the other nurse hold her leg, as if she had done
this
a million times before.

What the fuck was happening?

He looked at Lilaia, his eyes wide. Is this what she meant by “what comes before”? An actual
live
birth?

“Dr. Phanes,” said the nurse—the one who was supposed to know what she was doing. “The baby's crowning.”

“C-crowning?” Dionysus repeated.

“Your gown and gloves are on the table,” said the nurse.

Dionysus hesitated, and Phaedra moaned, her head rolled back, her face glistening with sweat. She looked a lot like Ariadne, and the resemblance made him uneasy for several reasons, but most of all because Lilaia and this nurse were asking him to deliver her baby.

Why did that seem like an invasion of privacy?

“Doctor! There is no time.” The nurse's sharp tone brought him back to reality.

“Put the gloves on,” Lilaia snapped.

He glared at his maenad. He was never going to forgive her or Naia when this was over. Why couldn't he have been the nurse? He could hold a leg.

Gods fucking dammit.

He walked over to the table and put the gloves on. They were long and powder blue. Then he turned to face Phaedra and…
oh my fucking gods
.

Suddenly, he understood crowning.

This looked like torture. It had to be something Hades had dreamed up in his demented head, because there was no way a head was coming out of
that
.

Phaedra sobbed, and Dionysus met her dark-eyed gaze, so like Ariadne's.

“I can't do this,” she said, gasping for breath. “I can't.”

Her body shook.

“You can,” said Lilaia, holding her hand tighter.

“I can't,” Phaedra said.

“You're doing great,” said the nurse. “Just a little while longer.”

“Tell her it's going to be okay, Doctor,” Lilaia said, a threatening edge to her voice.

“It isn't,” said Phaedra. “You don't understand. My husband…”

Suddenly she was crying harder and breathing faster, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

For a moment, Dionysus felt panicked, but then he remembered one thing he'd learned about women in labor—and that was how they were supposed to breathe.

“Hee-hee-hooooo,” he started. “Hee-hee-hooooo.”

He kept going even when he noticed Lilaia glaring at him and the other nurse staring at him in horror, but then Phaedra joined in, following his lead.

Before long, they were all breathing in tandem, and when Phaedra was calm again, Dionysus looked down between her legs, and his breaths dissolved into a horrified scream.

“Oh my gods,” he yelled.

“What? What?” Phaedra cried.

“Nothing,” Lilaia said quickly. “The baby's almost out. Push!”

Phaedra bore down, and then the head was suddenly out, and Dionysus's hands were in the air.

“Guide the head!” the nurse snapped.

“How the fuck do I guide the head?” he demanded. The baby was face down. What if he hurt it by grabbing it?

“Are you insane?” the nurse snapped. “Just guide the head out!”

“If you say
guide the head
one more time,” Dionysus hissed.

“Hold the head!” she yelled.

Dionysus held the head.

“Suction, Doctor! Suction!”

“Suction what?” he demanded, matching her frantic tone.

The nurse pushed toward him with some type of blue bulbous thing.

“Turn his head,” she barked. “
Gently
!”

Dionysus did as she instructed, and the nurse suctioned the baby's nose and mouth.

“Push!” the nurse said.

Phaedra screamed, and suddenly the baby had shoulders, and then Dionysus was holding a whole fucking baby—a boy—in his arms.

He had him for seconds before Lilaia took him and placed him on Phaedra's chest.

Dionysus just stood there, both shocked and awed at what had just happened, but he was quickly brought back to reality when he noticed blood and fluid dripping to the floor at his feet.

He took a step back, feeling light-headed.

“Doctor, we need an Apgar,” said the nurse as she and Lilaia worked to dry off the baby, rubbing its back and feet.

“He's not crying,” said Phaedra. There was a note of alarm in her voice. “Why isn't he crying?”

“He's all right,” said the nurse. “Sometimes babies just need a little while. They're in shock.”

As if on cue, a keen wailing filled the room.

“There we go,” said Lilaia.

Phaedra smiled.

“Apgar, Doctor,” the nurse said again, her irritation plain.

What the fuck is an Apgar?
He looked at Lilaia, who jerked her head toward the baby and mouthed something.

“
What
?” he mouthed back.

She leaned toward him, the words slipping between clenched teeth. “Use your stethoscope.”

“And put it where?” he muttered.

