Bitter Fruit: Hound of Hades, #9

By Z.J. Cannon and Zoe Cannon

Breaking up is hell...

 

The gods don't do anything by half-measures—including breakups. Persephone has decided she's done with Hades and wants NYC all to herself… and she's willing to play dirty to get it.

 

Mal knows Hades's temple doesn't have the strength for war, or the leverage to negotiate better terms. But they do have Ciara—Marked of Persephone and Mal's oldest friend. She's working from the inside, and she promises her plan will get them through this alive.

 

And it had better work. Because if it doesn't, it will be up to Mal to figure out plan B. And unlike Ciara, Mal will have no problem sacrificing whoever and whatever gets in the way of her mission—including her own humanity.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Z.J. Cannon
• Release date: Jun 2, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201108373

Book preview

Chapter 1

All right, Kimmy said, clapping her hands together with an enthusiasm that made my head hurt. Is everybody ready? Let’s go around the room and hear all your New Year’s resolutions.

She reached down and grabbed a cookie off the plate on the coffee table. It was a shade of green that reminded me of something I had found growing in the back of the refrigerator last month, and irregular lumps protruded from all sides. She picked up the plate—carefully, so as not to disturb the heaping stack of cookies no one else had touched—and offered it to everyone in turn. Nobody took one.

Ginevra was sitting stiffly on the edge of the couch, alternating glances between the door and her watch. She had started dropping hints about her bedtime two hours ago. Lissa sat at the other end, patting the cushion next to her and shooting Kimmy an inviting look. Alex had chosen a spot on the floor; he was leaning against the black stone of Hades’s altar, engaging in his current favorite pastime of staring off into space. Ravi had dragged over one of the chairs from the kitchen table and was straddling it backwards, rocking side to side on its uneven legs, while he played a game on Ginevra’s phone that sounded like it involved an inebriated cow.

Living with these people for this long must have dulled my survival instincts, because at the crestfallen look on Kimmy’s face, I stood up from my place on the floor and grabbed a cookie. I stuffed it into my mouth whole—and immediately regretted it. The cookie tasted like someone had plucked the moss off the outside of the building and stuck it in a blender with an unsuspecting batch of sugar-cookie dough. I chewed as fast as I could, then snatched Ginevra’s glass of water out of her hand to wash it down. A disconcerting slimy sensation remained on my tongue.

What did you say was in those? I asked, when I could finally speak again.

Spinach and flax seed, Kimmy answered proudly. I think we should all make the resolution to eat healthier next year. Consider this a head start.

I pointed toward the TV, hoping to distract Kimmy long enough that she wouldn’t notice me grabbing a handful of cookies off the plate and shoving them under the couch where no one would have to eat them. Quiet. The ball is going to drop soon.

I can tell you who won’t be dropping any balls next year, said Kimmy, turning back to me just as I rubbed the last cookie crumbs off on my jeans. Me. Before the end of the year—no, make that the end of the month—I’m going to have this magic thing figured out.

Lissa’s brows drew together. I still don’t think it’s a good idea, she said in her soft voice.

Ginevra leaned in toward Lissa. Judging by her current rate of progress, she said under her breath, you have nothing to worry about.

Hey! I heard that! Kimmy’s hands went to her hips as she glared at Ginevra. I’m telling you, this is my year. I’ll be the first person to figure out how to use life-force-powered magic all on my own, without even needing to be taught.

The second person, I corrected. Bastian was the one who developed the system in the first place, remember? He was also a demigod, but the others didn’t know that part.

Kimmy dismissed my correction with a rude noise. Which means all he had to do was learn his own system. That doesn’t count.

Ravi frowned, still staring down at his game. Isn’t creating it from scratch actually more impressive than—

Anyway, said Kimmy, cutting him off, Ginevra, I haven’t heard you making any of your own resolutions, only complaining about mine. What are you going to do with yourself next year?

Ginevra took another look at her watch. I plan to do the same thing I did this year: serve Hades to the best of my ability. She corrected the tiny slouch in her posture and—I assumed, judging by the stiff look on her face—returned the stick up her ass to its customary position. Heaven forbid she forget herself and loosen up for half a second.

