Chapter 23 Persephone
Persephone
The next day, I pull my earbuds out of my ears. Standing up where I have been hunched over the worktable, I flex my right hand. I’ve been clenching it, trying to keep it out of my way while I trace a few doodles, testing out ink and paper and different paintbrushes.
My hand twitches a little. I stare at it, trying to block out the slow ache that has formed over the last two hours.
I guess I’ve just found a time limit for myself. Since that fateful night that Constantine pushed me over the cliff’s edge, I have been treating myself with kid gloves. Things I used to do without thought? Working for two hours straight, trying to do the same thing over and over?
I consider that to be something I left behind in my art school days. Dead and buried, with my pride and ambition alongside it.
I shake out my hand. But it begins to really hurt, a pounding ache. Without some aspirin, I’m afraid that I won’t be able to work anymore.
“Hades?” I call.
I expect him to be surly. To be hateful, even.
But I do expect him to answer. After all, this is his damned project that I’m killing myself to work on.
I turn my head. My gaze sweeps the warehouse and finds it empty. My gaze narrows.
“Hello?”
No answer.
I trail over to the bed that Hades has claimed for himself. It’s the same one that we hooked up on.
I run my fingers over the downy comforter, tracing the place where I lay. Where Hades made me feel such extraordinary pleasure.
Heat shoots through me at the memory of it, so brief yet so exquisite.
The same place I was sitting when he turned cold as ice.
Yeah, I have to stop reliving those moments. I’ve been tormented by them for the last two days. My skin crawls.
I need to finish this goddamn artwork fast so that I can be rid of Hades forever.
I lean against the bed and hear a quiet crumple. I tilt my head, examining the side of the bed where my leg rests. A flash of colorful paper catches my eye. I see a thick stack of euros sticking out from under the mattress.
When I lift the corner of the bed, I’m stunned to see what a million euros is easily maybe, stacked under Hades’ mattress as cavalierly as one might hide a diary or a baseball bat. There are also three sleek, shiny guns.
I make a face. Wherever Hades is, he’s missing some hardware that I would rather not know existed.
I snag one of the stacks of money. The crisp bills smell new and are heavier than I imagined they would be, somehow. After a moment’s thought, I pick up a gun, too.
You can never be too careful when you’re a fugitive on the run from the whole fucking world.
It only takes about thirty seconds of hunting before I locate the keys to the bright red convertible parked outside the warehouse. Hades will likely be pissed when he realizes that I’ve taken the car… but he wasn’t here when I needed some aspirin.
My stomach gurgles faintly. Make that aspirin and something to eat other than stale pastries. I don’t need to go far… just the first gas station or retail pharmacy shop should do the trick.
I scoop up my phone, pocketing it and the stack of euros before I head outside. It’s bright outside, the day as hot as all the others. Dust clings to my stylish black booties as I strut out to the car.
It’s been years since I drove a car. Especially one as expensive and sleek as the little black two seater. I can’t help thinking about that as I start up the Mustang, revving the engine.
Excitement makes me shiver as I turn the car around and nudge it toward town. The first car I ever learned to drive was a stick, just like this. But I am a little rusty, especially starting out.
Yeah, I stall the engine a couple of times before I get the hang of it. The gears grind a few times.
But hey. It’s not like Hades will care… right?
No, I shouldn’t be worried about what he thinks. He deeply, truly sucks as a person anyway.
Gaining a little confidence, I zip along the highway and crest the last big hill separating us from the city. At the very top of the hill, the city spreads out below me like a pool of ink.
“Wow,” I mumble to myself. “People that said Monaco was dazzling weren’t lying.”
I plunge the car down toward the tall, white sandstone buildings. They are one a grid, each perfectly placed, not quite skyscrapers but impressively tall, nonetheless. Around them are clusters of squat buildings, dense at the center and growing sparser as the city fans out its hands toward me.
I feel almost giddy as I push the car faster and shift into fifth gear. It’s liberating, being free from Hades for a few minutes and flying down the highway at a breakneck speed.
I zoom right past a gas station without a moment’s hesitation. Forgetting all about people hunting me down, I make a beeline for downtown Monaco City.
No one that is looking for me will find me. Not in the short time it takes to grab aspirin and maybe a fresh baguette from a nearby corner store.
I grin to myself as I fly by most of the sparse clusters of gas stations and banks. At length though, I cut my speed down, twisting my mouth as I look around. I speak a little Cajun French. I know how to ask for the restroom or where the nearest library is.
où sont les toilettes? où est la bibliothèque?
