Chapter 25 Ophelia
Ophelia
I wake up to the smell of wheat and earth and something sickly sweet that makes my stomach turn.
My eyes feel heavy, crusted with sleep or tears or something worse. It takes three tries before I can force them open, and when I do, I immediately wish I hadn't.
I'm not in my apartment anymore.
I'm lying on cold stone in what looks like an ancient temple.
Marble columns rise around me, their surfaces carved with sheaves of wheat and pomegranate blossoms. Torches flicker in iron sconces along the walls, casting dancing shadows across an elaborate mosaic floor.
At the center of the room sits a stone altar, its surface stained dark with what I really hope isn't blood.
Wheat stalks are woven into garlands that drape from column to column. Fresh flowers, roses, lilies, narcissus, are arranged in clay vessels around the altar. The whole place smells like a funeral home crossed with a farmer's market.
It's eerie as hell, and I'm immediately set on edge.
Well, more on edge than I would have been had I woken up in a bed. I'm alert, memory intact, and I know, immediately, it's time to dip.
I try to sit up, but I move too fast, and I nearly vomit.
Pain lances through my skull, sharp and vicious. My mouth tastes like I've been licking sandpaper for hours. Every muscle in my body aches as though I've been ground up and spit out.
Worst of all, I still feel that cold, aching lack of life.
No powers.
The emptiness is a gaping wound. I can't feel the flowers in their vases. Can't sense the grass outside. Can't even detect my own heartbeat the way I normally would. That pulse of life that's been my constant companion since my powers manifested is gone.
Demeter took it all.
The bitch.
"Fuck," I mutter, forcing myself to stand despite how woozy it makes me.
The room tilts dangerously, and I brace myself against a marble column, breathing through the nausea, waiting for my vision to clear.
When it does, I try to take stock. As much as I can: my neck is so sore I can't really turn it, so my vision is limited.
The temple is circular, maybe thirty feet across. No windows. One door, heavy wood reinforced with iron bands. The kind of door that's meant to keep things in, not out.
The kind I'm hoping someone forgot to lock.
I push myself to my feet, swaying slightly. My legs feel like they're made of water, barely capable of supporting my weight. But I force them to work, one step at a time, until I reach the door.
It doesn't budge when I pull on the handle.
I try again, throwing my weight against it, ignoring the nausea and pain. Nothing. Not even a rattle. The door is either locked or barred or held shut by something I can't see.
"Shit." I press my forehead against the wood, trying to think through the pounding in my skull.
I should try my powers. Even drained, even hollow, maybe there's something left. Some spark I can coax into—
"I wouldn't bother."
I spin around so fast I nearly fall over.
Zeus stands before me. He's trapped inside what looks like a circle of light on the far side of the altar. Glowing symbols I don't recognize form a perfect ring around him, pulsing with power that makes my teeth ache even from here.
And he looks like shit.
His usually immaculate suit is rumpled, tie gone, hair disheveled, but it's his expression that catches me: pure, undiluted rage barely held in check.
"How the fuck did you get here?"
"Not the reaction I usually get from women," he says dryly, "but I'll take it."
"Don't snark," I snap. "How did they get you?"
"What do you think?" He gestures at the glowing prison.
"Aren't you supposed to be like all-powerful or something?" I know the gods had lost some of their luster, but I'll never forget watching Zeus and Hades go blow for blow. "No way my bitch mother bested you in a hijacked body."
"Clearly, something is amiss here," he says.
The admission clearly costs him. His hands curl into fists at his sides, and I can see him straining against the barrier even though he's not physically touching it.
"One moment I was outside Hades's penthouse, making calls.
The next, I'm being overtaken by twenty robed dickheads. "
"You didn't use your powers?"
"What do you think I've been trying to do for the past hour? Something is blocking me, and it was the same at Hades's penthouse."
"Draining?" Fuck. Please tell me Demeter isn't siphoning divine essence from Zeus. That is the very last fucking thing we all need.
"Not draining: blocking. It's like there's a wall between me and my power." His brow lifts. "I assume the same is happening to you?"
"No." I press my hand against my chest again, feeling that terrible emptiness. "Demeter drained me. Pulled my power out through the bond Persephone created. I felt it leaving, felt myself getting weaker until—"
"Until you passed out." Zeus's expression shifts, something that might be concern flickering across his features. "How much did she take?"
"All of it." My voice comes out hollow. "I can't feel anything. No life, no growth, no connection to the earth. It's like I'm—"
"Mortal," he finishes quietly.