My resolution is not to die anymore, said Lissa with a shy smile. She grabbed a cookie off the plate and took a nibble. Her eyes bugged out. Starting with swearing off cookies, she added, sounding slightly strangled.

Kimmy flinched. Don’t even joke about that.

Kimmy had mostly gotten over the events of last month where she had invited a malevolent spirit to share her body so she could do more to protect Lissa, and had ended up getting her killed instead. Mostly. Or at least she wasn’t moping around the apartment with that haunted look in her eyes anymore. But at least once a week, she woke us all up in the middle of the night with her screams, and I had a feeling I knew what she was seeing in her nightmares. I had them too. I wasn’t the one in love with Lissa, but that didn’t mean seeing her lying dead in that hospital bed hadn’t hit me like a knife to the heart. I still felt it, like the ache of an old injury, whenever I thought about that day.

Kimmy swallowed and tried to recover. How about you, new guy? She nudged Alex. What’s your resolution?

My brother blinked slowly. I wished he wouldn’t do that; it only drew attention to his eyes. Up until last month, they had been the same boring brown as mine. Now the irises were almost pure white, and flecked with tiny dark spots. He didn’t look like my brother anymore; he looked like an alien from Planet Creepazoid.

Or maybe that had more to do with the thousand-yard stare that was the only expression he wore nowadays. He graced us all with it now as he said, in a voice that inched along like rush-hour traffic, I don’t have one.

He wasn’t exactly doing much to ease my worries about him. Yes, Guardians were known for not being as in touch with reality as the rest of us, and for spending a lot of their time in a god-dazed haze. But even though I tried to avoid Guardians whenever I could help it—something about people who could borrow the power of a god just by asking freaked me out the tiniest bit—I had still seen plenty of them in my years of serving Hades. Hell, I had lived with one for the past few months. And whatever was going on with Alex, it didn’t seem like regular old Guardian weirdness. Ever since Lissa had possessed him briefly in order to save Kimmy and herself, he hadn’t just seemed distracted; he had been downright listless.

I stretched out my leg to nudge him with my foot. Maybe your resolution should be to open up to your sister more.

His nod made me look for the marionette strings. Sure, he said vacantly. That’s my resolution. He went back to staring into space.

Ravi cursed as the phone made a game-over bloop. He tossed it back to Ginevra, who scrambled to catch it before it hit the floor. My resolution, he announced, is to master the blade.

I raised an eyebrow at him. "Last week, you threatened to throw your practice sword down the nearest well, after you almost cut your toe off. Your practice sword. Which is made of wood. Inflicting real damage with that thing takes some doing. I would have been impressed, if you hadn’t done it to yourself. Anyway, after that incident, I heard you swear never to pick up a sword again as long as you live."

Ravi ducked his head. Yeah, well, there aren’t many wells in Manhattan. And come on. What looks cooler than a sword? His expression cheered a little, presumably bolstered by images of himself swinging a blade around, doing the kind of damage to Hades’s enemies that he had done to his own foot. What’s the point in fighting for a god if you can’t do it in style?

What about you, Mal? Kimmy asked, before I could come up with a response that didn’t involve bursting out laughing. The kid was sixteen. He didn’t need me stomping all over his dreams. The world would take care of that just fine.

The closest thing I had made to a New Year’s resolution was remember to do laundry more often. I glanced ruefully down at my mismatched socks, one of which had a hole in the big toe and the other of which was adorned with grinning Santa Clauses smoking fat cigars. But I didn’t think Kimmy would accept that answer. I opened my mouth, hoping something would come to me in the instant between drawing a breath to speak and actually speaking.

A businesslike rap on the door saved me. I let out my breath in relief—and then frowned. Who went knocking on people’s doors on New Year’s Eve?

I placed a hand on my gun as I strode across the room. Sure, it could always be a neighbor looking to borrow a cup of sugar—although seeing as I was pretty sure we had a reputation as the crazies of the building, any of our neighbors would have knocked on every other door before daring to come to ours. But it was equally likely to be an enemy of Hades—an unusually polite one, knocking before they came in to try to kill us. It’s impossible to guess these things ahead of time, when your apartment is also the temple of the god you work for.