“
Over its heart and lungs
.”

He could tell by her tone she was over him, but this was not his fault. He was not a doctor, and neither she nor Naia had told him he would be delivering a
fucking baby—if that was what you wanted to call that thing in Phaedra's arms, because right now, it did not even resemble a human. It was definitely blue and covered in something…gross. That was the only way to describe it.

Hesitantly, he put the stethoscope on and placed it on the baby while the nurse wheeled over a table with something that looked like a scale.

“What is the Apgar?” she asked again as she suctioned the baby once more.

Dionysus exchanged a look with Lilaia as she mouthed a number.

“Uh…”
Fuck, he couldn't read lips
. “Ninety?”

Lilaia glared and then laughed. “You mean nine. Of course you mean
nine
.”

“Yes, nine,” he said and then matched her awkward laugh. “Just making sure you're paying attention.”

Dionysus took a step back as Lilaia continued cleaning the baby while the nurse listened to his heart and lungs. She kept casting angry glances his way. Dionysus couldn't blame her. She was certain he was acting out of character as Dr. Phanes.

His gaze flitted across Phaedra's face. She looked so happy, blissful even, like all her previous struggles and heartache did not matter. He wondered if she even cared that her husband was not here now that everything was over.

Well, he'd thought it was over.

Until something horrifying slipped out from between Phaedra's legs.

“What the fuck is that?” Dionysus demanded.

“A placenta, Doctor,” the nurse said, her tone clipped.

“A placenta. Of course,” he said. He took a breath. He started to wipe a hand across his forehead but paused when he realized he was still gloved and covered in blood.

“Aren't you going to clamp it?” the nurse asked.

“No,
you
can clamp it,” Dionysus said and looked at Lilaia. “Are you almost done?”

“We have to weigh the baby, Di—Doctor,” she said. “And he needs another Apgar. Then we're done.”

He said nothing as they finished, his mind wandering to Ariadne.

Gods, he hoped she was safe.

When Phaedra and the baby were cleaned, dressed, and warm, Dionysus met her gaze.

She smiled at him, almost dreamily.

“Thank you, Doctor.”

“I do not deserve your thanks,” he said, and then Phaedra's face changed, her bliss replaced by confusion as he asked, “Are you ready to see your sister?”

When Persephone and Ariadne arrived at the Palace of Knossos, the light shone on the horizon, casting shadows over the scattered ruins of what must have once been a magnificent fortress. It seemed to go on for miles in all directions with only a few walls standing. Still, they were covered in vibrant frescos and beautiful murals, the colors burning brilliantly against the now all-white stone.

There was a strange peace here that Persephone found unnerving given that somewhere below all this stone was a labyrinth in which Hades was being held prisoner.

Persephone looked at Ariadne, who was rifling through the bag she'd brought.

“Where is everyone?” she asked. She had expected something akin to a guarded fortress, but instead, she found ruins, trees, and barren hills.

Ariadne rose to her feet and slung the bag over her shoulder.

“There is no one, save those who have entered the labyrinth,” she said. “And they never come out.”

Galanthis meowed loudly.

Ariadne smiled faintly.

“Do not worry,” she said, scratching the cat behind the ears. “I imagine if anyone is the exception, it will be you.”

Persephone frowned. “Do you have so little faith?”

“It isn't about faith,” Ariadne said, meeting her gaze. “I know Theseus.”

Persephone's stomach twisted sharply.

Ariadne turned and began navigating the scattered stone. She seemed to know exactly where she was going, and Persephone followed at a distance, Galanthis in hand. She could not help being a little suspicious of the detective, a woman she barely knew—a woman who would likely do anything to protect her sister the same way she would do anything to protect Hades.

“How long have you known Theseus?” Persephone asked.

She could not remember the first time she'd heard about the son of Poseidon, but she remembered the first time she'd met him. She'd hated the way he looked at her and refused to shake his hand, which had only amused him. Despite those initial feelings, she had not perceived him as the threat he would later become when he stood in her office with Sybil's severed finger in hand.

“A while,” Ariadne said. Her foot slipped and she stumbled, catching herself before she fell.

“Why is he doing this?” Persephone asked, following Ariadne down a set of steps that led into what was now a large, square courtyard, though it was clear that it
had once been the foundation for a much larger palace. “What does he want?”