The word hits like a punch to the gut.
Because he's right. This is what it must feel like to be truly mortal. To exist without that constant awareness of the divine, without power humming under your skin, without the certainty that you're something more than flesh and bone.
It's terrifying, and it's only now that I realize how far from human I've drifted.
"We need to get out of here." I turn back to the door, yanking on it again even though I know it's useless. "Before Demeter comes back and—"
"And what?" Zeus's laugh is bitter. "Completes whatever ritual she's planning? I think that ship has sailed, little goddess. Why else would she go through the trouble of capturing both of us?"
The prophecy.
The realization hits me like ice water.
"No." I shake my head, backing away from the door. "She can't force us. If we both refuse to—"
"Fuck?" Zeus's expression is grim. "I don't believe she is going to wait around for us to consent. She's going to force the issue. Somehow." There's resignation in his voice, and I do not like it.
At all.
"Absolutely fucking not." I'm pacing now, ignoring the way my legs threaten to give out. "I don't care what the prophecy says. I don't care what Demeter wants. I am not—"
The door swings open.
Demeter walks in, and I barely recognize her.
Gone is Mother Callista's aged, mortal shell.
The woman before me is radiant. She appears to be maybe thirty, with golden hair that falls in perfect waves past her shoulders.
Her skin glows with health and power. She's wearing a dress that looks like it's woven from wheat and wildflowers, and her eyes are the exact shade of summer grass.
She looks like a goddess.
Because she is one now.
My power did that. My divine essence, stolen and consumed, brought her back from the edge of extinction.
But it's not forever. Already, I can see the cracks in it. The power is draining from her, she's bleeding it. Her divine form flickers in and out, and I notice small details: an aged hand, a small limp, and some seriously saggy breasts.
I try not to laugh. Demeter is such a bitch that she's pouring all her energy into holding onto her beautiful form instead of, I don't know, not wasting my fucking life force.
"Good," she says, her voice like honey and poison. "You're both awake. We can begin preparations."
"Preparations for what?" I demand, even though I already know the answer.
Her smile is beautiful and terrible. "For the prophecy, of course. You and Zeus will consummate your union, and through that sacred act, I will be reborn fully. The Mother will return, and the natural order will be restored."
I laugh.
I can't help it. The sound bubbles up from my chest, hysterical and sharp.
"Absolutely not," I say when I can breathe again. "You're out of your fucking mind if you think I'm going to—"
"I concur." Zeus's voice cuts across mine, cold and hard.
Demeter rolls her eyes, bored. "How noble. Tell me, Zeus: when has consent ever stopped you before?"
Zeus's face goes very still, very cold. "Careful, Demeter. You are nothing more than a shade."
"You've never had a problem fucking a beautiful woman before." She reaches for my cheek, dragging a weathered hand down my face, and I shake her off. "And my Persephone is lovely."
"Fuck you." His voice carries the weight of thunder, even without his powers. "When I get out of here—"
"Your opinions on the matter are irrelevant," she continues, walking slowly around the altar. "The prophecy will be fulfilled. You will lie together. A child will be conceived. And through that child, I will anchor myself permanently to this world."
"And if we refuse?" I ask. "Because there's no fucking way."
Her smile never wavers. "You won't."
I bark with laughter. "You're insane."
She reaches the altar, running her fingers along its stained surface. "I'll watch you try to resist. Watch you struggle against the inevitable. But in the end, you'll do exactly as I say."
"What makes you so certain?" Zeus asks, his tone demanding.
"Because—"
The door opens again.
I don't look immediately, too focused on Demeter and the cold certainty in her eyes. But then I hear the footsteps, light, graceful, distinctly feminine.
And I smell ylang-ylang, amber, and something else. Something that makes my skin prickle with awareness.
I glance up, shocked.
Aphrodite stands in the doorway as beautiful as ever.
Golden hair. Perfect features. A body that looks like it was sculpted by an artist who understood exactly what the human form could be. She's wearing a dress the color of sunset, and I swear she is lit from within.
"Sorry I'm late," she says, her voice like silk. "Traffic was terrible."
My stomach drops.
Because Aphrodite isn't just the goddess of beauty.
She's the goddess of love.
And lust.
And desire.
And every form of physical attraction that exists.
I look at Zeus, and watch, with horror, as he comes to the same terrible realization.
We're fucked.
"Oh good," Aphrodite says brightly, stepping fully into the room. "Everyone's here. Shall we begin?"