That statement makes me turn away from Haden quickly. I stare down at the text on my iPad. Not because I’m backing down from him, but because the last thing I want is to get stuck working alone with this Haden jerk—for any reason.
Ms. Leeds sits on the edge of the table in front of the class, crossing her long legs. “Haden brings up an interesting point that I hope none of you missed. There are many interpretations and versions of these myths other than the ones featured in our textbook. The so-called Rape of Persephone story actually contradicts many of the other myths in which the figure of Persephone appears. In myths such as Orpheus and Eurydice, and Psyche and Cupid, Persephone is portrayed as quite the formidable queen of the underworld, not as a lilting flower, easily taken and tricked by a man. When I was at Berkley, I wrote a paper on this subject. My research showed that there were very early versions of the Persephone myth that claimed that she was not ‘taken’ at all. One version suggested that Persephone, tired of being under the constant watch of an overbearing mother, left the mortal world of her own free will in order to fulfill a greater purpose. She recognized the underworld’s need for a queen and chose to fulfill it.”
“But why would someone change her story?” Lexie asks, not waiting for the teacher to call on her this time.
“As I wrote in my paper: to very patriarchal societies, a tale about a young maiden who takes her own future into her hands, leaves her home and family in search of her own destiny—and possibly a bit of forbidden love—is a very dangerous story indeed. So, therefore, they changed her story to fit their purposes. To make her a victim—a morality tale to warn girls from wandering too far from home, like Little Red Riding Hood. They changed her story to take away her power. That is the true rape of Persephone, if you ask me.”
I nod in agreement and notice that Lexie does, too.
For the first time, I feel connected to Persephone’s story. Well, Ms. Leeds’s version of it anyway. We’d both left our homes in search of a bigger purpose.
Ms. Leeds launches into the rest of her lecture on other underworld myths, and I can tell she’s trying to spark another lively debate. But I keep quiet after that, and so does Haden. As Bridgette enlightens the class with her perspective on the plight of beautiful women in Greek mythology, I risk a glance back at Haden. He looks up as if he senses my movement, and for the briefest of moments, his eyes seem to flash a fiery mix of amber and jade green.
I run into Tobin on my way from humanities to geometry.
“Hey, superstar,” he says. “You doing okay after your dad’s big announcement?”
“Fine,” I say, “except for pretty much being nominated for class leper.”
I look behind my shoulder, feeling like I am once again being followed. I must look as shaken as I feel when I look back at Tobin, because he puts a hand on my shoulder and asks, “Are you okay? Lexie and her little mafia aren’t getting to you already, are they?”
“No,” I say. “It’s that … I saw him again. The guy from the grove. At least, I think it was him—he looks different somehow. But still the same.”
“What?” Tobin says, dropping his hand from my shoulder. “Did you see him somewhere outside? You didn’t go back there again, did you?”
“No, he was here. He was in my humanities class. He’s a student.”
The tone coming off Tobin is even darker than it was after we found Pear. “What’s his name?” he asks. “Do you know his name?”
“Haden,” I say. “I think it was Haden Lord.”
Tobin takes in a sharp breath.
I look down at my iPad. “Like I said, I’m not a hundred percent positive it’s the same.…”
But Tobin storms off before I finish my sentence.
chapter twenty-three
HADEN
“What the Tartarus is that?” Garrick asks, his eyes enlarged with horror as he looks from it to me and then back to it.
“Harpies if I know,” I say under my breath. I’m too busy scanning the room for a certain face to scrutinize the alien mass in front of me.
“Gods, it smells almost as bad as it looks.” Garrick picks up his knife and poses as if he is about to prod the glistening mass with the point of the blade. He hesitates and then pulls the knife back. “I mean, do you think it’s safe?”
I shrug. I don’t want to touch it, either, but it wouldn’t bode well for me to show any hesitancy so early in my quest. My eyes move over a group of girls sitting at a far table, and then scan the faces of the people who stand in line at the opposite end of the room. Where is she? Have I lost track of Daphne already?
I’d hung back and watched her leave the classroom after the bell rang, but had lost her trail in the hallway. It is impossible to make out one person’s scent in the cacophony of body odors and strange perfumes that permeate this place. I don’t know how these humans can stand it. The smell is even worse here in the cafeteria.
As are the sounds and sights that assault my senses. Human teenagers are just so loud. And the brightness that floods in through the long rows of windows above the tables makes my eyes burn. How am I supposed to locate Daphne in all of this chaos? How am I supposed to observe her if I can barely see?
I pull my sunglasses out of my jacket pocket and shove them on my face—despite Dax’s warning that wearing sunglasses indoors in public might make me look like a “creeper.”
Creep. Daphne had called me that in the grove. Does she still think of me that way? She hadn’t looked back at me again before leaving class, and I can’t help feeling like a dung spout for the things I’d said to her.
I worry my new strategy is failing. My online research into “how to get a girl to like me” had suggested, time and time again, that to win a human girl over, I had to be mean to her. I’d spent the bulk of class either ignoring her, contradicting her, or acting like a “bad boy,” which I gather meant showing off my muscles and leaning back in my chair after saying something sexually suggestive.
So why do I feel like I am in an even worse place with her now than before?
What’s more, she’d deserved my derision for the offensive things she’d said—her accusations against the god of the Underrealm had bordered on blasphemy. Hades is everything we Underlords aspire to be, but both she and the text of the book had treated his memory as if he were a villain. How could I not be angered by her words even if I wasn’t trying to be rude?
“It’s just so vile,” Garrick goes on, about the foodlike substance on his tray.
Vile? Harpies, why did saying those things about virginity and exploring sexual desires to Daphne make me feel so vile now?
I mean, it’s not as if I know what I’m talking about. Only Champions who ascend to the Court are allowed to mate—and only after they’ve returned victorious with their Boons.
I can’t help wondering if Daphne really is this Cypher, and not just an ordinary Boon. Will she still be my mate when I bring her back to the Underrealm? Or will the Court claim her for another purpose? Gods, I hope not, I think as I imagine the possibility of she and I together.…
“It’s wrong. Like … like … I don’t know. What on earth could it be?” Garrick’s voice trails off in disgusted awe.
That strange heat I’d felt when I first met Daphne in the grove fills my hands. I try to pick up my knife, but little sparks jump off the metal when I touch it. I tuck my hands into the pockets of my hooded sweatshirt, not sure how I could have lost control so easily.