Neon Gods (Dark Olympus 1)

No, better to avoid him at every turn.

Something that would be significantly easier to do if my mother weren’t one of the Thirteen.

The sound of heels clicking smartly against the marble floors has my heartbeat picking up in recognition. Mother always strides like she’s marching into battle. For a moment, I honestly consider hiding behind the covered statue of Hades, but I discard the idea before Mother appears in the doorway to the statue gallery. Hiding would only delay the inevitable.

“There you are.” Tonight she’s wearing a deep-green gown that skims her body and feeds into the whole earth-mother role she’s decided best fits her branding as the woman who ensures the city doesn’t go hungry. She likes the people to see the kind smile and helping hand and ignore the way she will happily mow down anyone who tries to stand in the way of her ambition.

She pauses in front of the statue of her namesake, Demeter. The statue is generously curved and wearing a flowing dress that melds with the flowers springing up at her feet. They match the floral wreath circling her head, and she smiles serenely as if she knows all the secrets of the universe. I’ve caught my mother practicing that exact expression.

Mother’s lips curve, but the smile doesn’t reach her eyes as she turns to us. “You’re supposed to be mingling.”

“I have a headache.” The same excuse I used to try to get out of attending tonight. “Psyche was just checking on me.”

“Mm-hmm.” Mother shakes her head. “You two are becoming as hopeless as your sisters.”

If I realized that being hopeless was the surest way to avoid Mother’s meddling, I would have gone with that role instead of the one I chose. It’s too late to change my path now, but the headache I faked is becoming a real possibility at the thought of going back to the party. “I’m going to cut out early. I think this might evolve into a migraine.”

“You most definitely are not.” She says it pleasantly enough, but there is steel in her tone. “Zeus wants to speak to you. There’s absolutely no reason to make him wait.”

I can think of half a dozen off the top of my head, but I know Mother won’t listen to a single one. Still, I can’t help but try. “You know, he’s rumored to have killed all three of his wives.”

“It’s certainly less messy than a divorce.”

I blink. I honestly can’t tell if she’s joking or not. “Mother…”

“Oh, relax. You’re so tense. Trust me, girls. I know best.”

My mother is likely the smartest person I know, but her goals are not my goals. There’s no easy way out of this, though, so I obediently fall into step next to Psyche and follow her out of the room. For a moment, I imagine I can feel the intensity of Hades’s statue staring at my back, but it’s pure fantasy. Hades is a dead title. Even if he wasn’t, my sister is probably right; he’d be just as bad as the rest of them.

We leave the statue room and walk down the long hallway leading back to the party. It’s like everything else in Dodona Tower—large and excessive and expensive. The hallway is easily twice as wide as it needs to be, and each door we pass is at least a foot taller than normal. Deep-red curtains hang from the ceiling to the floor and are pulled back on either side of the doors—an extra touch of extravagance that the space most certainly didn’t need. It gives the impression of walking through a palace rather than the skyscraper that towers over the upper city. As if anyone is in danger of forgetting that Zeus has styled himself as a modern-day king. I’m honestly surprised he doesn’t walk around with a crown that matches his statue’s.

The banquet room is more of the same. It’s a massive, sprawling space with one wall completely taken up with windows and a few glass doors leading out to the balcony that overlooks the city. We’re on the top floor of the tower, and the view is truly outstanding. From this point, a person can see a good portion of the upper city and the winding swath of blackness that is the River Styx. And on the other side? The lower city. It doesn’t look all that different from the upper city up here, but it might as well be on the moon for all that most of us can reach it.

Tonight, the balcony doors are closed tight to avoid anyone being inconvenienced by the icy winter wind. Instead of the view of the city, the darkness behind the glass has become a distorted mirror of the room. Everyone is dressed to the nines, a rainbow of designer gowns and tuxes, flashes of horribly expensive jewels and finery. They create a sickening kaleidoscope as people move through the crowd, mingling and networking and dripping beautiful poison from painted-red lips. It reminds me of a fun-house mirror. Nothing in the reflection is quite what it seems, for all its supposed beauty.