A Touch of Ruin (Hades & Persephone #2) - Scarlett St. Clair Page 0,76

like Hetaera, Pornai, and Kapsoura. The passages were filled to bursting with people. There were those who had come to enjoy the pleasures of the district, obvious because of the masks they wore to hide their identity. Then there were those who were here to give the pleasure—women in lace and topless men. They danced through the crowds, teasing potential customers with feather boas and chocolate. Their skin glistened from oils that smelled like jasmine and vanilla. Lights crisscrossed overhead, giving the entire place a strange, red glow.

Turns out, this was where Apollo spent Thursday evenings.

“He’ll be at Erotas,” Sybil had said. “He owns a suite there on the third floor.”

The Goddess of Spring reached up to check the mask Sybil had let her borrow, paranoid that somehow it would come loose and expose her identity. It was heavy and solid black. She only needed to wear it until she made it to Erotas, once inside, every visitor was promised anonymity.

She recognized she had a choice, but it was one she wasn’t willing to make. Her mother had been right. Why not ask Apollo to heal her friend? It was a bargain she was willing to make, and so she headed in the direction of Erotas.

She could see it from a distance—a giant, mirrored phallus at the very edge of the Pleasure District. Being one of the most expensive and higher-end brothels, it had the best view of the ocean. When she was within view of the door, she shed her coat and mask. Beneath, she wore a simple black dress and strappy black heels—it was the attire worn by the women who served within Erotas, and if Persephone were lucky, she’d blend in enough to find Apollo.

She was surprised to find that the interior of the brothel was more traditionally decorated. The entryway was round and lit by a large crystal chandelier. The walls were red, decorated with ornate mirrors and sconces, and there was no one in site as she crossed the marble floor toward an elaborate princess staircase that led to the second floor.

Easy enough, Persephone thought, as her hand touched the wrought-iron rail.

“Where are you going?”

She froze and turned to find an older woman dressed in crimson. She was beautiful, slender, and had white hair. She assumed this woman was the Madam—or manager—of the brothel.

“I have a client,” Persephone said. “Waiting. Upstairs.”

“You’re lying,” the woman said.

Persephone paled.

“None of the girls have gone up yet,” the woman continued. “Come!”

Persephone hesitated, but descended the stairs. The woman studied Persephone as she approached, trying to place her.

“What’s your name?” she asked, eyes narrow.

“K-kora,” Persephone managed.

“You are new,” the woman said, and then she touched Persephone’s face, as if inspecting her for imperfections. “Yes, you will fetch a high price.”

“A high price?” Persephone’s brows pinched together.

“I’m assuming that’s why you were leaving. Nervous for the auction?”

Auction?

Persephone nodded.

“Do not worry, my sweet. Come.”

The Madam placed her arm through Persephone’s and led her into a parlor beneath the staircase.

Inside, there were women and men of all ages and sizes dressed in black. Persephone wondered why it was the chosen color, as they all looked like they were at a funeral.

As the Madam and Persephone entered, a man wearing a red cloth around his waist and a mask of the same color approached with a silver tray. The Madam took a glass of champagne and passed it to Persephone.

“Drink,” she said. “It will calm your nerves.”

Persephone sipped the drink—it was sweet and light.

“Mingle, chat. The bidding will begin soon.”

The Madam left and once Persephone was alone, she was approached by a woman with dark curls and long lashes. Her lips were a bright red, and her skin a rich shade of brown.

“I’ve never seen you before,” she said. “I’m Ismena.”

“Kora,” Persephone said. “Um...can you tell me what’s going on?”

Ismena laughed a little, almost like she thought Persephone was joking. “Did they just pull you off the street because you were pretty?”

Persephone’s eyes widened.

“Does that happen?”

“Never mind,” Ismena said. “It’s an auction. You’re given a number and let into a room sort of like an auditorium where you wait until your number is called. After that, you’re led onto a stage and you just...stand there until they tell you to leave.”

“And after that?”

“You’re led to the room of your bidder.”

Persephone’s stomach soured.

“How’d you get into this line of work anyway?” Ismena asked. “You don’t look prepared at all.”

Persephone sort of laughed, and offered the only thing she could, “Sometimes there aren’t any choices. What