Page 18 of Hades

“If you take food over every time one of those men gets himself killed, you’ll be too busy to cook for us.”

“Was there something you needed? Would you like to come with me?”

“No, I don’t want to go with you. Why would I want to go over there?” She looked me up and down, and I braced for the inevitable remark about my clothes.

I wore basically the same thing every day: an ankle-length tiered skirt and a fitted tank top. The only variation was color, and in cooler months, I added a sweater.

It made life easier.

No wondering every morning what I felt like wearing. No concern about looking presentable when customers stopped by to purchase my products.

I’d heard the rumors in town about the hippie on the flower farm, and while my mother hated it, I didn’t let it bother me. I lived my life the way that made me happy, refusing to change for anyone. Especially not her.

My unwillingness to bend to someone else’s will was probably the one thing that would keep me single and childless for the rest of my life.

It wasn’t that I wanted to be single and childless. I’d love to have a child. A small person who loved unconditionally, who I could share my secrets with. My knowledge of plants and potions.

But to have a child, you needed a man, or at least some of his best swimmers. I grew up watching how men treated women. I made my living helping women escape the men who deemed them unworthy of being cherished and worshipped.

Not all men were like that, of course. But too many were, and I had no desire to waste my life searching for the rare man who might actually know how to love someone besides himself.

Besides, not many men would accept the darker side of me. Looks could be deceiving. People judged by first impressions, and most never bothered looking past the surface to see the real person beneath.

Men and women alike saw me with my long, loose, wild blonde hair, the bohemian vibe that came from the clothes I wore and the homeopathic potions I sold, and assumed I was... not unintelligent, exactly, but maybe simple.

Unassuming.

Safe.

They didn’t see the darkness beneath the surface. Nor did they hear the voices that whispered to me in the night, urging me to help rid this world of men and women whose only goal was to maim, kill, and destroy that which they’d vowed to love, protect, and cherish.

Not even my mother knew the real me.

“If there’s nothing you need other than to waste my time, I have somewhere to be.”

I turned to go, and my mother’s soft voice called out, “Violet.”

I glanced over my shoulder. It was a voice I hadn’t heard since I was a child.

“I don’t want you to go over there.” Her hands twisted together, wringing with what looked like nerves. Fear, maybe.

“Why?”

“They are not good men.”

“Mother, you don’t know a single one of them. You’ve barely left this house or this property since we moved here.”

I studied her face. Something flashed in her eyes, but it was gone before I could name it. “Why do you think they’re bad?”

“Because men who ride motorcycles aren’t good men.”

“That’s a stereotype, and you know it. You can’t paint every man who rides a motorcycle with the same brush.”

She straightened her back and sank into her recliner. “Fine. But if they lock you in a room and run a train on you, don’t expect me to save you.”

I rolled my eyes, shaking my head. “Stop watching those shows, Mother. They fill your head with nonsense. I’ve met Kronos’ wife in town plenty of times. She’s a very sweet woman.”

It was true. Rhea Cooper was everything I’d ever wanted in a mother. Warm and kind, but also strong. Capable of standing her ground despite her small stature.