Page 93 of Persephone's Curse
Should I tell my mother everything, every single thing that had ever happened, starting from the very first time I could remember Henry, making funny faces at me over the railing of my crib?
Should I tell her about the tear in the sky and ask her how to fix it, beg her to fix it, pray that she knew how to fix it?
I wanted to, part of me desperately, desperately wanted to, but another part of me wouldn’t allow it, wouldn’t allow myself to admit just how much I had fucked up, didn’t want her to know what I had said to Henry, how I had sent him away, how Evelyn had followed him, how we had dragged her back again, how the sky had split open.
No, I couldn’t. I couldn’t. I—
“There are downsides to this Persephone thing, aren’t there?” she said, interrupting my spiraling thoughts, smiling almost sadlyat me, like she knew there was so much I wasn’t telling her but also knew you couldn’t make a Farthing girl tell you anything she didn’t want to.
“Every so often,” I replied.
And she turned back to the windows, back to the jasmine bushes, and I watched her gaze move upward, up up up to the tear in the sky, which was only getting bigger.
Henry and Evelyn had so far spent the entire morning curled up on the attic couch, arms around each other, whispering and giggling.
“Barf,” Bernadette announced around ten, when she finally pulled herself out of bed and found Clara and me in the kitchen. “Barf, barf, barf.”
“Give them a break, Bernie, he’s just come back from the dead,” I said.
“Still dead, actually,” Clara said. “Although he doesseemmore solid, right?”
“And he can touch us, now,” Bernadette said. “That’s just weird. You can’t justtouchsomeone after twenty years of not touching them. Where are Mom and Dad?”
“Brunch and tennis with the Zimmermans,” Clara recited automatically. “Not expected back until after two. I’ve compiled a list of questions for Henry.”
“Let’s hear ’em,” Bernie said, pouring herself a glass of water.
Clara took a neatly folded piece of paper from her mythologybook, which was closed on the counter in front of her, cleared her throat, and started reading. “Can we all go and see the Underworld? Do you know how to fix the hole in the sky? Is the Underworld anything like Dante’sInferno? Did you meet any famous dead people? Do you have to get a job in the Underworld? Are dead girls better at braiding hair than living girls? Is there a river you have to pay a token to be ferried across? Are you sure we can’t go and see it? Oh, that last one is assuming that he said no to the first one.”
“What circle of Hell would you want to live on?” Bernadette asked. “If you, like, had to.”
“Limbo, obviously,” I said. “Nothing ever happens there.”
“Heresy,” Clara replied. “I’d like to be trapped in the flaming tombs. I’m always cold.”
“Avarice,” Bernadette said. “It’s basically a big workout class.” Then, to me: “Of courseyouwould pick the place where nothing ever happens. Boring.”
“Sorry if I don’t want to be burned alive,” I mumbled.
We heard the footsteps on the stairs at the same time. Two sets of footsteps. Did Henry have footsteps before he went to the Underworld? I genuinely couldn’t remember.
They came into the kitchen holding hands. Henry was as bright and solid down here as he had been upstairs. He seemed to be in an excellent mood. Evelyn went to pour herself some coffee and he sat down next to Clara and tapped her book.
“Nothing in there is accurate,” he said, picking up the book, scanning through it briefly. He smirked at something, then bit his lower lip and said, “All right—hardlyanything in here is accurate. Thereisa flaming blood river that boils souls. But this makes it sound much more dramatic than it actually is.”
“Phlegethon,” Clara whispered reverently.
“Bless you,” Bernadette replied.
“I just have a few dozen questions, actually, if you’re available,” Clara said, rustling her paper, which I saw now was absolutely covered in writing.
“Maybe later,” Henry said. “I’m still sort of adjusting. I thought we could go for a walk or something?”
“But you can’t go for walks,” Bernadette said.
“It’s different now,” Henry said. “I’m not tied to the attic anymore.”
“How do you know?” Bernie pressed.
