Deadly Serious by Sian Webster (e reader txt) 📕

when my foot got caught and I tripped over. Pain shot through my ankle and I clutched it tightly. Noticing I was hurt, Patch dropped the snow ball and ran over to help me.
“You ok?” He asked, crouching down next to me.
I wasn’t paying attention; I had just noticed what I had tripped over.
“Patch…” I started to say.
“Yes?”
“Look at this.” The words came out of my mouth as a whisper, so I was surprised he could hear me.
“What is it?” He asked quietly.
He followed my gaze to the gravestone I was staring at intently. Even with my dyslexia, I could read what it said perfectly:
“Phoebe Barnes, 18 February 1997 – 31 March 2012, Gone too soon.
Ζήστε για πάντα και δεν έχουν ποτέ ειρήνη.”
2. A Greek Grave

I paced back and forth behind Patch. He was sitting at his computer, typing away furiously. We had basically ran all the way back to his house; we were too freaked out to stay in that graveyard. I stopped pacing and turned to face his back.
“What does it mean?” I asked exasperatedly.
Patch opened another tab on his internet browser, typing something in the search bar before looking back at the piece of paper next to the mouse. It was a rubbing of the message on the gravestone. He supposed it was some kind of code using pictures, but he couldn’t figure anything out.
“I don’t know,” He sighed. “But there has to be something. Some rational explanation in the least.”
“All the explanations I can think of are completely irrational, Patch.” I told him. “There was a gravestone saying I died two months ago.”
“I know what it said, Phoebe.” He snapped. “But maybe we could figure out what on earth’s going on if we just figure out this code.”
“How do you even know it’s a code?” I asked sceptically.
“A hunch?” He muttered, running his hands through his already messy hair.
“What if it’s like, hieroglyphics or something?” I asked.
He shook his head almost instantly. “I studied Ancient Egypt for three years in primary school. These couldn’t be further from hieroglyphics.”
“What if it’s in a different language?” I asked him instead.
“What language would that be?” He asked.
“Ancient Greek.” I said instantly then stopped. I hadn’t even thought of saying that. It had just come out of my mouth as if someone else had said it. I’d never seen Ancient Greek writing in my life.
“Is that on Google Translate?” He asked.
“You could give it a shot.”
He typed the address in at the top of the browser and roughly wrote out the message using symbols on Microsoft Word before copying and pasting it into Google Translate. He changed the variable to Ancient Greek – English and paused before clicking the translate button.
“How do you know its Ancient Greek anyway?” He asked me.
I shrugged. “A hunch?”
He rolled his eyes at me and pressed the mouse button. We both gasped when we read the translation.
Live forever and never have peace.
“W-what?” I stuttered.
“You were right about it being Ancient Greek.” He said, his voice shaking.
“But what does it mean?” I asked.
“Oh, you can’t read it can you?” He said, knowingly.
“Yeah I—” I stopped as I realised which language I read it in.
“What?” He asked, “what’s wrong?”
“It says ‘live forever and never have peace’.” I told him.
His eyes widened happily. “Your dyslexia’s getting better? That’s great!” He said enthusiastically.
I shook my head. “I didn’t read it in the English translation.”
“You what?” His eyes widened in shock this time.
“I read it in Ancient Greek,” I said uncertainly.
“That’s ridiculous.” He told me.
“I know. Believe me, I know. It sounds crazy.” I said. I looked down at the paper with the rubbing from the gravestone on it. I snatched it off the desk and held it close to my face.
“What is it?” Patch asked in perplexity.
“There’s something else. Underneath. It’s tiny but I can read it.” I explained.
“What does it say?” He asked.
“It says, ‘I am sorry, my daughter. You died in an accident before the Fates decided your time. Being the Queen of The Underworld you’d think I’d have more power over these things, but Hades is compulsive. I had to work against him with the Fates to bring you back. A soul for a soul, you see. But I fear if he finds out, Zeus knows how much trouble we’ll both be in. For the only thing Hades hates more than people who cheat death, it’s me being with another man. I hope you can forgive me in time, Persephone, goddess of springtime.’” I scrunched my eyebrows in confusion.
“Are you sure you can read Ancient Greek or are you just making this all up in your head?” Patch asked sceptically.
“No, that’s definitely what it says. Type it in Google Translate and see for yourself.” I snapped.
He did, and it turned out I was right.
“Give me that,” He said, motioning to the rubbing. I handed it to him and he stared at it intently.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Nothing,” He reassured me. “I was just checking we copied the message correctly.”
“We copied it correctly.” I insisted.
He turned back to the computer and opened up Wikipedia. He searched up Persephone.
“It says that Persephone has no demigod children,” He said.
“It says Persephone had no demigod children in Ancient times.” I pointed out.
Patch ignored my comment and continued scrolling through the information on my supposed mother.
“You have a sister and a brother, apparently,” Patch informed me.
“What happened to Persephone having no children?” I asked.
“She had no demigod children. These two are actually gods.” He explained.
“Go on then,” I pressed.
“Melinoe, the goddess of ghosts is your sister, theoretically.” He told me. “And… Dionysus is technically your brother, kind of.”
“What do you mean, kind of?” I asked sceptically.
“I mean he used to be Zagreus, son of Persephone and Zeus, who intended for Zagreus to be his heir, but Hera, Zeus’s wife persuaded the Titans to kill Zagreus. Zeus discovered their plan and turned the Titans to dust, but all they were able to recover of Zagreus was his heart. Zeus apparently implanted the still-beating heart into a mortal woman called Semele, and she later gave birth to Dionysus.”
“He’s the drunken wine god, right?” I asked.
“The god of Wine, Theatre and Ecstasy.” Patch said matter-of-factly.
“Great.” I muttered. “Even though he’s a god, I still have a crack-pot brother.” I rolled my eyes. “What about Melinoe?”
Patch clicked the link that took him to the page for my supposed goddess sister. “She’s the goddess of ghosts,” He told me. “Half her body’s black and the other’s white to signify the darkness and light in her. The people aren’t sure whether she’s the daughter of Persephone and Zeus or Persephone and Hades, but it would work both ways, I guess.”
“This explains so much.” I said, my eyes wide.
“What do you mean?” Patch narrowed his eyes.
“I feel so much better in the spring time.” I told him. “I couldn’t throw that snowball this morning but I could throw that scrunched up paper.”
“And that connects to this how?” He asked.
“Paper comes from trees.” I pointed out.
“Wait a minute.” He held up his hand in a signal for me to stop. “You’re saying you legitimately believe that you’re the daughter of Persephone? An Ancient Greek goddess that most likely doesn’t even exist?”
“Yes, Patch.” I told him. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

