She had so many questions, but she tried to shake them away, to keep her mind on the task at hand. “How do I get into Hecate’s palace?”
“With lots of help.” He gave her a dazzling smile. “The kind that only we can provide.”
“And what do you want in return?”
“A very simple task. As a mortal, you can pass through the layers of the Underworld with ease. We need you to go to the Elysian Fields, snag some ambrosia, and bring it back. Nothing too hard.”
“Ambrosia.”
“Simple, easy peasy, darling.”
“It’s Cressida, thank you so much for asking. What do you need ambrosia for?”
He blinked and seemed a little appalled. She bet he prided himself on being suave, and forgetting to ask a lady’s name was anything but. Maybe all the other women he hung around responded to darling, and it had never been an issue before. He recovered quickly and put his oily expression back on. “It’s a delicacy, one we can’t get here unless someone on the Elysian side brings over a batch, but lately, the charity has dried up.”
“Wait a second, why aren’t you in the Elysian Fields? What are you doing out here with the regular spirits in the Meadows of Asphodel? I thought that was reserved for people who didn’t do anything with their lives.”
“The words are, ‘didn’t live up to their full potential,’ and what do you know about it?”
It seemed a sore spot, and she knew she shouldn’t pry, but she couldn’t help herself. When would she ever get this opportunity again? “I mean, you weren’t a normal man.”
“Thank you.”
“You weren’t exactly a hero.”
He glared.
“Well,” she said quickly, “not the sword and sandals type, but you were beloved by the gods.”
“Yes.”
“Especially the goddesses.”
“The gods, too. Bisexuality isn’t something to be ashamed of.”
She sputtered. “I know! So, why are you here?”
His head turned slightly to the side, mouth twisted downward. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to ask. Maybe one’s status in the Underworld was a touchy subject. When he didn’t answer, she said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
He shrugged but didn’t offer anything more.
“The people in the Elysian Fields won’t try to stop me from taking ambrosia?”
“Why should they?” But he turned his head again as if trying to keep from saying something or looking her in the eye, and she knew nothing was going to be as simple as he thought.
And she didn’t trust him, but what choice did she have except to listen. She didn’t see a gate in the fence, didn’t know how to get inside. She had to start trusting someone, even as she kept a close eye on him.
*
Medusa stayed well back as Adonis and the mortal paused near Hecate’s palace. Hecate chose to live near the middle of the Meadows of Asphodel, a point of pride for those who couldn’t leave. Some said the goddess wanted to live among them because they were more down-to-earth than heroes prancing around talking about themselves all day. Hecate was rumored to think that the Elysian Fields were mostly full of Zeus’s children and therefore insufferable by nature and always going on about their father.
When Adonis and the mortal lingered, Medusa wondered if he was taking her on a sightseeing tour of the Underworld. Medusa had expected him to lead the mortal straight to Narcissus, but by the set of her shoulders, she wasn’t going to be led quietly. They were bargaining, and the only question was, for what?
The mortal spoke her name at last, Cressida, and Medusa sighed. It was a lovely name for a lovely girl, and Medusa wondered again if she should leap between them and try to hustle Cressida away, but Adonis was too aware to fall easily to her power, unlike the common harpy, and he and Narcissus had a whole gang. They might even have someone watching them at that moment, or watching Medusa watch them. She cursed the fact that she didn’t have cronies of her own, but any she managed to collect always ended up pissing her off. None of them could help Stheno and Euryale anyway, so what was the point? Besides, there were rumors that Persephone still did favors for Adonis from time to time, seeing as how she was one of the reasons he died, and all the cronies in the world couldn’t help fight the queen of the Underworld.
The way they were staring at Hecate’s palace seemed to indicate they were going to pull another goddess into whatever scheme they were cooking up. Medusa curled her hand into a fist. That was just her luck. If Adonis was on some errand for Hecate, and Medusa interfered, she could quickly find herself floating with the shades. Cressida leaned into the fence, eager, it seemed, to get closer to Hecate’s palace. Perhaps that was why she or the other mortal had come to the Underworld in the first place.
Rats. Once she went in there, she’d be out of reach. Medusa tied her robe even tighter, ready to sprint and grab Cressida, haul her off somewhere and explain later, but she and Adonis turned away from the palace, and Medusa’s heart went back to a normal tempo. She followed them, trying to hear, but they chatted so softly, Cressida casting longing looks at the palace as they walked.
Interesting. If Cressida was a worshiper of Hecate, rumored as a source of feminine power, she might be more willing to help Medusa than she would Adonis, especially after Medusa pleaded for her help. Well, pleaded and lied. Medusa only needed her to commit one little murder, but she knew that people could be touchy about that sort of thing.
A plan was beginning to take shape in her mind. She reached out for a thread of shade fog and pulled it to her. “Stheno, Euryale, make contact with Medea. Time to put some events in motion.”
