The God of the Dead left the field, manifesting in his office at Nevernight. As soon as he appeared, silence descended, thick and heavy. He looked at those gathered—Ilias, Zofie, Dionysus, and…Hermes.
Hades’s eyes dropped to the God of Mischief who was reclined in his chair, feet propped on his desk. Their eyes met, and a sheepish smile broke out across his golden face. Hades scowled, showing his teeth, and sent the god scrambling to his feet.
“I was just keeping it warm,” Hermes defended.
Hades glared and took his seat. It was indeed warm, which only made him stare harder at the god.
“Nothing but the best for the King of the Dead,” Hermes added with a cheerful grin as he moved to sit on the edge of Hades’s obsidian desk.
“If so much as one of your ass cheeks touches this desk, Hermes, I will turn it to lava.”
“It’s not as if they’re bare,” Hermes argued.
Hades gave the god a withering look.
“You know what? The couch is far more comfortable anyway,” Hermes said, perching on the armrest.
Hades turned his attention to those gathered, in particular Dionysus. He hung back, not quite part of the group—likely because he did not wish to be. He was dressed far more casually than usual, in dark trousers and a beige sweater. His thick braids were tied back, and his arms were crossed over his chest. He looked frustrated, and if Hades had to guess, it had little to do with his summons to Nevernight and everything to do with the mortal detective Dionysus was harboring at his club, Ariadne Alexiou.
Hades was surprised he had come, though it likely only had to do with his curiosity. Dionysus had a strained relationship with the Olympians, mostly due to Hera’s hatred of him, which was why he had finally decided to take a side. But Hades was not stupid. He knew that did not mean Dionysus was loyal to him. It only meant that the God of Madness was loyal to himself.
“The ophiotaurus has been resurrected,” Hades said. “Its constellation is no longer in the sky.”
There was a certain amount of dread that came with saying the words aloud that Hades had not expected to feel, but he was responsible for this, which meant he was also responsible for the fallout if the creature fell into the wrong hands.
“Ilias,” Hades said, meeting the satyr’s gaze. He stood beside Zofie, hair as curly as the horns jutting from his head. “Tell us what you have learned about the monster.”
“So far, there has only been one sighting. A farmer outside Thebes claimed he heard a strange bellow in the middle of the night. He thought one of his cows had been injured, but when he went to investigate, he found a half-bull, half-serpent creature coiled around it. Once it had spotted him, it slithered away into the grass.” Ilias paused and glanced at everyone gathered. “The cow did not make it.”
There was a beat of silence as Hades added, “Neither did the farmer.”
Ilias’s jaw tightened.
“He was perfectly well yesterday.”
“And today he is dead,” Hades said. “Full of bullets.”
“So someone other than us wants the creature,” said Dionysus. “Not surprising, but who?”
“Isn’t that the question of the hour.”
Hades stared hard at the God of the Vine, not that he suspected Dionysus had anything to do with the farmer’s death. He was, however, aware that he enjoyed collecting monsters as much as Poseidon. It was one reason he preferred keeping the god close, even with their new and fragile alliance.
Dionysus narrowed his eyes. “How did the creature come to be resurrected, Hades?”
The God of the Dead did not like the accusation in his voice, but Hades was not Dionysus, and he would not hide from his responsibility.
“Because I killed an immortal.”
Dionysus’s harsh features softened, but not out of sympathy.
It was shock.
“This is the work of the Fates,” Hades said.
“So you summoned us to handle the aftermath of your actions,” Dionysus said, his voice dripping with disdain. “Typical.”
“Do not act so superior, Dionysus,” Hades said. “I know how you like monsters.”
He could have attempted to explain himself. He knew the god hated Hera, and one mention of how she’d had a hand in all this would quell Dionysus’s judgment, but in truth, he did not feel like it mattered. Either way, Dionysus wanted to be here, and he would want the ophiotaurus in his possession, which meant he would search for it, even if he chose not to help Hades directly.
“If this is the work of the Fates,” said Zofie, “can you not just ask them what they have woven?”
“The Fates are gods just as I am,” said Hades. “They are no more likely to tell me their plans than I am to admit mine.”
“But they are the Fates. Are they not already aware?”
Hades did not respond. There were times when he appreciated Zofie’s naivete. Tonight, it was frustrating.