“He wants to be important,” Ariadne said. “He does not want anyone to look beyond him for anything they need in life. That's what he wanted from me, but when I could not be swayed, he chose my sister. He treats the world the same, only he usually executes those who do not follow where he leads.”

Ariadne took a sharp turn as she passed through a narrow crack in a ruined wall and made her way down another set of steps to a darkened stone passage that was flanked with two broken columns. The air coming from inside was cold and stale. Persephone could feel it, even from where she stood at the top of the stairs, watching as Ariadne dropped the bag to the ground.

“But you have survived,” Persephone said. She wasn't sure if she was asking a question or making a statement, but it didn't seem to matter to Ariadne, who paused to look up at her from where she stood, wreathed in the threatening darkness of the labyrinth.

“Because I am still useful to him,” Ariadne said, her lip curling as she spoke, hinting at her disgust. She returned to her bag and withdrew something that looked like a spool, but that was not what intrigued Persephone—it was the wave of familiar magic that struck her. It made her heart drop into the pit of her stomach.

“What is that?” Persephone asked, descending the steps.

“Thread,” Ariadne said as she tied an end around one of the broken columns.

“Where did you get it?” Persephone asked as she set Galanthis on the ground. The cat meowed and brushed her legs.

“I spun it,” Ariadne said, holding the spool out to Persephone.

“You spun it?” Persephone echoed, staring at the silvery cord, hesitating to take it.

She had known Demeter's magic would cling to things in the Upperworld even after her death, but she had not expected to feel it so soon. She could not quite come to terms with how it was making her feel, though she knew there was really no time to process her layered feelings.

Finally, she took the spool, letting out a shuddering breath at the feel of warm sunshine resting in her palms.

“This is my mother's magic,” Persephone said, her voice quiet. It even smelled like her—like golden wheat baking in the summer heat. She met Ariadne's gaze and saw she had paled. “How?”

Ariadne hesitated. “I assumed it was something Theseus had bargained for to curse me.”

“You mean you did not know you had this ability?”

“One day, Theseus locked me in a room and told me to spin wool into thread,” she said. “It was days before I tried—days without water or food—and when I could stand it no longer, I tried. It was…
intuitive
. As if I had done it my whole life.”

Galanthis was purring loudly, rubbing against Persephone's legs.

“It's why he withholds my sister,” Ariadne said. “He is hoping I will come back. Without me, he has no way to make the nets he has been using to capture gods.”

Hades suspected that both Harmonia and Tyche had been subdued by a net like the one Hephaestus had made in ancient times. It was light and thin, almost
imperceptible, much like the thread Ariadne had wound around this spool, but they hadn't had confirmation until now.

“Why you and not Phaedra?” Persephone asked.

“Theseus probably would have preferred her, but at the time, I think he thought he would break me. That's why I am glad it was me. I was able to leave when I saw what he was doing…but I haven't seen my sister since.”

“I'm sorry,” Persephone said.

“Me too,” Ariadne said, looking away as if she could not handle the sympathy.

Persephone understood.

Ariadne tied a thread from a second spool around the column.

“Hold this,” she said.

Persephone took the other spool in hand while Ariadne pulled on a pair of leather gloves from her bag. When she was finished, she took the thread back and looked at Persephone. “Do not let go no matter how lost you become. This is our only way out of the labyrinth.”

Persephone nodded. She did not need to inquire as to the strength of the thread—it had brought down the gods. It was unbreakable.

Galanthis took the lead, disappearing into the dark while Persephone and Ariadne followed, walking side by side, unwinding their thread as they went. A flare of light caught Persephone's attention, and she looked toward Ariadne, who was holding a luminous stone. She handed one to her.

“It will last longer than the flashlight or a torch,” she said.

The stone almost looked like an opal. The light cast
was minimal, not even reaching the ground, but they were no longer in complete darkness. Surprisingly, it eased Persephone's anxiety.

She did not usually mind the dark. She had come to feel at home within it, but this was different. It did not belong to Hades but to some other entity, and it pressed in on her from all sides, kept at bay by the small, ethereal light she held in her hand.

The farther they walked, the more she could feel it bearing down on her. It was such a tangible weight, she tried summoning her power only to realize she couldn't. The adamant was already oppressing her abilities.

Galanthis meowed, and Persephone took a step but there was no ground beneath her. She gave a small cry, but then her foot slammed down on a step.