*
Adonis led Cressida to one of the giant elevators, a behemoth that looked as if it could carry freight for the world’s largest IKEA. Buttons ran like barnacles down its insides, across the walls and ceiling, numbers and letters and symbols more batshit than anything made by Willy Wonka. As they waited on a platform, she noticed that the elevators that crisscrossed the city went aboveground and below, moving in every direction.
After they boarded, Adonis blocked her in the corner and stood in front of her, shielding her from view. The deeper they got into crowds, the more odd looks she got, including some covetous glances she could have done without. The car zigged and zagged and shook, stopping over and over to let people in and out until Adonis finally moved out of the way, and Cressida saw the car was empty.
“What happened to everyone?”
“They weren’t going where we are.”
He gave her another of those winks that probably would have melted the heart of anyone who was into him, but after she rolled her eyes again, he shrugged.
“Habit,” he said.
“I get it.”
When the doors opened, the landscape looked like the set of an apocalypse movie. The streets were abandoned except for a few suspicious piles of clothing that might have protested upon prodding. The buildings were devoid of neon or any signage. Most had boarded up windows, and weeds grew in patches through the sidewalk.
“If this place is designed by the minds of those who live there, how does it go to shit like this?” she asked.
“This is what the residents think it should look like close to the border. Hopeless for those without hope. Stay close.”
It looked like a desperate place, so Cressida supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised to see a line of people stretched across a chain link fence, staring into a bright white light. They shuffled and moaned like zombies, sometimes banging on the fence, sometimes hanging from it and crying out.
“What are they?” Cressida asked.
“The desperate. Sometimes it’s just the shades who collect here. Other times it’s the relatives or lovers of those who live in the Fields. Maybe some of them think they should be in there. Some are just drawn to the light, and their very desire gives them a bit of form.”
As they drew closer, she watched one shade drift out of the sky, gaining a faint solidity even
as the fence turned him back. He clung on, his form a hazy blob without a face, only a flesh-colored smear with darker holes where his mouth and eyes should have been.
“Poor things.” It made her want to tear up, but she told herself to stop being so soppy. “I guess there’s nothing to be done for them.”
“No.” He looked up and down the fence. “Though you will have to get past them.”
She eyed the hungry ghosts again, the zombies, the more solid ones rattling the fence. “They’ll try to stop me?”
He mumbled something, and she realized he had no idea. Either it had been too long since a living person had attempted this, or no one ever had. “You do have a plan, yes?”
He led her close to a boarded up warehouse, and they kept to the side as they crept toward the fence. If she squinted, the fence blinked in and out of focus as if washed out by the light coming from the other side, though the zombies couldn’t move through it.
“Is there a similar line of people on the other side?” Cressida asked.
“Begging to be let in here? You must be joking. Anyone in the Fields can come over anytime they like, though they rarely do.”
“But what if their family is here? Their friends?”
His mouth set in a firm line. “They probably forget. Wouldn’t be paradise if they were forever mooning over those they’d lost, would it?”
She frowned hard and was about to argue, but he rested a hand on her back.
“Get ready to run,” he said.
“What are you going to do?”
“They’re attracted to the blood of those more aware than they are. Wait until they’re looking at me, then run past. The fence won’t stop you.”
“Wait! What do I do when I get over there?” She whispered it as loudly as she dared, but he was already running for the middle of the street. He slipped a knife from his belt and slashed his arm. Blood welled around the cut, and he dangled his fingers over the street, letting the blood drip down.
The pack gathered around the fence turned as one and shuffled toward him. Cressida looked from Adonis to the fence. He locked eyes with her and mouthed, “Go,” but what were the zombies going to do to him? Wouldn’t he need her help fighting them off?
If he was going to fight. He backed away from their shuddering advance, and she realized he couldn’t run unless she did. With one final look, she sprinted for the fence, ready to jump and climb it.
Several of the zombies looked her way, a few taking steps toward her, their smears of eyes widening as if sensing she was alive. Maybe she was as alluring as Adonis’s blood, maybe even more so, if the way they picked up their feet was any indication. She twisted away from their grasping hands and kept running. She sprang for the fence, bracing for the impact and telling herself she had to grab on and climb even if pain rattled through her.
She soared straight through the fence, breaking it apart into twinkling bits of light. With a yelp, she put her hands up to cover her face as green grass rushed toward her.
The air oomphed from her lungs as she landed, and shockwaves traveled up her arms. Her backpack smacked against her, something metal in it digging into her ribs. She eased up, favoring her arms but remembering the zombie hoard that was probably coming for her now that she’d destroyed the fence.