I opened the door—and saw Kimmy standing in front of me.

The clothes were different. Instead of Kimmy’s cheerful green sweater dress, the Kimmy in the hallway favored a more monochrome look, with dress slacks and a button-down shirt so white it could have doubled as a light source. But the hair was the same, pulled into a perky ponytail. And so was the expression, expectant and faintly impatient, like she was getting fed up with waiting for the rest of us to get our lives together.

I drew my gun as I called over my shoulder, Kimmy? Did you pay a visit to that rogue Guardian I told you about, by any chance? The one who split me into three? I thought you had learned your lesson about messing with dangerous magic.

The Kimmy in the hallway frowned. But it wasn’t a someone is holding a gun on me kind of frown. It was more of a the person I’m talking to is not entirely sane frown. Which ruled out her being a Marked or Guardian in disguise—my gun was only visible to someone who had a connection with one of the gods. Which did not include Kimmy. Either of them, apparently.

The one in the hallway gave me a second look, and took a hasty step back. Maybe I have the wrong apartment.

Of course I didn’t visit any Guardians, Kimmy said as she came up behind me. Why would you… Her voice trailed off.

So how about telling me what you did? I said through my teeth. And quickly, please, so I can decide whether I need to shoot that thing before it makes the decision for me.

The Kimmy in the hallway took another step back.

It’s not about what I did, said Kimmy. It’s about what my sister did. Which, apparently, was ‘fly to New York on New Year’s Eve to show up at my door unannounced.’ She pushed past me to stand in the doorway. What are you doing here, Imogen?

Happy New Year, Imogen said flatly. We need to talk.

She pushed her way past us into the apartment. She swept her gaze over the place—it didn’t take long—and wrinkled her nose when she saw the sink full of dirty dishes. When she caught sight of the statue of Hades in the corner, her brow crinkled exactly like Kimmy’s had last night when she had caught me pouring chocolate milk over my cereal for a midnight snack. Interesting choice of decor.

I just kept on looking from one of them to the other. I had known Kimmy had a sister who lived in Palm Beach. Kimmy rarely talked about her, but when she did, it was in the tone someone else might have reserved for the devil himself. But she had neglected to mention that this sister of hers was her identical twin.

Imogen strode into the kitchen and extracted a textbook from under another pile of dishes. Oh, good. So you’re still in school after all. Mom and Dad were under the impression that you had dropped out.

Kimmy snatched the textbook out of her hands. They were right. I did drop out. I haven’t gotten around to returning this one yet. I’ve had other things on my mind.

Imogen raised her eyebrows. Returning a book late? That’s not like you. But then, neither is dropping out of school. She lowered her voice to a stage whisper. It’s not drugs, is it? She looked around at each of us in turn, eyes narrowed, like she was trying to figure out which one of us was the druggie.

You didn’t answer my question before you barged into my apartment and started going through my things, said Kimmy. Why are you here?

I told you. Mom and Dad said you dropped out of school. I’m here to help you come to your senses.

On New Year’s Eve?

It was the only time I had off work. Not all of us have the luxury of abandoning our commitments at a moment’s notice. She gave the textbook in Kimmy’s hands a pointed look. The plan was to come visit you tomorrow, but I got in early and decided I shouldn’t wait. I assumed you would still be awake, because of the holiday and all, and I was right. She paused for a self-congratulatory smile. I’m glad to see you’re not drinking, by the way. We both know New Year’s and alcohol aren’t a good combination for you.

Kimmy flushed beet-red. That was one party! I was sixteen!

So was I, and you didn’t see me breaking into the neighbors’ yard to go skinny-dipping in their pool.

My eyebrows hit the ceiling. Across the room, so did Lissa’s.

Of course not, Kimmy snapped. When you were sixteen, you were too busy graduating college and getting a six-figure job building a better antidepressant.

I was seventeen when I got that job, Imogen corrected. And I was working on blood pressure medication, not antidepressants.

Got any samples? Kimmy muttered. Because I could use some of both right about now.

