Neon Gods (Dark Olympus 1)

I’ll keep my word.

For better or worse.

Chapter 12

Persephone

I expect Hades to call in people to dress me rather than let me leave the house. All in the name of safety, of course. So I’m surprised when he leads me to the front door. A pair of sheepskin boots sit there. He points at the bench tucked back in an alcove of the foyer. “Sit.”

“You bought me boots.” They’re hideous, but that’s not what has me raising my brows. “This is your idea of a compromise?”

“Yes, I do believe I’ve heard the word before.” He waits for me to pull them on, watching closely as if he’s about to jump in and do it for me. When I raise my eyebrows, he slips his hands into his pockets, nearly successful at pretending he’s not an overprotective mother bear. “I’m well aware that you won’t submit to being carried down the street.”

“Very astute of you.”

“Like you said: compromise.” Next comes a large trench-coat type of jacket that covers my borrowed dress. I look absolutely ridiculous, but that doesn’t stop my heart from going warm.

Hades, king of the lower city, boogeyman of Olympus, someone more myth than reality, is taking care of me.

I find myself holding my breath as Hades opens the front door and we step out onto the street. It looks nothing like the alley that led to the underground passage he used to bring me into his house. No trash. No close quarters and filth.

The upper city is all skyscrapers, the buildings nearly blocking out the sky; they might gain more character the farther one gets from the city center, but they don’t lose any height. The buildings on this street all stop at three or four stories, and as I look around, I pick out a laundromat, two restaurants, a few places with businesses I can’t determine, and a little corner grocery store. All the buildings have a feeling of age, as if they’ve stood here a hundred years and they’ll still be here a hundred years from now. The street is clean and there’s plenty of foot traffic on the sidewalks. The people are varied, dressed in everything from business casual to jeans to one guy in pajama pants and bedhead who ducks into the corner store. It’s all so normal. These people obviously aren’t worried that paparazzi are going to pop out around a corner or that one wrong move will cause catastrophic social consequences. There’s an ease here that I don’t know how to explain.

I turn around and look at Hades’s home. It appears exactly how I would expect from the parts of the interior I’ve seen. Almost Victorian with its steep roofs and all the stylistic extras. It’s the kind of house that speaks of a long and complicated history, the sort of place kids dare each other to run up to and touch the gates after dark. I bet there are just as many legends about this house as there are about the man who lives in it.

It shouldn’t fit with the rest of the neighborhood, but the eclectic clash of styles isn’t a clash at all. It feels strangely seamless, but with character that the city center in the upper city lacks.

I love it.

I glance back, only to find Hades watching me. “What?”

“You’re ogling.”

I suppose I am. I give the street another scan, lingering on the pillars that bracket the laundromat. I can’t be sure at this distance, but it almost looks like there are scenes carved into them. “I’ve never been across the river.” It never struck me as odd before—the way that Olympus is carved in two by the River Styx. The sheer lack of crossover between the two sides. Surely other cities aren’t like that? But then, Olympus isn’t like any other city.

“Why would you?” He takes my hand and slips it into the crook of his elbow like an old-world gentleman. “Only the more stubborn—or desperate—get across the river without an invitation.”

I fall into step beside him. “Would you…” I take a deep breath. “Would you show me around?”

Hades stops short. “Why would you want that?”

The harshness of the question shocks me, but only for a moment. Of course he’d be protective of this place, these people. I carefully touch his arm. “I just want to understand, Hades. Not gape at them like a tourist.”

He glances at my hand and then at my face, his expression unreadable. Except it’s not entirely unreadable, is it? He only goes icy when he wants distance or doesn’t know how to react. “We can go for a short walk after we get you some weather-appropriate clothing.”

Part of me wants to argue about the short part of the walk, but the truth is that my feet do ache, and after the events of the last few days, it’s smart to keep from overextending. “Thank you.”