We hang up quickly after that, and I glance at the clock and then the front door to Psyche’s building. She’s taking her sweet time, but I have one more call to make before I go hunt her down. This one goes even quicker. Apparently Helen sent Juliette a text right after she sent me one, so the designer is expecting my call.
I explain what I need and give her Psyche’s measurements. She mutters to herself for a few minutes, and I can hear her flipping through hangers on the other side of the line. “I have several items that might suit. You’ll have to come to me, though. I don’t give a fuck who your mother is—that’s a mark against you, to be perfectly honest—or if the bride is one of my clients from time to time. I’m not crossing over into the upper city.”
I silently curse, but I should have expected this. My mother helped drive Juliette out of the upper city. I can’t remember why, only that it was one of the rare cases where she handled things herself instead of having me do it for her. Not that it matters. Aphrodite’s feuds can be as petty as they are long-reaching. At best guess, the designer either refused to work with her or clothed a rival better than Aphrodite for some event.
Then again, this might be something of a blessing in disguise. Psyche is infinitely safer in the lower city than she is in the upper city right now. From there, we’ll go right back to my place, get married, and remove the target from her back once and for all.
I inject as much charm into my voice as possible. “How soon can we show up?”
“Give me an hour to make some adjustments, and then I’ll need another hour to ensure whichever one she picks is fitted properly.” She gives me the address of her place. “Be prepared to pay for disrupting my plans for the day.”
“Of course.”
She hangs up just as I catch sight of Psyche hauling two suitcases out the door. I climb out of the car and hurry to her side. “Packing light, I see.”
“You’re the one determined to move me in with you. This is barely half of what I need to survive.” She follows me to the car and watches me wedge one suitcase into the trunk and the other into the back seat. “We need to leave. Persephone texted letting me know that her brunch with our mother is finished.”
I hold the door open for her, ignoring the strange look she gives me, and then walk around to the driver’s seat. “Call her back.”
“Persephone? Why?”
“We need an invitation to the lower city, and we need it now.”
12
Psyche
I don’t know how Eros got Juliette’s information, but an hour later, we’re driving onto one of the three bridges in Olympus to meet her. Each of them have a particular feel, and Cypress Bridge calls back to our Greek roots. There are tall pillars lining it, and in the light of the late morning, they give the impression of crossing into another world.
My ears pop as we cross the River Styx, but that’s as uncomfortable as things get, thanks to Persephone’s invitation. Without it, moving from the upper city to the lower city isn’t impossible, but it’s significantly more uncomfortable. Or that’s what everyone says. I’ve never tried it myself. The few times I’ve visited my sister in her new home, I’ve been welcomed.
We’re not headed to that house today. Eros guides us south along the river to the lower city warehouse district. It looks nearly identical to the one in the upper city—each block populated with massive warehouses, the streets with very little foot traffic. It’s strange how determined the upper city is to pretend the lower city is actually lower, when really it’s not that much different. At least on the surface.
In reality, the differences run bone deep.
I know my sister loves it down here, but I don’t understand this side of the river. Surely the people here aren’t actually as transparent as Persephone makes it sound? How do they go through life without the defense of a public image in place? It boggles the mind. Then again, I suppose they take their cues from Hades. He’s a very different kind of ruler than any Zeus has ever been.
Eros circles the massive block and parks in front of a warehouse that looks indistinguishable from the rest of the others in the area. I recognize the subtle sign above the door, though. Juliette’s.
He turns to look at me. “Get whatever you need. Spare no expense.”
“Eros—” Maybe he doesn’t realize how expensive Juliette’s custom pieces run, but I’m not mercenary enough to take him up on this offer.
“I mean it.” He shuts off the engine. “Image matters, remember?”