[This post is from J.T.’s point of view.]
There were ghosts in that vortex, spirits that had nearly lost themselves that instead clung to the only thing that had ever tried to protect them since their passage from the breathing world. J.T. stopped a few feet from the vortex and the center of the barrow, watching.
Waiting.
He could see her face emerging and held his breath. Then she stepped clear of the vortex, pale as the moon, dressed in black, her lips bluish and eyes dull. It was as if Persephone had started to become another ghost, just like the ones she protected, advocated for.
With Pluton dead and gone, J.T. realized, there was no one to protect her from the rest of Olympium.
And I’ve done nothing to help her yet. Christ. “Persephone,” he said. “I—”
“Spiritweaver,” she whispered. “You came.”
Mouth dry, he nodded. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “This shouldn’t have taken me so long.”
“I understand. There’s been trouble. There’s been trouble for all of us. It’s all right. Time is…time.”
Leinth’s hand closed around his shoulder as she joined him on the barrow. Her lips were pressed tightly together, her eyes bright and worried. J.T.’s jaw tightened.
“It’s still not an excuse,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“There’s still time,” Persephone said. “But it runs short. One will find me and when he does, he shall come to you—and then you’ll know the moment. You’ll know what to do.” She fell silent for a few seconds. “And they are still hunting you. The hags still search. You will not be forgiven. Be cautious.”
“Always,” J.T. murmured even as ice sluiced down his spine. “It doesn’t pay to be anything but.”
“No,” she agreed. “No, it doesn’t.” Her eyes fluttered shut. “I will see you again.”
“Yes,” he promised. “Yes, you will.”
“Keep him safe, cousin.”
Leinth’s fingers tightened around J.T.’s shoulder. The vortex began to ebb, the chill began to fade.
The last thing to vanish was her face, framed by hair whipped free of her braids by the unnatural wind.
