The Search for Juno

Chapter XXXI

Angie had an itching idea of where she was, and an even more terrible idea that it was, in fact, the very last place she wanted to be.

She was barely returning to consciousness when she realized she was moving. Unfamiliar hands hoisted both her arms up at the elbows, her feet dragging along a smooth, level floor. She sputtered, letting her eyes flick open as a hacking cough kicked out from her lungs. Underneath her was a blur of white marble, though before her eyes it was quickly turning darker, transitioning instead to damp, mossy stone.

Realization seized her weary mind. Angie yelped, digging in her heels, kicking, screaming, throwing her fists. The grip on her tightened, nails digging into her skin. She gritted her teeth, but kept squirming. She would not let them take her. She would not let them—

"Enough."

Angie's body locked into stillness, so suddenly that her muscles ached. All she could move were her eyes, which panned up, meeting the face of Poseidon.

He was different than she remembered, yet she knew with an unyielding certainty that he could be no one else. In his godly form, he was older, taller, salt-and-pepper hair neatly gelled back from his finely-lined face. It was not the eerie, subtle golden glow of his skin or the violent malice that emanated from his smile that frightened Angie, however. It was his eyes: bottomless, sometimes blue and sometimes black, a stormy sea with no horizon in sight.

"It's over," said Poseidon, waving the two guards off at Angie's side. She flitted her eyes around, and only then did she realize she was already in a narrow, square cell, a windowless prison of stone and iron. "Stop running, already. You tried that. It didn't work."

The guards' footsteps echoed in Angie's ears; she heard the whine of the cell door as it squeaked shut behind her.

She strained to speak, but found her lips glued shut. Poseidon let out a short, humored scoff. "You must have a lot of questions," he said, and Angie's lips unlocked, a startled gasp escaping her mouth. "Good thing I have some time."

"Where am I?" Angie demanded.

Amused, Poseidon eased back against the wall, the sleeves of his dark suit stretching as he folded his arms. "Olympus," he answered. "Really, Tartarus is where you belong, but for some reason Zeus has insisted we hold a proper trial before we throw you there."

"A trial?" For a second, Angie almost couldn't believe her luck. "Good. Then everyone will see what a liar you are."

"Me? I'm the liar?" Poseidon sneered. He stepped forward, jabbing a scornful finger at Angie's chest. She wanted so badly to slap him, to destroy him for even thinking of touching her again, but the rest of her body was still locked under his spell. "You and that imbecile Hermes are the ones who told everyone that innocent mortal was the one we were really looking for. And I'm the liar?"

Hermes. The name set Angie's heart racing. The last she'd seen of him, he'd barely been on his feet, his clothes soaked through with ichor, the golden blood of the gods. Was he alive? He's a god, Angie reminded herself, so he has to be okay, right?

Poseidon blinked at her, lowering his finger. "You're wondering where Hermes is?"

"You can—?"

"No, you fool, I can just see it on your face," said Poseidon. "Listen. You should worry more about yourself, darling. Because once this dreadful trial is over, you'll finally pay handsomely for what you did to me."

"I truly do not give one fuck, sir," Angie hissed, pleased at the surprise that crossed the god's face. "You listen to me. Let Hermes go. This—all of this—was my idea. It's all my fault. So wherever he is, you let him go."