Aphrodite (15 page)

Adonis didn’t look convinced, but he shrugged. “See you later.”

Chapter IXX

POSEIDON SHIELDED the room, locking Adonis safely inside. The first three decks were crew only, so we found a crewmember for Persephone to charm in order to get down to the sub-levels of the ship. Athena and Ares split off to search the people-free zones, while the rest of us started searching the crew’s rooms.

By the time we reached the first passenger level, Persephone and I fell into enough of a routine to talk while we worked. Well, talk about other stuff instead of, “Do you think this opens?” Or worse, Persephone’s bright voice wondering, “What’s this for?” She was getting quite an education tonight going through people’s private belongings.

The interior hallways on the lower decks tried to be well-lit, with recessed lighting in the low ceilings and track lights along the floors, but no amount of artificial light could make up for the lack of windows. Blue and tan lines on the carpet mimicked the effect of looking down at water near shore. So long as I kept my gaze latched on to the carpet, I wasn’t so aware of the walls and ceiling less than an arm’s length from either side of me.

“Are you okay?” Persephone asked as I marked the room we’d just finished searching off the map. She knocked on the door of the next stateroom. “It must have been awful when those poor people drowned. And gods know how many more were hurt in the fight.” She gave a depressed shake of her head.

I made a noise she could take for assent. In truth, I wasn’t all that upset about the passengers. Sure it had been shocking and terrible in the moment, but people died. It happened. And more often than not, death wasn’t right or fair. I wasn’t going to twist myself into knots over it. But if I told Persephone how I felt, she’d attribute my lack of grief to divine callousness.

But here was the thing. Humans were modeled after us. How else could they watch the news—a montage of war, death, and human suffering—over coffee, then go about their day as if nothing was wrong? People needed a certain level of callousness to get by without drowning in the horror story of life.

“I’ll manage,” I assured her after she charmed a couple into letting us search their room. This cabin looked much smaller than the room Adonis and I shared. The bathroom took up a little more space than a cubicle. The queen-sized bed left only a walkway of space around it, and the rest of the furniture clogged the entryway. Searching the actual room took less than ten minutes. Their luggage, not much longer. Nothing turned up. “So, I take it you haven’t had a chance to chat with a Titan about your powers making ‘stuff happen’ like you wanted to?”

“No.” Her bitter voice and the look on her face told me this topic was closed.

I frowned, torn between curiosity and her obvious desire to drop the topic. “How are you doing, anyway?” I watched Persephone out of the corner of my eye as we walked down the hall. “Since Zeus.”

She knocked on a door. “Busy. All the realms, the god stuff, it can be pretty overwhelming. That’s why—and I know you’re mad at her for this—but that’s why I’m so grateful for Melissa’s ‘no divinity allowed’ policy.” Persephone shot me an apologetic look. “She gave me a place to go where the entire planet isn’t my responsibility. When I visit her, I can pretend all that stuff with Zeus never happened, and like, veg out, you know? Watch TV. Eat junk food. Gossip.”
Be normal.

That last bit wasn’t spoken, but I knew Persephone well enough to know that desire was in there somewhere. Especially when it came to spending time with her favorite human. I waited until she charmed the next room’s resident before saying, “I’m not mad at Melissa.” Mad wasn’t the right word for someone I’d considered a friend outlawing any references to
the
defining feature of my life. “I just . . .” I sighed, sweeping my hair behind my shoulders. “Persephone, we
are
gods. That doesn’t disappear no matter who we hang out with. Life doesn’t compartmentalize like that. I know we’re both pretty new at this, but—”

Her green eyes glittered and she whirled on me, her chin held high. “I
know
what I am. And I’ve come to terms with everything that means, good and bad. I’m not ducking my responsibilities or wishing them away.”

“Okay.” I held up my hands in mock surrender as we moved into the next room. “But doesn’t it bother you that she doesn’t accept this
huge
aspect of who you are?”