Basic high school French taught me that. But I can’t for the life of me remember the word for pharmacy in French. All I can think of is pharmacia, which I’m almost certain is Spanish.
I stare at the signs as I pass them, slowing the car to a crawl. Horns blare behind me, making me panic a little.
Parapharmacie édouard.
I slam on the brakes, jerking the little coupe into a spot outside the plain khaki building. Several cars honk their horns. But I pay them no mind. Instead, I grab my purse, containing my car keys, my huge stack of euros, and the gun I borrowed from Hades.
I’m already halfway up the sidewalk, my eyes focused on the busy front door of the pharmacy. My nerves jangle unexpectedly as I reach the door…
But inside, the hustle and bustle of the store is almost calming to me. A cashier rings up a short line of people at the front register. There are orderly rows of shelves, people talking on their phones, an older lady explaining to a young male employee…
Well, my French isn’t that good, but I assume that she’s describing what she’s looking for.
I sigh, my lips pressing into a contented line. Shining shampoo bottles and full-sized posters for cosmetics call my name as I pass by them, looking for where the aspirin might be.
To my right, I see a restroom. Vaguely, I feel the need to relieve myself. So, I stop there first, washing my hands and taking a long time to look at myself in the mirror.
I look stressed and a little tired. Not to mention the fact that now that I’m not behind the wheel of the car, my hand aches quite badly.
Taking my hair down, I spend a minute gathering it into a neat ponytail and pinning it back in place.
I leave the restroom, bumping into a stack of pill bottles left haphazardly on a tray used for restocking items. The top tray begins to tip, and I lean forward, catching it before it crashes to the ground.
Frowning, I grapple with the tray. It’s wide and gray, made of flimsy cardboard. I’m trying to right the tray when I hear a voice.
“She’s on this block somewhere.”
A chill runs through my veins and I freeze. That’s not just any voice.
It’s Constantine’sunmistakable Cajun accent, speaking English.
“Fuck. I don’t see her anywhere,” he says. “I’m telling you; she is wily. We have to catch her unaware, you feel me?”
Oh god.
Oh god. They are definitely talking about me.
I start shaking, my eyes widening, my pupils dilating.
My heart thrums a wild tattoo against my ribcage.
My mind flashes to a faraway beach. Maddie’s blood on the coarse brown rocks of the beach, already beginning to wash away as the tide rolls in.
Her hand, gone pale against the dark sand, lying sprawled out as if she were trying to reach for me.
“We know she is on this block, monsieur,” a man’s voice answers.
I can only swallow.
“What about the bakery next door?” Constantine suggests. “Persephone's skinny ass never could say no to an almond croissant.”
His accent makes the phrase sound like al-MOND CROIS-sant.
Pushing my fingers against my mouth, I feel ill. Bile hits my tastebuds.
Constantine is the only Cajun I’ve ever dated. Since him, I’ve been completely wigged out by anyone with that specific Southern drawl.
My blood turns to ice. My hands don’t work anymore, so I’m just hovering by a stack of crates, unable to move so much as a muscle.
“Oui, monsieur. I will check personally,” comes a faraway reply. “Don’t worry, we will find her.”
“Be on the lookout for Hades. I showed you his picture, right?” A pause. “I’m not sure where he is. I haven’t been able to track him down.”
I move closer to the doorway, trying to see Constantine. Two men move slowly through the store. The stockier sandy-haired man is a stranger to me, but I glimpse just a fragment of tall, blond Constantine.
He looks the same as ever, stalking down the rows, a permanent sneer on his lips. He cocks his head as he looks around, dissatisfied.
“Watch out for him. He’s apt to put up a real fight if we find him. You’d better hope to hell you see him first and fire a lucky shot off. The motherfucker has the best damned aim I’ve ever seen east of Texas.”
I clench my fists, ducking back into the protection of the hallway, and pray.
Please, god.
Please make him leave.
“All right. I say we head next door.” When I hear him again, his voice is moving toward the front door. “We got to get her before that bastard Hades realizes she’s missing.”
I tense up so much that the tray I’m holding buckles, spilling pill bottles everywhere. The pills rattle as the bottles fall to the ground, bouncing awkwardly, alerting everyone who has ears to my clumsiness.
I hear Constantine’s sharp voice. “What was that?”
A murmured response. “I’ll check it out.”