3. The Drunken Wine Dude

When I walked through the front door later that evening, I found Dad in the kitchen cooking dinner. It smelt excellent, but I didn’t really want to eat after discovering what Patch and I had just discovered.
“Hey Fifi, how was your day?” He asked, giving me one of his awkward, one-armed hugs.
“Getting picked on for my dyslexia, tripping over my own grave stone, finding out my mother is a goddess, you know, the usual.” I said simply.
“That’s nice, honey.” He replied. “Anything out of the ordinary?”
“Well, you know, smoking weed with Patch, skipping school and joining prostitution to get money for college, getting shot in the hip… Nope, just a normal day for me.”
He turned around and laughed. “Ok, well, unless that was a metaphor, you didn’t trip over your own grave stone because you don’t have one,—”
You really want to go there? I thought in my head sarcastically.
“—your mother died in child birth, honey, if she was a goddess she’d be immortal. Uh, you haven’t been smoking week with Patch because his mother would probably murder him and you don’t have blood-shot eyes or diluted pupils. You sure as hell better not be skipping school and joining prostitution, besides, I’m paying for your college so you won’t even need the money, and unless you mean you walked into a desk at school and felt like you got shot, you didn’t get shot in the hip because that kind of stuff just doesn’t happen in these parts.” He smiled.
I laughed a little before I spoke again. “Tell me about Mum.”
“She was beautiful, Phoebe. You look a lot like her. She was so… alluring. Like she was a magnet and I was a paper clip that got that little bit too close and couldn’t get away. When she smiled it was as if the world lit up. She loved the springtime. She revelled in it. It was almost as if she was more alive in the springtime than she was any other season. Seeing her like that… It was the greatest thing, you know? You wanted to somehow be as happy and as free as she was in that moment. She was so… free… all the time. She never had a care in the world.” He told me.
I smiled