My Life From Hell (The Blooming Goddess #3)

We Have To Stop Meeting Like This (Part 1)

One of the many fun facts now at my disposal with the return of Persephone's memories was that while in the Underworld, she and Demeter had always met in Tartarus. Not exactly the field trip I wanted to take.

Ever.

I stifled a half-panicked breath. Calm ...

I had to meet with Demeter. This was my chance to make sure she didn't end up wanting to murder Persephone. Therefore, I would be the absolute delight that she expected. "Lead on," I told the gecko.

He crawled out of the room, and I obediently followed.

The gecko hugged the low edge of the wall, leading me through the palace via its twisty back hallways. He had an unerring sense of timing, turning into corridors just as voices faded off ahead of us and feet padded away.

He moved fast for a little guy too, never stopping to see if I was keeping up. Which I was, but barely. When we stepped outside, I was only dimly aware of the heat beating down on my head, and the ticklish twitching in my nose from the acrid tang of the dry grass.

Between the nerves and the total focus on not losing my tiny guide, I didn't realize we'd reached Tartarus until the overpowering smell of sulphur had me gagging. I flung an arm up to cover my nose and mouth, but the scent was insidious. It snaked its putrid way inside me.

My lizard leader came to a stop. Before us was a bronze fence that stretched up and away as far as the eye could see.

I glanced down at the gecko. "Couldn't you bring her out here?"

He waggled his head at me.

Uncertain, I placed one hand against the fence's ridged surface, and practically buckled as the cries of the damned knocked the breath from me.

Tearing my hand off that gate was like trying to detach myself from the strongest magnet ever. Every molecule of me felt stuck, plastered to it in despair for all eternity. It magnified every self-criticism, every negative thought and fear into infinity.

Instrument of our destruction. Instrument of our destruction.

The mocking laughter from my vision filled my ears.

I slid down the fence, the skin on my legs pricking sharply as I hit a tangle of thorns. The pricking crept down my ankle, getting more frequent. Dully, I glanced down to find the gecko nipping at me.

I could almost hear him chittering at me to get up.

It was crazy hard but I managed to stagger to my feet. The gecko kept up his chatter, nipping at me every few feet to make sure I didn't stop.

My limbs felt heavy, my gait sluggish. I was doing a pretty excellent zombie shuffle.

The gecko prodded me along for a bit, finally stopping at a gap in the fence. No, a small door that stood ajar. He ran through it.

I don't know how Persephone had managed to keep coming here, because I couldn't make myself take that first step into Tartarus. I had to take my hands, wrap them around my leg, lift it up, and set my foot down a step ahead. Over and over again. I stared at the ground, my willpower taxed to its limit.

The heavy clunk of the door shutting behind me let me know I'd made it through.

Unwillingly, resentfully, apprehensively, I looked around. Everything was black. From the mud on the ground, to the air itself.

Black roses with deadly thorns grew in wild tangles—the only foliage I could see. They looked like the drawing Jennifer had made for my tattoo. Guess I knew what I'd been channeling when I'd asked for them. Fleetingly, I wondered if I'd ever go back and get artwork that really suited me.

I forced myself to move deeper into Tartarus.

The air was ripe with sulphur, but I was getting used to the stink of rotten eggs now. Somewhat. I still sucked my nostrils together as best I could, as I made my way forward trailing the gecko.

Worse than the blackness, or the stench, or the despair I felt, was the identically frozen expression of utter hopelessness on every person I passed. Eyes wide and lost, they moaned and keened from the depths of their souls.

I sped up. There was no consolation to offer them and I was scared that if I stopped moving, their cries would suck the life from me. Also, the thought of them touching me was plain creepy.

At least I had no time to be nervous about seeing Demeter again. It was all I could do to keep my mind blank as I wound my way through this land of wretchedness and despondency.

Until I was enveloped in my mother's arms.

She smelled sweet. Almost fruity. It cut through the Tartarus stench like a balm to my heart. That was the first thing I noticed. The second was that she was shorter than me.

Until now, my parents—especially my god ones—had been larger than life. Figuratively and literally in the case of Zeus. I'd never imagined that Demeter would be smaller than me. Not by much, but it gave her a fragility I hadn't expected.

Her hug, however, was firm and loving and pure mom. It was the hug I'd been waiting for all of my life, and the hug I would have loved to savor. But I felt Persephone gnawing at my skin like a darkness. The tiny hairs on my arms—her arms?—bristled in seething resentment at Demeter's touch. I had to suppress the overwhelming urge to rip myself free of her embrace.

I understood mommy issues. I had my own. In spades. And with the same mother. But despite everything I had experienced at Felicia's hands, I still wanted to feel Demeter's love.

If only for a second.

Even if it was borrowed. Even if it was just magic. Or fake, or whatever. Because I'd never had it and, with every fibre of my being, I wanted to savor that amazing feeling that I'd missed out on for so long.

I took it all in. How, when she hugged me, she slung her left arm over my right shoulder and her right arm under my left armpit, to kind of cocoon me in a sling of affection. How her cheek felt slightly flushed as she pressed it to mine. How, before she released me, she gave me a final tight squeeze.

I stockpiled it all in my memory. And I hated Felicia even more for having deprived me of it.