Electric Idol (Dark Olympus 2)

1

Psyche

Another night, another party I desperately don’t want to attend.

I try not to clutch my sickeningly sweet drink as I drift around the room’s perimeter. As long as I keep on the move, my mother won’t zero in on me. One would think the events of the last few months would be enough to give her ambitions pause, but Demeter is nothing if not driven. She’s successfully married off one daughter—yes, she’s taking credit for Persephone marrying Hades—and now she’s turned her sights on me.

I would rather gnaw off my own leg than marry anyone here. Every single one of them is closely connected to a member of the Thirteen who rule Olympus: Zeus, Poseidon, Demeter, Athena, Ares, Hephaestus, Dionysus, Hermes, Artemis, Apollo, and Aphrodite. The only two missing are Hades and Hera—Hades because he possesses a legacy title and not even Zeus can command his presence at these events, and Hera because our current Zeus is unmarried, which leaves Hera’s title empty.

It won’t stay empty for long.

For sure a large room, it’s remarkably claustrophobic. Not even the giant windows overlooking Olympus can combat the heat from so many bodies. I’m tempted to step outside and freeze for a bit just to get some fresh air, but then I’ll be trapped if someone decides to make small talk. At least in the main party, I can keep on the move.

Tonight isn’t officially a marriage mart, but you can’t tell that from the way Aphrodite parades person after person in front of our new Zeus where he lounges in the throne that used to be his father’s. It’s large and gold and gaudy. It might have suited the father, but it doesn’t suit the son in the least. I’m not one to judge, but he lacks the commanding charisma that the last Zeus possessed. If he’s not careful, the piranhas of Olympus will eat him alive.

“Zeus,” Aphrodite trills. She’s been moving back and forth to the throne enough times for me to get a good look at the bright-red dress that hugs her trim figure and contrasts with her pale skin and blond hair. This time, she’s towing a young white guy with dark hair behind her. I don’t recognize him on sight, which means he’s a friend or a distant cousin or has the dubious favor of being one of Aphrodite’s pet projects. She beams at Zeus as she cuts through the crowd. “You simply must meet Ganymede.”

“Psyche.”

I nearly jump when my mother appears behind me. It takes all my control to paste a passive smile on my face. “Hello, Mother.”

“You’re avoiding me.”

“Of course not.” I most definitely am. “I went to get a drink.” I hold up my glass to prove it.

Mother narrows her eyes. Unlike Aphrodite, who seems determined to cling to every last drop of youth she can manage, my mother has allowed herself to age gracefully. She looks like exactly what she is—a white woman in her fifties with dark hair and impeccable style. She clothes herself in power the way some people clothe themselves in jewels. When people look at Demeter, they are instantly at ease because she exudes an aura that promises she’ll take care of everything.

It’s how she won the title in the first place.

When it came time to craft my own public persona, I looked to her for inspiration even if I took my image in a different direction. Personal experience taught me early that it’s better to blend in than to stand up in front of a crowd and make a target of yourself.

“Psyche.” Mother takes my arm, angling us toward Zeus’s throne. “I am going to introduce you to Zeus.”

“I’ve met him before.” Several times in fact. We were introduced ten years ago when Mother took over as Demeter, and we’ve been attending the same parties ever since. Up until a few months ago, he was still Perseus, heir to the title Zeus. Best I can tell, he’s nowhere near the predator his late father was, but that doesn’t mean he’s not a predator at all. He’s grown up in the glittering viper’s nest that is the upper city. You don’t survive this long without being at least a little bit monster.

Mother’s hand tightens on my arm and she lowers her voice. “Well, you’re going to meet him again. Properly. Tonight.”

We watch Zeus barely glance at Ganymede. “It doesn’t look like he’s interested in meeting anyone.”

“That’s because he hasn’t met you yet.”

I snort. I can’t help it. I know my strengths. I am pretty, but I am no traffic-stopping beauty the way my sisters are. My true strength lies in my brain, and I highly doubt Zeus would appreciate that.

Not to mention I have no desire to be Hera.

But then, it doesn’t matter what I want, does it? Mother has plans upon plans, and I’m the best candidate of her remaining single daughters. For all my internal dramatics, I suppose there are worse fates than being one of the Thirteen. As Hera, the only danger I’d truly face is from Zeus. At least this Zeus doesn’t have a reputation for harming his partners.