Persephone’s Fall – Page 6
Hades grabs my wrist and pulls too hard, which gets me the rest of the way over the fence and very nearly face-first onto the roof. I pull away from him and say “I can manage, thanks.”
“You almost managed to get yourself killed!” Hades’ face is flushed an ugly, mottled pink. He pulls nervously at his shirt sleeves, bunching them up and then smoothing them back down, then runs a hand shakily through his too-hip-for-you perfectly chaotic hair.
“If I want to be dead, I’ll be dead, and you won’t be able to do a thing about it.”
“And then your father goes down, and your mother goes with him.” Hades has this smug little grin on his face now, and it makes me feel like digging my nails into his eyes. I press them into my palms instead, and say nothing. Finally, the silence gets to Hades. It always does. I’ve always been able to outlast him.
“We should get going. Lots to do. We’re supposed to meet the florist in half an hour.”
And he’s right, of course. Have to see the florist. And the caterer. And the organ player. And the priest. When you’re getting married, the florist is just the tip of the iceberg.
