“Of course. Enjoy yourselves, you two.” And then she’s gone, bustling several of the racks deeper into the warehouse.
I watch her go, unable to stop myself from frowning. “I didn’t pay.”
“Persephone.” He waits for me to look at him. “You have no money.”
Shame heats my skin. “But—”
“I’ve taken care of it.”
“I can’t let you do that.”
“You haven’t let me do anything.” Hades takes my hand and tugs me toward the front door. It almost slips past me how casual he is touching me now. It feels so natural, as if we’ve been doing this far longer than a few days.
Hades doesn’t release my hand when we reach the street. He simply turns and heads back the way we came. Boots or no, my feet hurt and exhaustion settles over my skin in a wave. I ignore both feelings. When will I get another chance to see the lower city, let alone with Hades leading the way? It’s too great an opportunity to pass up just because my body isn’t at one hundred percent yet.
And maybe I just want to spend some more time with Hades, too.
Halfway back to the house, he takes a right turn and leads me to a doorway with a mass of cheerily painted flowers on it. Like some of the other businesses I’ve seen on our walk, it has white columns on either side of the entrance. I haven’t been able to get close looks at the others, but these depict a group of women by a waterfall, surrounded by flowers. “Why do some of the businesses have columns and not others?”
“It’s a sign that this place has been here since the founding of the city.”
The sense of history staggers me. We don’t have that in the upper city. Or if we do, I’ve never seen it. History is less important to the people in power than presenting a polished image, no matter how false. “They’re so detailed.”
“One artist did all of them. Or at least that’s how the story goes. I have a team whose sole job is to maintain and repair these as needed.”
Of course he did. Of course he would see this sign of history as an assent instead of something to be smudged out and erased in favor of the new and shiny. “They’re beautiful. I want to see them all.”
He’s got a strange look on his face. “I don’t know if we could make it to all of them before spring. But we can try.”
The strange warm feeling in my chest blossoms. “Thank you, Hades.”
“Let’s go in and get out of the cold.” He leans past me to open the door.
I don’t know what I expect to find inside, but it’s a small flower shop, with groupings arranged in cute tin buckets around the counters. A white man with a shaved head and truly impressive black mustache sees us and jerks away from the wall he was just leaning on. “Hades!”
“Matthew.” Hades nods. “Is the greenhouse open?”
“For you? Always.” He reaches under the counter and tosses over a set of keys. If I wasn’t looking closely, I might mistake his eagerness for fear, but it is eagerness. He’s delighted that Hades is here, and he’s barely concealing it.
Hades nods again. “Thanks.” Without another word, he tugs me through the room to a small door tucked in the back corner. It leads to a narrow hallway and up a set of steep stairs to another door. I make the climb in silence, fighting not to wince when each step sends a dull pain echoing up my legs.
The sight that greets us behind this final door makes the discomfort more than worth it. I press my hand to my mouth and stare. “Oh, Hades. It’s beautiful.” A greenhouse covers what I expect is the entirety of the roof of the building, housing row after row of flowers of every kind and color. There are hanging pots with vines and pink and white flowers cascading down. Roses and lilies and flowers I have no name for lined up carefully beneath cleverly concealed water lines. The air is warm and faintly humid and it heats me straight through.
He stands back and watches as I move down the aisle. I stop before a cluster of giant, purple ball-like flowers. Gods, they’re pretty. I find myself speaking without meaning to. “When I was a little girl, back before my mother was Demeter, we lived out in the country that surrounds Olympus. There was this field of wildflowers that my sisters and I would play in.” I move to the mass of white roses and lean over to inhale, enjoying their scent.
“We pretended we were fairies until we grew out of those types of games. This place reminds me of that.” For all that it’s cultivated instead of flowers left to grow wild, there’s an aura of magic about this place. Maybe it’s the little bit of springtime in the midst of a city cloaked in winter. The glass is faintly steamed, concealing the outside and giving the impression of us standing in the middle of another world.