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  At the Touch of Death

  Gina Carra

  Gina Carra

  2019

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  AT THE TOUCH OF DEATH

  Copyright © 2019 Gina Carra

  All rights reserved.

  Edited by Sharon Chester

  Cover illustration by Monica M. Magaña

  (instagram.com/monicam_art/)

  ISBN: 9781093121520

  For Tati, who in another life must’ve been one of the muses

  "For death begins with life's first breath. And life begins at the touch of death."

  — John Oxenham

  Golden Arrow

  Hades weighs a flat stone in the palm of her hand and promptly skips it across the surface of the River Styx. She watches it disinterestedly until it sinks a few meters away.

  The surface of the water ripples in warning, and Hades rolls her eyes in response. “This place is a waste of my talents and you know it,” she says to no one in particular. She stares up at the ceiling, arms folded over her chest, clearly waiting for something. She lets her gaze wander from the banks of the river, up to the pristinely etched walls that make up a very plain and practical room she built herself.

  A few more columns extend into what almost looks like a patio area if it were outdoors, which in a way it is since the Underworld resembles an expansive cave and there’s no sky to look up at. Sitting in the middle of the square of columns is a table and two chairs.

  Hades stands on the bridge, regal. She’s the infallible ruler of this world, a world designed as a prison of eternal solitude, yet she has two chairs on her patio. Her face is impassive as she stares at them. Her eyes narrow. She lifts a hand. Tendrils of blue smoke spiral from her palm and start to reach for the chair. Her shoulders straighten suddenly, reacting to something only she can feel. “Finally.” The tendrils fade and she stares at the extra chair again. There’s no hatred in her eyes, no emotion of any kind that can be detected. “I’ll get rid of you later.”

  She vanishes, scorch marks painting the ground like a graffiti tag marking her presence.

  The world goes still. The souls that float through the river whisper in hushed voices, longing to be heard. They can do nothing but wait for their Lord to return.

  “The god of death does deserve happiness. The god of death doesn't deserve happiness." Eros plucks petals from a daisy. It’s an interesting sight: a god who looks like a human adult sitting in a field of flowers…pouting. “The god of death does deserve happiness.” He smiles widely as the words leave his mouth, nodding and content with that option. He thinks of warm eyes and a set of chairs… He plucks another petal. “The god of death doesn’t deserve happiness.” He scowls at the flower as if it personally offended him before startling in wonder. One petal remains. He pulls it and holds it between his fingers with a wide smile. His voice softens, pleased and excited. “The god of death does deserve happiness.” His lips part to let out a gentle breath, sending the petal through the air. He watches it soar freely. His smile is small, yet bright. The petal seems to cry out with joy on its first and final flight.

  When it disappears from view, he admires the field he sits in for a brief moment before he digs through his satchel. A handful of random objects fly out as he carelessly rummages: a hand towel with a cartoon character on it, cherry flavored lip gloss, an old-fashioned fountain pen, designer brand sunglasses—“Ah!” His hand holds up a smart phone victoriously. He navigates quickly and familiarly to a camera app and spends a good twenty minutes making faces and posing for some selfies. He posts a few on his social media account of choice and laughs as he scrolls through old posts and comments. He thrives under praise, but it will never not be funny when people tell him he looks like a god.

  He lets his laughter build into a giggle fit as he falls on his back and looks up at the sky. He stares at the sun fondly, his mischievous smile turning into something softer. He lets the sunlight warm his skin as the warmth turns into a hand on his cheek.

  Helios usually has to send a whisper into someone’s ear from afar to ask them to summon him so he can travel, but he and Eros have long since figured out their own language.

  Eros is suddenly staring up at a blinding smile. He squints and raises a hand to feign blocking sunlight. “Turn it down, sunshine.” Helios laughs softly as he tumbles onto the ground and embraces his friend. Helios’s curly hair is cropped short to his head, his build is strong. Eros complements him with a leaner build and hair that catches in the wind without reaching his shoulders.