Imogen shook her head, apparently missing the insult. I don’t work there anymore. You know that. I’m getting my law degree now. I’m set to finish two years early.

Of course you are.

I wasn’t alone in finding this interplay between them endlessly fascinating. Everyone’s heads bobbed back and forth as they spoke, like they were watching a tennis match. Everyone except Alex, whose face was devoid of expression as he stared at something none of the rest of us could see.

Imogen clapped her hands together exactly like Kimmy had a few minutes ago. But back to the reason I’m here. What will it take to persuade you to go back to school? She dropped her voice to the same ineffectual whisper. Do you need a tutor?

Kimmy’s face reddened all over again. No, I don’t need a tutor! Just because I’m not some freakish prodigy doesn’t mean I can’t handle school.

Mom and Dad said your grades went down last semester, even before you dropped out.

It’s not their business, said Kimmy. Or yours.

It is when they’re paying for your degree. Speaking of which, if it’s financial support you need, I’m happy to provide. I have quite a bit saved up from that job you mentioned. And judging by the look of this place—and the size of it—I’m guessing money is in short supply.

I’ll have you know this apartment is a great bargain for Manhattan, said Kimmy. I’d like to see you find something better.

Imogen shook her head in disapproval. I’ll never understand why you chose to live here.

Kimmy muttered something that might have been, Maybe because of how far it is from Florida.

What was that? asked Imogen.

Nothing. Kimmy closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. I could see her lips moving, probably in one of the Amazing Stress-Busting Mantras from that book she had tried to get the rest of us to read last week. To answer your original question, she said in a too-calm voice, once she had opened her eyes, I left school because that wasn’t the path I wanted my life to take anymore. There’s nothing you need to do, and I don’t intend to explain myself to you or anyone else. I’ll pay Mom and Dad back for tuition, and their share of the rent, as soon as I can. But I’m not going back to school, and I’m also not sitting down and talking with you about it. I’m sorry you wasted the trip out here.

Getting a graduate degree and finding a good job isn’t the path you want to take? Imogen asked, as if Kimmy had announced she had taken a vow to never wear pants again.

Kimmy forced a smile. I’m glad we understand each other.

In that case, I take it you’ve finally managed to put your bachelor’s degree to good use? She said bachelor’s degree like she was describing a precocious kindergartner’s drawing.

Kimmy pressed her lips into a thin line.

Do you at least have a job? Imogen pressed. I assume your teaching assistant job is a thing of the past now that you’re not affiliated with the school anymore.

I will soon. Whatever calm the mantra had brought Kimmy, I could already hear it starting to stretch and crack. I have a few interviews lined up.

Then it’s a good thing I came out here. Imogen gave Kimmy a brisk nod. I’m willing to support you for now, on the condition that you—

I don’t need support! Kimmy erupted. My roommate is covering the rent for now. She waved a hand vaguely in my direction. And I’m going to pay her back, too. Just as soon as I figure things out.

Imogen turned her disapproving gaze on me. Your roommate isn’t selling drugs, is she?

What? Kimmy squawked.

You did just mention how expensive the city is. And drugs would explain these sudden personality changes.

Mal isn’t selling drugs, Lissa piped up from the living room. She’s doing something on the internet. She won’t tell us about it.

Imogen’s gaze turned from disapproving to superior. That didn’t take much effort on her part—as it turned out, there wasn’t much difference between the two. Internet pornography, I assume. You’ve fallen into some distasteful company, Kimmy. As if to prove it, she held up the mug a top the stack of dishes she had disrupted—one of mine, that showed a waving hand until someone poured hot coffee into it, at which point all but the middle finger would disappear. The dregs of my last cup of coffee had long since gone cold, but the mug had taken a few too many trips through the dishwasher, and at this point the other four fingers were barely visible. Imogen held the mug at arm’s length, wrinkling her nose.

It’s not that either! I protested. Great, now everyone was going to start asking me about where the money was coming from all over again. Maybe this time I would just say it was drugs. It would be easier than facing the Spanish Inquisition again, and exponentially simpler than telling the truth.

But Imogen had already moved on. Who are you, anyway? she asked Lissa.