Persephone shook her head. “She accepted that I was a goddess long before I did. She knows me, Aphrodite. Almost better than I do.
I
needed that space. I need a place where all of this”—she waved her arms—“isn’t relevant.” Persephone fell silent as we searched the next room. This one contained five beds. Searching through the luggage took nearly half an hour. When we emerged into the hallway, she gave me a thoughtful look. “Melissa’s taking this psych class, and she says everyone assumes different identities based on who they’re with. You talk about work stuff and act professional and different at work than you do at school, or with a group of friends versus strangers, or with your significant other. You speak a different language, even. She called it . . .” She trailed off, struggling to remember.

“Code switching?” I knocked on the next door.

“Yeah, that’s it.” There wasn’t an answer, so Persephone pulled out the key we’d gotten from Miguel.

“Right.” I went straight to the wardrobe, rifling through the life jackets. “But it’s not about having different identities, it’s using different aspects of the same identity. Nothing actually goes away when you’re not—”

“I know.” Persephone’s voice echoed from the bathroom. “But I think the illusion keeps me sane. I talk to Melissa about nothing. Silly things, unimportant stuff. Human stuff. I talk to Cassandra and Helen about the same types of things, only that’s Underworld stuff. And I talk to you about the Zeus stuff, or goddess stuff Hades wouldn’t get.”

“You don’t talk to anyone else about Zeus? Even Hades?” I hated to ask about Hades. He and Persephone had hit equilibrium, so everything she knew, he knew, and vice versa. Hades could be listening to this entire conversation through Persephone now. Persephone swore neither one of them eavesdropped much. Not only would listening in be rude, but it was also difficult if they were trying to focus on something else. But still.

“Especially Hades.” Persephone bit her lip as we moved on to the next room. “He’s been different. I think . . .” She looked down, her hand frozen above the door. “I think after everything happened last year, it, I don’t know, got to him.”

I knocked for her. “We’re going to look around your room,” I told the startled man in a black bathrobe. “If there are any divine weapons, long silver stake-like things, you’ll want to let us know now.”

He blinked. “Um, okay.”

We searched the room. “What happened got to
him?
” I dumped the man’s suitcase on his bed. “
You
were abducted and tortured. What the hell does he have to whine about?”

Persephone closed the dresser drawers. “I kind of think that’s the problem. Like, maybe he doesn’t feel like he has a right to be upset or whatever because what I went through was worse. Only it doesn’t work like that. We
all
went through hell last year. The things Zeus did were frickin’ traumatizing. And not just for me. But I
can’t
bring myself to talk about it with him. I need what Hades and I have to be separate, untouched. He’s my sanctuary, you know? I’m safe there. Maybe not the healthiest approach, but . . .” She fell silent for a moment. “You’re not the only one who has nightmares.”

“Maybe you should try
not
sleeping.” I winked at her and knocked on the next door. “Put Hades to use.”

Persephone ignored the double entendre. “He definitely helps. I couldn’t imagine waking up alone after—” She broke off. “I honestly don’t know how you handle this all on your own.”

“I just don’t sleep.”

Persephone shook her head. “We probably all need therapy.”

I laughed. “Think Athena would charge us?”

Persephone giggled, and we both tried to ignore the fact that it
wasn’t
silly. We were all so shattered and broken, no amount of therapy would ever be able to repair us to the point that the cracks didn’t show.

“She probably would. So . . .” She let the word drag, her voice teasing as she shook a pillow free from its case. “How’s
not
sleeping going, considering you’re sharing a room with Adonis?”

I laughed, yanking open a suitcase. “Adonis and I are not together.”

“Really?” Persephone pulled open the closet door. “Melissa thought you were head over heels for him.”

I scowled, dumping out a beach bag and shifting through the contents. “And she still dated him? Nice.”

“She felt bad about it.” Persephone checked the pockets of a long jacket. “So . . . was she onto something?”

“It’s complicated.”

Persephone stopped in the middle of the hall and stared me down until my defenses crumbled.

“I think I fell in love with the idea of him. The reality’s pretty disappointing.”