“
Fuck
,” she breathed, her heart racing as she held the stone out in front of her to find a set of stone stairs descending into a thick darkness. Galanthis's eye flashed as she looked back at them. It was as if she were saying
I warned you
.

Persephone looked at Ariadne, her face partially illuminated by her stone.

“How far down is the labyrinth?” Persephone asked.

“A few more flights,” Ariadne said.

Persephone supposed it was silly to think that once they crossed the threshold, they would be in the labyrinth. She swallowed the panic she felt at the thought of going deeper below ground.
This is the way to Hades
, she reminded herself, wishing desperately she could feel his presence within this horrid dark, but in these adamant walls, there was nothing save a bitter cold that managed to seep through the layers of clothes Ariadne had supplied her with.

She tried to ignore it, to focus on anything else—navigating the narrow steps through the half dark, the way the thread felt in her hand, almost too thin, like a strand of her own hair—but she never stopped shivering. There was also something about being this far beneath the earth that seemed to require silence. Neither she nor Ariadne spoke. The only sound was their breathing and the scrape of their feet against the rough ground, and both seemed too loud.

Finally, they rounded a corner, and ahead, Persephone could see a strange orange light. It was no better than the stones they carried, but it seemed to illuminate a path, and she knew they'd made it to the start of the labyrinth.

Persephone pocketed the rock and took a step forward.

“Wait!” Ariadne called out, but it was too late. Vines burst from the ground, the branches creaking and groaning as they wove together, tangling the passage in a thicket of thorns.

When it was done, there was silence again, and Persephone sighed.

“As if this wasn't hard enough,” she said.

“It isn't fun for him unless there are challenges,” said Ariadne. She glared up into the darkness, as if she knew Theseus was watching.

“Can he hear us?” Persephone asked.

“I'm certain,” Ariadne said. “He will want to hear us scream.”

Hatred twisted in Persephone's stomach, and she found herself thinking of what her vengeance would look like once Hades was free. She wanted Theseus to
watch as his empire unraveled, and she would ensure she was the one pulling the thread.

“Careful of the thorns,” Ariadne said. “The jacket should help, but they are poisonous.”

“What kind of poison?” Persephone asked.

“I don't know,” said Ariadne. “I just know they sting, and the cuts are slow to heal.”

Persephone didn't imagine it was possible to escape the tangle unscathed—save for Galanthis, who slipped beneath the branches as if they did not exist. Still, there was only one way to Hades, and that was forward.

Persephone chose an entry point, unraveling the thread a little before crouching and slipping between a set of serrated vines. Within the first pocket, she was able to stand fully, but as she moved into the next, she had to stay low, highly aware of the threat of the thorns, which raised the hair on her arms and the back of her neck.

When she heard a sharp inhale, she swung too quickly, narrowly missing a jab to the side of her head. Through the muted light, she could see Ariadne pressing a hand to her upper arm.

“Are you okay?” Persephone whispered.

“Yeah,” Ariadne said. “
Gods
, it really does sting.”

Persephone frowned and looked ahead, trying to gauge how much farther they had to go, but she could not tell. The vines were thick and the light too dim.

“What comes next?” she asked.

She hadn't started moving again. She did not trust herself to navigate the thorns and talk at the same time.

“It depends on how we leave these thorns,” Ariadne said.

Persephone said nothing for a moment as she
gingerly stepped over another branch while ducking to miss another and unwound her thread.

“How did you become familiar with the labyrinth?” she asked when she could breathe again, resting in a thorn-free pocket.

“The first time Theseus introduced me, it was because he sent in a man who I had wanted to arrest for a long time. I think he thought I'd be grateful to him for dealing out the justice I had sought, but instead, I was horrified.”

They were quiet after that, concentrating on making progress through the bramble path. One small mercy was that Persephone's bones were no longer shaking with cold. Now she was sweating and her back ached. She was tired of bending, tired of moving at this pace, which only made her muscles burn.

She thought that perhaps the worst thing about this was that it seemed endless.

Galanthis meowed, and when Persephone looked up, she could see the cat's eyes gleaming. She took that as a sign they were close to the end.

She tried not to rush. She'd made it this far without a scratch and did not want to fuck up now. Carefully, she turned her head to look at Ariadne, who had slowed considerably.

Persephone's heart dropped into her stomach.

“Are you okay?”