Kimmy’s girlfriend. Lissa ducked her head.

Imogen raised the other eyebrow this time. Last I heard, you were dating guys. Not that you ever had great taste in men, so maybe this is a positive change. She smiled at Lissa. I certainly hope you have a good head on your shoulders. Since that no longer seems to be true of my sister.

Kimmy bristled. Did you fly all the way out here just to insult me?

I’m serious, Kimmy. Imogen placed a hand on Kimmy’s shoulder. I’m concerned. We all are. This isn’t like you.

Kimmy shrugged off her hand. Well, you can worry from Palm Beach, while you’re off being a hotshot lawyer. There’s no reason for you to be here.

You expect me to leave just like that? Without getting you to see reason? I don’t think so. Imogen marched across the kitchen and threw open the door to what had once been a pantry, then my bedroom, and was now the room Ginevra used for Robbie’s training.

I hurried across the room to block her path. What are you doing? I demanded.

Searching for drugs, of course, she said, as if it should have been obvious. She shoved past me—and stopped dead.

I tugged her out of the room, not gently, and closed the door. But it was too late. The room wasn’t exactly large—I did mention the former-pantry thing—and she had already seen everything she needed to see.

Not that there was much to see in the training room. Ever since I had moved out, there were no piles of laundry, no candy wrappers, no bits of mattress fluff leaking from the holes the mice had chewed. In fact, the room was entirely bare except for the weapons hanging on the wall or lying in a chest on the far wall—a chest that, when I had gotten a glimpse inside the room just now, had been standing wide open.

I’m talking a lot of weapons, of every size, shape, and origin. Swords, knives, a katana or two. A pistol and rifle on the back wall—strictly off-limits to Ravi for now, with an enchantment on them to turn his arm numb and useless for the next day if he tried to grab one of them again—with a fancy new crossbow opposite them. There was a mace, a trident, and a multi-edged thing I didn’t even have a name for. When Ginevra had found out she would be training a new Marked, she had stocked up.

And not all of them were made of wood. Not even close.

Kimmy? For the first time, Imogen sounded shaken. What have you gotten yourself into?

I kept on blocking the door, in case Imogen was tempted to open it up and take another look. I’m a bit of a collector, I said with an easy smile. I got most of those off eBay. My eyes are bigger than my bank account, most of the time. I gave a self-deprecating laugh.

Imogen looked uncertainly from me, to Kimmy, to the crowd in the living room. Despite my casual tone, I was sure it hadn’t escaped her notice the way everyone had tensed up the second she had opened that door.

But before she could say anything that would let us know whether she bought my story, someone else rapped at the door.

Why has everyone in the world suddenly decided to visit on New Year’s Eve? I grumbled. Is this some new tradition I didn’t know about? But it gave me an excuse to let someone else take a turn trying to explain things to Imogen. I crossed the room and opened the door.

I found myself staring at no less than four Marked of Persephone. Each of them was armed for battle. One had a set of knives that shone like the summer sun hooked into her belt. The second was holding some sort of coiled whip thing that cast a green glow across the hallway and squirmed like it was half-alive. The third carried a flat black pistol—not tucked away in a holster, but right there in his hand. The fourth didn’t have any weapons, at least not that I could see, but she held herself with a confidence that told me she didn’t need them. Her fists or her gift were weapon enough, I was guessing.

If they were here, it meant Persephone’s temple needed our help. She was Hades’s closest ally, and if she was in trouble, our temple was the first place they would turn. I thought about complaining, then shrugged and reached for my coat. Maybe it would beat talking about New Year’s resolutions.

But none of them moved to let me out. We’re going to need more than the help of a single Marked, said the one with the whip. We have an urgent matter to discuss, and it involves your entire temple.

I glanced over my shoulder at Imogen, whose mouth was hanging open as her eyes darted wildly between the sunlight-filled knives and the… whatever that whip thing was. Apparently these Marked hadn’t gotten their Guardians to make their weapons invisible to civilians. Can this wait? I asked tightly. This isn’t the best time.

Unfortunately not. This is a time-sensitive situation. The Marked with the whip started through the door, apparently unworried by the fact that I hadn’t moved over to let her in. The other three followed her lead.