  They cuddle together in the field of flowers, content to listen to the breeze. Eros leans into Helios. Helios eventually breaks the silence, his voice soft and soothing, “I’m assuming you want to hear the gossip, Cupid.”

  Eros turns to him with a wide grin which turns into a scowl at his second name. He is not overly charmed by the name that’s now associated with small cherubs. “So tell me then, Sol.”

  Helios laughs, running a hand down Eros’s back. “I’m honestly not sure I should tell you. Knowing you, it’ll turn into chaos in moments.”

  The two of them are insatiable and inseparable. The god who sees all and the god of love. Gossip runs through their veins.

  Helios’s words do nothing to quell Eros. They simply excite him further. “You’re not usually one to hype up a story.”

  Helios raises his eyebrows, seeming a bit more serious. “This one’s big. You may not even believe me.”

  Eros laughs at that but catches Helios’s shift in tone. Eros reaches out to feel a soft petal under his fingertips. He cradles the bud in his palm, loving the sensual texture of it. “Considering your point of view, you’re a fairly reliable source for these things. I have no reason not to believe you.”

  Helios stares toward the horizon, seeing something Eros can’t. “Hades is roaming the earth.”

  Eros laughs again. He waits for the real story after Helios’s joke. Helios glances at him, waiting for a reaction. Eros snaps to attention. “Hades what?!”

  Eros looks toward the horizon where Helios had been staring. Helios tsks, “You can’t go to her. She hasn’t forgiven you.”

  Eros’s eyes darken. “She should have thanked me.”

  Helios watches Eros, fond and worried. “You knew it couldn’t last.”

  Eros shakes his head. “She needed to know how it felt.”

  “Cue—”

  Eros doesn’t let the nickname distract him. “She had no idea what she’d been missing. I had to let her feel it.” Eros is not willing to compromise on this topic. Helios lets it go.

  The flower in Eros’s hand is crushed, already browning in death.

  Eros relaxes his fingers, watching the petals catch the wind and float away from the tension between the two gods. They seem drawn to that point in the distance where Helios keeps glancing, where Hades has to be.

  Eros shakes his head again. “No, I have to go. I won’t have many chances at reconciling with her.”

  Helios sighs, running his fingers gently through Eros’s hair. “Be patient with her. She hasn’t seen the sunlight for a while.”

  Eros stares at the god of the sun in front of him with a knowing smile. “You missed her too.”

  Helios smiles, fingers settling on the back of Eros’s head. He tugs him forward to press a kiss to his forehead. “Just be careful.”

  Warmth seeps through him as the touch vaporizes. Eros glances up at the sun with a smile. He pretends to shoot an arrow at it with a wink. He swears he hears a laugh as he starts to walk toward Hades.

  ✽✽✽

  Crisp, clear water tumbles
over smooth rocks covered in soft moss. Persephone laughs as she stands in it, letting it tickle her bare feet. With a radiant—and somewhat wicked—grin on her face, she splashes around. Her laughter is loud and unashamed. Like all gods, she appears infinitely radiant in her late twenties or early thirties, but she has no qualms acting like a child at times.

  Chrysanthemums[1] bloom on either side of the water. Sun-kissed, golden strands sparkle among the light brown hair that trails down her back. She wears a simple white tunic that billows around her freely. She is one with the nature that surrounds her.

  Just as accepted by their surroundings, but in an entirely different way, Demeter sits in the shade of a tree. His black hair is wavy and long enough for a couple of leaves to be stuck in it. He wears a lot of neutral browns, mostly linen to keep cool as he spends most of his time in the sun. His green eyes track Persephone as she runs around the stream. His smile matches hers. They discovered this bond, whether it exists because of their complementary abilities or personalities, and Demeter has been fiercely protective of her ever since. He sees her as a daughter, but it’s become a sort of game for them to deny that.

