The Search for Juno

Chapter XIX

Angie was not a dog person. She was not an animal person in general—she'd had this strange feeling that all of them were out to get her somehow, ever since she was eleven, when the neighbor's dog Gizmo had knocked her ice cream from her hands and licked it up from the pavement. Alex Morganthau, to his credit, had chased it off (Conny was too busy hiding behind Angie), but ever since then she could never look at dogs the same.

This dog—if not these dogs—was far, far worse than Gizmo ever had been. The broad-chested, three-headed beast had the black and brown shimmering coat of a rottweiler or doberman, with three pairs of vicious blood-red eyes and three snouts, lips curled back, to match. It towered above Angie and Clio, nearly scraping up against the stalactites, its knife-like claws a flash of white in Angie's eyes.

"Angie," Clio was saying. She was on the ground beside a still-unconscious Hermes, cradling his head in her lap. "Are you sure we should—"

"Shh, shh," Angie said, half to Clio, half to Cerberus, the three-headed dog Angie had admittedly hoped was just a myth, even if nothing at all was turning out to be just a myth. She hid her switchblade in her palm, not wanting to dispatch it until the time was just right. "Quiet, doggy, it's all okay..."

Angie took a step forward, and Cerberus snapped at her, a growl echoing from the depths of its throats. She jumped, sweat turning her palms moist as the beast came nearer, and nearer, and nearer.

Angie was one pace away from stepping on Hermes's arm. Clio called out from behind her: "Angie, for the love of the gods, whatever you're gonna do, do it now!"

Angie grumbled. "I was about to!"

She swung her hand up, but her heart seized in a moment of pure panic when the switchblade fell from her sweat-slick grip and hit the ground, skittering away from her. She had one second to think Well, shit before Cerberus lunged right for her.

Except the impact never came. There were no claws digging into her skin, no teeth sinking into her shoulder. Instead, there were three delighted yips, and the thud of Cerberus's feet upon the ground as he jumped around in a circle like an excited puppy.

Angie blinked. She was dead, that was it. Or dying. This was one of those weird hallucinations people saw before their brain shut off for good.

Clio's voice, however, sounded very real. "Persephone?" she said.

A woman peered around Cerberus's massive form. She wore a floral jumpsuit that looked a little like someone had fashioned it out of an old woman's curtains, and a flurry of warm, reddish-brown curls framed her russet face. She had one of those timeless faces, Angie thought, as if she had stepped from a 50s film, if 50s films ever had brown people in them.

"Cerberus, my little puppy, what did Mommy tell you?" Persephone said, holding one of the dog's foreheads against hers. Cerberus's eyes were big enough to see the entirety of Persephone's young face in their reflection. "You can't eat the guests before Mommy and Daddy tell you to!"

Cerberus let out a guilty whine.

"There, there," said the goddess, then turned and locked eyes with Angie. "Oh! You're so pretty!"

Angie flushed. Before she could reply, Persephone was already on her, striding in her direction and stroking Angie's cheeks. "Always such a shame to lose anyone, really, but a doll like you?" she frowned, clutching a hand to her chest. "Oh, it hurts my little heart, it does. It will be alright, honey. I promise—"

"Oh, no, no! I'm not dead. I just—"

Persephone's eyes, the gentle emerald of meadow grass, widened. She snatched up Angie's wrist, pressing her fingers against the pulse. "Oh! A living being down here? How did you get—are you lost?"