I jumped aside an instant before they would have barreled over me. Kimmy, why don’t you give your sister a tour of… I took in the small apartment, none of which was out of earshot of the living room. The city, I concluded. There has to be a New Year’s Eve party open somewhere.

I don’t need to take her anywhere, said Kimmy. She’s leaving. Right? The glare she shot Imogen could have given any of those weapons a run for their money.

Two minutes ago, I would have happily joined her in hustling Imogen out the door. But that was before Imogen had gotten an eyeful of things not meant for civilian eyes. Explaining the training room had been easy enough; the glowing weapons would take more thought. From the look on her face, costume party wasn’t going to cut it. And until we thought of something, we couldn’t afford to let her out of our sight.

Go show her a good time, I said, turning it into an order. Keep her close. And when you guys are done, bring her right back here. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Imogen open her mouth to object. We need to have a talk about your academic future, I added.

But I had misjudged the nature of Imogen’s objection. She crossed her arms in front of her chest. I’m not going anywhere until someone explains to me what exactly is going on in this apartment.

I walked up to Kimmy and hissed in her ear, You’re the one who wanted to be one of us, so do your part. Fix this. As she tried to reason with her sister, I motioned the Marked into the living room. Take a seat. Have a cookie. Tell us what crisis couldn’t wait for us to watch the ball drop.

None of them moved.

The man with the gun stepped forward. The goddess of spring wishes to renegotiate Hades’s place in their alliance, he said coldly. Consider this her formal notice. The three with weapons drew them. The fourth clenched her hands into fists and closed her eyes.

I had a brief moment to think, What, this couldn’t wait for New Year’s Day?

Then they attacked.

Chapter 2

I took a shot at the gun-wielding Marked as I backed into the kitchen. He was close enough that I could have spit on him if I had made an effort; even so, the shot went wide, hitting a floor lamp and making it flicker wildly. I didn’t waste time cursing my sudden bad aim. I flipped the kitchen table on its side, sending a stray plate flying, and got off another shot as I ducked behind it. This time, the bullet buried itself in the door.

I had meant to miss, I realized as I made a get-over-here gesture at Kimmy and Imogen. Or some part of me had, at least. Whatever Opposite Day bullshit was going on right now, these people had been our allies for longer than I had been a part of the temple—and in case this was some kind of mistake, I didn’t want to do anything that couldn’t be taken back.

Kimmy tried to tug Imogen toward me. Imogen didn’t move. She stood with her feet rooted to the floor, shrieking like she was trying to set a world record for longest sustained scream.

But while she might have been frozen in place, no one else in the room had that problem. The Marked with the gun had given up on me for the moment, and was turning to face Lissa, who had already begun to call on Hades in rhythmic Greek. The whip lashed out toward Ginevra—half on its own, it looked like—and slowly backed her toward the wall. Now that it was fully extended, I could see that the weapon was a cross between a chain whip and a collection of braided vines. I couldn’t tell where the metal ended and the organic material began, if that distinction even meant anything to Persephone. The Marked with the knives had them out, and was circling around behind Ravi as he rushed for the training room. Now that she was closer, I could tell that the blades didn’t just shine like the summer sun, they also radiated its heat. Which would almost have been pleasant, at this time of year, if the Marked attached to them hadn’t been trying to kill us. The fourth Marked hadn’t moved, but as her face tightened in concentration, the floor under my feet began to shake.

But I didn’t just see a group of Marked attempting to kill us in our own temple—even though that was, without a doubt, what we were facing. I also saw someone who had saved my life during a mission three years ago. And someone else I had laughed with over drinks more than once—well, drinks for her, and an evening’s entertainment for me, since I didn’t drink but could appreciate the amusement factor in watching other people make fools of themselves. As for the Marked currently trying to shoot through the shields of shadow Lissa kept throwing up around herself, he had tried to kill me a couple of times—but I had been on the run back then, and he had gone after me not just on Persephone’s behalf, but Hades’s.

This is wrong, some part of my mind babbled, even as I peeked out from the table to line up a third shot. This is all wrong.

A