  He’d initially found Persephone by chance, but he knew better than to believe in chance in this world. He had a feeling Hebe had something to do with it.

  When they met, Persephone’s eyes were empty and dull. She could barely bring herself to smile. She’d stare at Demeter’s harvests with disdain. Demeter understood slowly that Persephone thought her flowers were useless and told her, “Flowers feed insects. Insects protect the harvest and nourish other plants. Everything is connected. Something can be both beautiful and useful.”

  Persephone had been grieving and Demeter had to be patient for a long time before she truly opened up to him. Persephone smiles more lately. It's refreshing. She’s really come into her own and embraced herself.

  She glances at her friend under the tree and splashes water his way.

  Demeter mock gasps. “Watch it, punk! I’m enjoying the day. I don’t need this.”

  Persephone tsks, “You’re more delicate than my flowers.”

  Demeter scoffs. “I should think so.”

  Persephone smiles at his mock arrogance.

  Demeter shakes his head, “What has you in such a good mood?”

  Persephone takes a deep breath, releasing it in a sigh. “Today feels like a good day. An important day.” Angelica flowers[2] sprout, covering the field like freshly fallen snow.

  Demeter’s smile turns soft. He speaks her flower language fluently. “It’s good to see you like this, Persephone.”

  She smiles. It’s small, but it’s there. A sadness lingers in her eyes.

  A single yellow rose blooms in front of Demeter, a symbol of friendship and joy. He reaches down, “May I?” Persephone nods. He picks the flower, tucking the stem behind his ear. Persephone kept the thorns from the stem for him. The flower suits him. “I’m going to walk downstream a bit. I’ll meet you back here?”

  Persephone nods, already turning her attention back to the water and her bare feet splashing through the stream. A warmth pulses through her as a human’s prayer whispers in her mind, asking for help. She considers it but kicks the water again as she decides to keep this moment for herself. The prayer isn’t anything urgent. She can get to it later.

  ✽✽✽

  Eros watches from the top of the hill as the flower goddess splashes around for a bit. There was something bright about her that Eros always loved, but there was also something…incomplete. Or too complete? Something odd for sure. Though Eros felt most people were incomplete if they weren’t in love.

  He glances around the stream. He knows Hades should be around here somewhere. It shouldn’t be so hard to spot her amidst such vibrancy. Hades was always a little…dramatic. She embraced the shroud of darkness and monotone colors that people associated with her position. She just tries so hard. Her brothers never seem to understand that.

  Eros feels heat prickle against the back of his neck and is unsurprised when a muffled version of Helios’s voice echoes in his mind. She’s been walking along the stream enjoying the day in solitude. Like you should be.

  Eros snorts, but then spots Hades.

  She’s in the distance, hidden beneath a tree’s shadow. Her blue eyes can see nothing but Persephone.

  Persephone is totally oblivious.

  An overwhelming warmth fills Eros, goose bumps blossoming on his skin: the unignorable need to send love into a new heart. “You’ve got to be kidding.” Eros’s hands itch for his bow.

  An intense heat staggers him as Helios shouts, Cue, don’t! I’m not joking. This is an awful idea.

  Eros has his bow strung in a moment. “I owe her, Helios.” He glances between his two targets. “It’s right this time. I feel it. They’re fated.”

  He takes aim at Hades and lets loose.

  At the sound of Hades’s grunt, Persephone looks up.

  They lock eyes.

  ✽✽✽

  Helios lets Eros summon him through a sunbeam to stand side by side. Helios tries and fails to hide a deep frown. “You don’t know what you’ve set in motion.”

  Eros runs a hand down Helios’s back; slowly, sensually. “Even we can’t control fate.”

  Helios shakes his head. “If this is fate, fate is cruel.”

  Eros’s hand stops. “We knew that already.”

  ✽✽✽

  Hades knows this feeling.

  She’s felt it before and it runs through her veins like a cold flame. She knows what this is but she’s powerless to stop it.