“How do you mean?” she probed, as we moved on to the next room. A woman holding a sleepy-looking girl in footsie pajamas opened the door with a scowl.

“Do you have
any
idea what time it is?” the woman snarled. The child in her arms started wailing.

“We are so sorry,” Persephone said, turning on the charm. “But we need to search your room.”

“I can’t charm him.” I waited until Persephone finished questioning the mom before continuing. “Even accidentally. Everything he says and does is real, you know?”

“I do, actually.” Persephone said. “Aphrodite,” she scolded when I took a stuffed bear from the little girl.

“Baby jaguar,” the little girl moaned. “
My
baby jaguar. Give him—” She fell silent under the influence of Persephone’s charm.

“You can hide things in stuffed animals,” I explained, giving the “jaguar” a cautious squeeze. “He’s clean. Here you go, kiddo.”

The little girl snatched her toy from me, giving me a look so cutting, I stepped back.

“Anyway,” I said, once Persephone convinced the kid to go back to sleep. “He can’t hurt me. He’s not strong enough. So we balance. And when the whole thing went down with Zeus, he saved me. He trusted me, believed in me at a time when no one else could.”

“But?” Persephone prompted after a moment’s silence, closing the door as quietly as she could so we didn’t reawaken the sleeping dragon.

“That’s not actually him. I put him on this pedestal and made him into a symbol. But it wasn’t fair to him. He can’t live up to that, you know? And the real Adonis wouldn’t want to anyway.”

Persephone nodded, knocking on the next door. “I get that.” Another vacant room. Which meant no luggage to search. Still, we went through the drawers and furniture.

“Uh-huh.” I couldn’t imagine another being, least of all Persephone, “getting” something I barely understood about myself.

Wait, another vacant room? I paused in writing a giant “V” on this square of the ship’s map, trying to put my finger on why so many unbooked rooms bothered me. Persephone flipped on the lights, and the thought fled.

“No, really, I do get what you’re saying.” She raked her hair back, her hand stopping at the top of her skull. “I used to get a crush on literally every guy who was ever nice to me and it wasn’t
them,
you know?” She flushed. “I always felt out of place, so I’d get really grateful when I got any attention at all. But I was too shy to act on my feelings, thank gods.”

And I wasn’t. Yup. Got
that
subtext loud and clear. “You think I’m insecure and desperate for affection?” I wasn’t sure how to take that.

She pressed her lips together and glanced down at the carpet. “I think you’re lonely. I’m not explaining this well.” She sighed. “I’m saying I get it. I know what it’s like to feel different and alone, and I know what it’s like to seize onto that one kind gesture and read
so
much into it that everything the person says or does becomes . . . more. And you’re right, putting him on a pedestal isn’t fair to him. But it’s also not fair to you, because you end up putting all this stock into someone who maybe doesn’t deserve it.”

My throat went tight. “Yeah.”

“Besides, there’s always Ares,” she teased.

“He’s not interested.” I held my hands up in response to the “oh please,” look she gave me. “No, trust me, Persephone. I’ve been there. He’s
not
interested. But even if he was, it may not be either/or, you know? You and Hades are just weird. The divine default is not monogamy.”

She shrugged. “Your love life, your choices. Date no one. Date one person. Date thousands. Date who or whatever you want, but—” She pushed her hair out of her face.

“But?” I repeated, unsure what she was getting at.

“Be careful.” Her voice rose in question to make it clear she was making a request and not an order that I’d be forced to follow. “The pedestals I put boys on were low, because all they’d done is act nice. But it still
hurt
when they said or did something to bring them tumbling down. Your situation sounds a bit more loaded.”

I chose my words carefully. “I appreciate your concern . . .”

“But mind my own business?” Persephone flashed me an apologetic smile and ducked her head. “I’m sorry. I’m probably just projecting my own stuff on to you anyway.” She knocked on the next door. “Oh, did you hear about what happened with Cerberus?”

Tantalus opened the door and grinned when he saw Persephone and me standing before him. “I have dreams that start like this.” He opened the door and motioned for us to enter. “Come on in.”