It was difficult to pin down how the Fates operated. Much of their decision-making was based on their mood, as with most gods. It was possible they had only orchestrated the resurrection of the ophiotaurus to fuck with him, but it was also possible they wanted to see an end to the Olympians; Hades could not say which or even if they had chosen. He only knew one thing to be true—fate could not be avoided, just prolonged.
“Whatever their plan, we must have one too,” he said.
“I do not understand,” said Zofie. “The Fates have already chosen an end. For what do we plan?”
“We plan to win,” said Hades.
It was all they could do—and hope that if the Fates had not given him or the Olympians their favor, they could be swayed, but that would never happen without action. He knew better than anyone that the three sisters took joy in watching the gods play into their hands, especially under the weight of suffering.
There was a beat of silence, and then Dionysus spoke. “What is the prophecy that makes this creature so dangerous?”
He would not know, given he had been born after the Titanomachy.
“Whoever burns its entrails will obtain the power to defeat the gods,” said Hermes.
“Are you certain that’s the prophecy?” asked Dionysus, raising a dark brow.
“Maybe it’s just one god?” Hermes wondered aloud and then shrugged. “I might have gotten a word or two wrong.”
“A word or two?”
“It isn’t as if it hasn’t been four thousand years,” Hermes said defensively. “You try remembering something after that long.”
“You seem to have no issue recalling grudges from that long ago.”
“I suddenly regret helping Zeus save your life,” said Hermes.
Sometimes Hades forgot the two had a history, though it was minor. Hermes had helped save Dionysus after he was born by taking him to be raised by the Nysiads, ocean nymphs who lived on Mount Nysa.
“Perhaps it would have been better for everyone if you had not,” said Dionysus.
The God of Mischief blanched at his words, and before a strained silence could descend, Hades spoke. “It’s a prophecy, Hermes. A word or two can change the entire meaning.”
Hermes threw his arms in the air. “Well, I never claimed to be an oracle.”
“Then we will have to ask one,” Hades said.
Perhaps the prophecy had changed. Maybe there was no prophecy at all. Just as that thought rolled through his mind, he knew it was too much to hope for. The Fates would not bring the creature back if they didn’t want it to challenge the gods.
“And we must find the ophiotaurus before anyone else.”
“Who are we racing?” asked Dionysus.
“My money’s on Poseidon and his offspring,” said Hermes. “That fucker is always looking for power.”
Hermes hit on something Hades had also been thinking. The ophiotaurus could live on land, but it also thrived in water. Poseidon would jump at any chance to overthrow Zeus, but so would Theseus and Hera. Hades already knew the demigod and the Goddess of Marriage were working together, though he also suspected the God of the Sea fed Theseus’s desire to overthrow the Olympians. Whether he actually believed his son was capable was another matter.
Sometimes, Hades wondered who was orchestrating the game and who was just playing it, but he knew one thing: if he could become the mastermind, he would.
“We cannot let it take refuge in the sea,” Hades said.
It would be in his brother’s territory and virtually unreachable. Even if Hades were to offer a bargain, Poseidon would not give up such a weapon.
“Then we are wasting precious time talking when we should be hunting,” said Dionysus.
“The issue, Dionysus, is where to begin,” said Hades, looking at the god. “Unless you have information the rest of us do not.”
Dionysus did not speak.
“We must be careful in our inquiries,” said Ilias. “Word has already spread among the market. Everyone within those channels will expect your involvement.”
And they were right to, though Hades knew that would not be a deterrent. In the seedy world of the black market, few feared his wrath, though he hardly saw that as an insult. It was hard to fear death when faced with it every day. Still, it meant that he would be locked in a competition to locate perhaps one of the greatest weapons ever created against the gods.
“Then perhaps my maenads should make the inquiries,” Dionysus suggested, but Hades ignored him and looked at Ilias.
“Put Ptolemeos on the case, but watch him. I trust no one in this matter.”
“Even me, apparently,” Dionysus said.
Hades returned his gaze to the God of Wine. “Let’s not pretend you haven’t already sent your assassins to scout. You don’t wait for permission; you take it.”
Dionysus pursed his lips and looked away. Hades could not tell if he was amused or annoyed.
“And what is to be done with it when it is found?” asked Zofie. “Will you kill it?”
Hades did not respond because he did not know the answer to her question. He supposed it depended on what the oracle had to say about the creature’s powers, though he doubted anyone else searching for the ophiotaurus would think twice about whether the prophecy still rang true.
That creature had a bounty on its head and a ticking clock on its heart.
“You’re all dismissed,” Hades said.