  It crashes over her like a tidal wave. She nearly cries out at the pain of it. Not that it’s pain she’s feeling. It’s joy in her veins, but the foreign substance claws at her unprepared psyche.

  She knows Eros must be nearby and she nearly razes the field around her at the thought.

  Regardless of her experience with golden arrows and of her status as a higher god, she can’t take her eyes off the woman in front of her. She already knows her name: Persephone, goddess of Spring.

  Hades has heard of her. It’s kind of in the job description to keep tabs on people who aren’t dead, can’t die, might die, etc. Now here she is, staring at the embodiment of life. It feels like a joke. It feels like Eros is laughing at her again.

  But she can feel her heart flutter. She can feel nervousness. She can feel herself blush.

  She isn’t sure how long it’s been. Around a hundred years…

  When Persephone’s eyes meet hers, time practically stops.

  Yes, Hades has felt this before, but it hadn’t felt quite like this.

  Hades opens her mouth to speak, but as she does a shadow falls across her.

  She tenses. “I’m so sorry.”

  ✽✽✽

  When Persephone blinks, her eyes open to a place so dark they can’t adjust quickly enough to show her where she is.

  All she knows is that it’s cold, her feet are still wet and bare on a stone floor, and…she feels like something is missing. She can’t put her finger on it. It hurts, whatever it is.

  Something glows in front of her and as she focuses on it, she recognizes it as a pair of glowing blue eyes, bluer than any flower she’s ever seen.

  She quells the intrigue she feels at the beauty of those eyes and forces herself to recognize that she’s in danger.

  That’s when she realizes what’s missing.

  There’s no grass here, no dirt, no sunlight. She can’t grow flowers. As the realization hits her it’s as though her heart has turned to ash.

  She speaks around the lump in her throat. “Who are you? Where have you brought me?”

  Her eyes continue adjusting, bringing back into focus the god she caught a glimpse of in the sunlight a moment ago. Everything about this stranger is practical and it makes her more menacing. Her silvery-white hair is in braids and loosely tied back. Her black clothes fit her torso tightly, blending into a loose pair of pants.

  Those blue
eyes are piercing and Persephone wants to scream. Anything to get out of this moment of nothingness. She feels like she’s suffocating. Somehow, she feels caged though she’s standing in an open space.

  The only sound is a trickle of water so Persephone chooses to take in her surroundings, noticing she’s on a bridge. She peeks over the rail. Ice grips her heart as she sees the stream. Cold, cold fear spreads from her heart and takes over her entire body. It’s one thing to hear tales about the River Styx, it’s an entirely other thing to see it herself.

  The blue eyes vanish as the stranger ducks her head. Persephone thinks she sees a tear fall from her cheek to her shirt.

  Persephone shakes her head, stepping away from the railing. “I won’t. I won’t go in. I haven’t died. I don’t know how I ended up here.”

  Hades laughs. “Well, that’s true. It wasn’t you who was shot.”

  The god’s voice is eerily higher than Persephone expected it to be. She’s like a siren. Soft, soothing voice yet something inherently dangerous lingering just beneath the surface.

  Persephone would be joking with herself if she were to say she hadn’t figured out who the god was. She just didn’t want to accept it.

  The Lord of the Underworld stands before her, eyes shining like a blue flame burns within them.

  Persephone takes a small breath. “You’re Hades.”

  Hades doesn’t nod or make any sort of confirmation. “You shouldn’t be down here.”

  Persephone could laugh. She wishes she could laugh to expel the inherent fear. “I don’t think I really had much choice in that.”

  Hades sighs heavily. “It was bad timing.”

  Persephone can only stare. She’s arguing with the god of death. While she’s skeptical of what it means that she is currently in the Underworld, she doesn’t have a death wish. “Let me go back. Demeter won’t know where I went.”

  Hades’ voice is void of emotion. “I can’t.”