Electric Idol (Dark Olympus 2)

Except, apparently, Demeter’s daughters.

They’ve tried hard to stay out of the spotlight, and it even worked…at least up until a few months ago. Ever since the old Zeus decided he wanted Persephone for his own—for all the good that did him—Olympus has gone rabid for the Dimitriou sisters. After all, Persephone’s story seems like an epic one for the ages, the kind of shit the gossip sites eat right up. Zeus drove her right into Hades’s arms, which in turn brought Hades out of the shadows of the lower city. No one saw that coming.

Zeus and the rest of the upper city like to pretend Olympus stops at the River Styx. Hades was something of a dirty little secret only the Thirteen and a few choice others had knowledge of. Now he’s out in the open and the entire power balance of Olympus is in flux. It will be months yet before things settle, possibly longer.

Hades’s romance with Persephone has only amped up Olympus’s fascination with the Dimitriou sisters. They’re all attractive, but none of them quite fit. Persephone always had her eyes on the horizon, her determination to find a way out of the city clear to anyone with a drop of perception to their name. Callisto, the oldest, is just as feral as my mother claims. She’s constantly getting into fights or saying things she shouldn’t, a blatant refusal to play Olympus’s power games that people both resent and are drawn to. Eurydice, the youngest, is pretty and sweet and far too naive for someone in this city.

And then there’s Psyche. It’s not just that she’s different physically from her sisters—she’s just flat-out different. She plays the game and plays it well, all without seeming to. She’s got this unassuming thing going on, but I’ve been watching her long enough to notice that she never makes a move by accident. I can’t prove it, of course, but I think she’s got just as savvy a brain in her head as her mother does.

None of that explains what happened the night of Zeus’s party. If Psyche were really as conniving as her mother, she never would have let herself get caught alone with me. She wouldn’t have patched me up. She wouldn’t have done any of the things that happened from the moment I saw her in that hallway.

I don’t have much of a moral center, but even I think it’s shitty to reward her kindness by ending her life.

“Eros.” Mother snaps her fingers in front of my face. “Stop daydreaming and do this task for me.” She smiles slowly, her blue eyes going icy. “Bring me Psyche’s heart.”

“Have you really thought this through?” I raise my brows, working to keep my expression disinterested. “She’s rather beloved by hundreds of thousands of Olympians—at least according to her social-media follower counts.”

I realize my mistake the second Aphrodite sneers. “She’s a fat girl with little style and no substance. The only reason MuseWatch and the other sites follow her around is because she’s a novelty. She’s not even close to my league.”

I don’t argue with her because there’s no point, but the truth is that Psyche is gorgeous and has a style that sets trends in a way Aphrodite can only dream of. Which is exactly the problem. My mother’s decided to take down two birds with one stone. “I wasn’t aware you were in competition.”

“Because we’re not.” She waves that away as if I’m foolish enough to believe her. “This isn’t about me. This is about you.” She props her hands on her hips. “I want this taken care of, Eros. You have to do this for me.”

Something in my chest twinges, but I ignore it. If I believed in souls, my actions would have guaranteed I’d sacrificed mine long ago. There is a price for power in this city, and with a mother in the Thirteen, I never had a chance at innocence. If you’re not at the top of the Olympus power structure, you’re being crushed beneath someone else’s heel as they use you to get ahead. I have no choice. I was born into this game, and the only option is being the best, the scariest, the one people would do anything to avoid fucking with. It keeps both me and my mother safe. If it means that sometimes I’m required to do these little tasks for her? It’s a small enough price to pay. “I’ll see it done.”

“Before the end of the week.”

That doesn’t give me much time at all. I stomp down on the flicker of resentment and nod. “I said I’ll see it done and I will.”

“Good.” She twirls away, her skirt once again flaring dramatically around her, and strides out of the room.

That’s my mother, all right. Here for the proclamations of revenge and heavy with the demands, but when it comes time to actually do the work, she’s suddenly got somewhere to be.