Asphodel (The Underworld Trilogy)

On my feet, I spin in a circle and a new flower, a daisy grows beneath the tree where the asphodel was planted. I’m panicked and desperate and I convinced myself that even though it’s a daisy, the second I pick it the earth will open up and pull me under. He’ll pull me under. He will. I know it.

I snatch the flower hastily, pulling up some of the root. Then I wait, for seconds, minutes. After ten long, excruciating minutes of waiting passes by my entire world falls apart. He’s not coming. He’s not coming. He’s not coming. The words bounce around inside of my head as I sink to my knees.

Pain ripples through my lungs and I hunch over. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. Those seeds were my only hope. And now all hope is lost. I fall forward and go face first into the dirt. Hysteria swells up inside of me and spills out of my eyes in the form of tears. “No!” I slam my fists into the mud. “Come back for me. Please. I know you can.” I put my mouth directly on the ground and talk to the dirt, thinking that he’ll be able to hear me. “Come back. Pull me under. Please.”

Shooting up from the ground, I run in circles around my yard. Maybe he’s here, watching, lurking somewhere wearing his invisibility cloak. “Hades

!”

Nothing.

“Hades! Hades! Hades!”

Still nothing.

I close my eyes and suck back my tears and that’s when I hear it… His voice. “Persephone,” he hisses.

My eyes fly open and hope flourishes through me. He heard me. I knew he would. “Hades,” I call out and chase after the gentle hiss of his voice.

I hear it again, “Persephone,” and follow the sound of the voice up the back patio steps and through the sliding glass doors.

“I’m here,” I shout as tears of joy rain down my face. “I can hear you!” But the moment I close the sliding glass door, the voice cuts out altogether. And I whip the sliding glass door open, hoping that if I step outside I’ll be able to hear him again. I fumble with handle when an odd feeling sets in. The house is quiet, too quiet. I glimpse over my shoulder at the empty, organized kitchen. Something isn’t right. Where is my mom?

I know her. She’d never just leave me like this. She’d be waiting at the door to sweep me up in her arms, elated by my safe return. I turn away from the door and creep through the kitchen. “Mom! I’m home! Are you here?”

No answer.

I bolt into the living room and take inventory. Everything is still in its place. Nothing has been moved. So I know there was no break in or kidnapping of some sort. What’s going on? I scale the steps and look in every room upstairs. Mom isn’t anywhere. She’s vanished like Hades when he does his infamous disappearing act. But at least I know one thing; wherever mom went, she went on her own accord.

After looking through even room in the house a second time I end up in the kitchen again so consumed by heartbreak and confusion I can’t decide which part of me I should focus on first. The silence is startling and I wish for some kind of noise because there are a million questions rambling in my head. I know mom and Zeus were behind Hermes taking me, but what else have they been up to? Do they plan to punish Hades? If so, how? Hades would never go quietly. Hades wouldn’t let them get close enough to try and administer a punishment. Besides, those kinds of punishments went out centuries ago, didn’t they?

A ticking clock pulls me from my thoughts and my eyes shift, but not before noticing a note held up by a magnet on the crème refrigerator. White fills up my gaze and I snatch the paper quickly, not even bothering to pick the magnet up after it falls onto the floor. There are numbers scrawled across the paper in messy handwriting with the initials M.O underneath it.

“M.O?” I question myself out loud. We don’t know anyone with those initials. Unless… Unless they aren’t a person’s initials and in that case I know exactly what they stand for, Mount Olympus.

Grabbing the phone, I dialed the number on the paper. The phone rings a few times then cuts out. “Mount Olympus this is Hestia,” Hestia says. I can hear a tug of annoyance in her vocal chords. Like the last thing she wants to be doing is playing secretary and answering phones.

"Hestia,” I gush. “It’s Persephone.”

“Oh dear,” Hestia exhales and her voice relaxes. “I heard what happened to you. I’m so glad Hermes got you back safely.”

“Thanks, Hestia,” I say, twisting the phone cord between my fingers. “Can I talk to my mom? It’s important.”

“Sure, dear. One second.”

Hestia puts me on hold and some strange elevator music plays in the back round. Since when did Mount Olympus become like this. It’s commercial, almost like a corporation of some kind.

Hestia comes back on. “Persephone, you still there?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve got your mom on the other line.”

“Thanks.”

“Sweetheart!” mom squeals. “You have no idea how wonderful it is to hear your voice!”

Her voice sounds too candy coated and it makes me suspicious. “Why aren’t you here?” I ask, warily. “I thought you’d want to be here when I was returned.” If mom is involved in something that Zeus has his hands in I know this will not be good for me or Hades.