The House of Hades (Heroes of Olympus Book 4) Read Free Page A

this together. I’m going to get down, all right?’
    She slid off Arion’s back. Instantly he turned and ran.
    ‘Arion, wai–’
    But he’d already disappeared the way he’d come.
    So much for being in this together.
    Another howl cut through the air – closer this time.
    Hazel stepped towards the centre of the courtyard. The Mist clung to her like freezer fog.
    ‘Hello?’ she called.
    ‘Hello,’ a voice answered.
    The pale figure of a woman appeared at the northern gateway. No, wait … she stood at the eastern entrance. No, the western.
Three
smoky images of the same woman moved in unison towards the centre of the ruins. Her form was blurred, made from Mist, and she was trailed by two smaller wisps of smoke, darting at her heels like animals. Some sort of pets?
    She reached the centre of the courtyard and her three forms merged into one. She solidified into a young woman in a dark sleeveless gown. Her golden hair was gathered into a high-set ponytail, Ancient Greek style. Her dress was so silky it seemed to ripple, as if the cloth were ink spilling off her shoulders. She looked no more than twenty, but Hazel knew that meant nothing.
    ‘Hazel Levesque,’ said the woman.
    She was beautiful, but deathly pale. Once, back in New Orleans, Hazel had been forced to attend a wake for a dead classmate. She remembered the lifeless body of the young girlin the open casket. Her face had been made up prettily, as if she were resting, which Hazel had found terrifying.
    This woman reminded Hazel of that girl – except the woman’s eyes were open and completely black. When she tilted her head, she seemed to break into three different people again … misty after-images blurring together, like a photograph of someone moving too fast to capture.
    ‘Who are you?’ Hazel’s fingers twitched at the hilt of her sword. ‘I mean … which goddess?’
    Hazel was sure of that much. This woman radiated power. Everything around them – the swirling Mist, the monochromatic storm, the eerie glow of the ruins – was because of her presence.
    ‘Ah.’ The woman nodded. ‘Let me give you some light.’
    She raised her hands. Suddenly she was holding two old-fashioned reed torches, guttering with fire. The Mist receded to the edges of the courtyard. At the woman’s sandalled feet, the two wispy animals took on solid form. One was a black Labrador retriever. The other was a long, grey furry rodent with a white mask around its face. A weasel, maybe?
    The woman smiled serenely.
    ‘I am Hecate,’ she said. ‘Goddess of magic. We have much to discuss if you’re to live through tonight.’

IV
     

HAZEL
     
    H AZEL WANTED TO RUN, but her feet seemed to be stuck to the white-glazed ground.
    On either side of the crossroads, two dark metal torch-stands erupted from the dirt like plant stalks. Hecate fixed her torches in them, then walked a slow circle around Hazel, regarding her as if they were partners in some eerie dance.
    The black dog and the weasel followed in her wake.
    ‘You are like your mother,’ Hecate decided.
    Hazel’s throat constricted. ‘You knew her?’
    ‘Of course. Marie was a fortune-teller. She dealt in charms and curses and
gris-gris
. I am the goddess of magic.’
    Those pure black eyes seemed to pull at Hazel, as if trying to extract her soul. During her
first
lifetime in New Orleans, Hazel had been tormented by the kids at St Agnes School because of her mother. They’d called Marie Levesque a witch. The nuns had muttered that Hazel’s mother was trading with the Devil.
    If the nuns were scared of my mom, Hazel wondered, what would they make of this goddess?
    ‘Many fear me,’ Hecate said, as if reading her thoughts. ‘But magic is neither good nor evil. It is a tool, like a knife. Is a knife evil? Only if the wielder is evil.’
    ‘My – my mother …’ Hazel stammered. ‘She didn’t believe in magic. Not really. She was just faking it, for the money.’
    The weasel chittered and bared its