She glanced over her shoulder. The fence was gone, but so was the horde, the streets. A canyon wall rose up behind her, a clear stream flowing in front of it. A bridge of ivory spanned the stream and led to a gate in the wall, one that sparkled like gold. Birds chirped from nearby trees, and the bright green grass had a silky feel, like the finest golf course. She pushed up, wondered what the hell she was supposed to do now, and wandered toward the trees.
*
At the fence to the Elysian Fields, Medusa guessed what Adonis was up to. He wanted ambrosia, and with a mortal on his side, he’d found a way to go around the regular channels, undercut the gangs in the Fields, maybe even corner the market depending on how much Cressida could bring back.
It was a good plan if dealing in ambrosia didn’t turn her stomach. She raced to catch up, but she’d had to take another elevator, Stheno and Euryale leading her as they watched through the shade network. And they weren’t the only ones watching, Medusa was certain.
Her conversation with Medea had been short, Medea cackling with glee as Medusa outlined her plan. She was always a good one for a cackle, no matter the circumstances. She was one of the greatest villains in Greek myth, after all, though the murder of her children had been a trick she’d played on her cheating husband. A sorceress could make someone see whatever she wanted him to see, including the bloodless bodies of his offspring. And he’d suffered for the rest of his days while she’d run away with their sons.
Even now, long after she’d died, Medea enjoyed the odd trick of making someone see what she wanted them to see. She’d get a nice illusion ready, and all Medusa had to do was lead Cressida into the middle of it.
But when Adonis cut himself in front of the pack of hungry dead, and Cressida leapt into the Elysian Fields, Medusa almost cried out. She’d meant to act before Cressida had a chance to enter the Fields, but as usual, she was a step behind. Now, what if Cressida got herself into more trouble than she could handle? Medusa couldn’t rescue her. No one could. Maybe they’d get lucky, and she’d find some unassuming hero who would help her if she got into a jam.
Like Perseus.
Medusa snarled and hoped Cressida wouldn’t run into him, not yet. It was vital that he have no idea who Cressida was; when Medusa was ready to spring the trap, she needed him completely off guard.
Though she’d never been to paradise, she knew the rules. Everyone who dwelled in the Fields was given the choice to be resurrected twice, keeping in mind only vague understandings of the lives they’d lived before. And if they accomplished enough heroic deeds in all three lives that the gods judged them worthy of the Fields, they would move on to the Isles of the Blessed, as close to godhood as they could come, and unreachable by anyone in the Underworld or the mortal world. Perseus would live on for eternity, untouchable and shrouded in the most exquisite bliss while Medusa’s sisters faded into shades, with her one day to follow.
She gritted her teeth, and her power washed over her. One of the shuffling dead met her gaze and hardened into stone.
“Shit.”
Adonis was still leading the dead on a chase, but if he saw this statue, he’d know she’d come. She crept from her hiding place, wrapped her arms around the statue, and pulled. It lurched forward with a horrid grinding sound. “Shh,” she whispered, looking to Adonis again, but he didn’t seem to notice. He’d never been one for realizing what was going on around him. She tugged harder, grunting with the effort and trying to tell herself she was strong enough, willing herself to believe it so it might have the possibility of being true.
The statue wobbled, toppling, and she leapt out of the way, grunting as she hit the pavement. Several pieces broke off as the statue fell, and after she tugged the hem of her robe loose from one of its elbows, she scattered a bit of refuse over it, making it into just one more broken bit of landscape.
*
In the grassy meadow, the breeze smelled like fresh laundry with a hint of cookies.
“This is more like it,” Cressida said.
Gentle laughter and the strains of music came from a group of trees nearby. She looked around for ambrosia the plant, but somehow, she didn’t think Adonis had been talking about ragweed. She took a few steps toward the voices. Where better to find ambrosia than at a picnic of divine people hanging out in the afterlife?
She crept forward, alert for any threat that might leap at her from the woods, but she didn’t see anything, didn’t even know if she could sense anything. She was tempted to stroll, to whistle a happy tune, and knew it was because of the air around her, the scenery itself like a heaping helping of mood enhancers. She had to fight to keep on high alert, leaving her half on the edge of caution and half in bliss. It felt
like an itch between her shoulder blades that wouldn’t be alleviated by any twitching or scratching or squirming under the backpack.
A group of people lounged in a clearing ahead, dappled in sparkling sunlight and dressed in the draped dresses and chitons she’d been expecting from the first time she’d set foot in the Underworld. If these people could control their culture as the others could, they were ignoring any new fashion in favor of their past.
And everyone was spectacular looking, unearthly beautiful; it was hard not to stare at the women, even those that weren’t completely human. Several ladies sported feathers or scales, and she tried not to dwell on who they might be; she didn’t want to gawk. She focused on the cups they passed back and forth, those filled with golden, glowing liquid. That was either nectar or ambrosia, depending on what ancient text you consulted. She didn’t see any food, just ewers full of the glowing stuff that never seemed to run out, passed back and forth as the drinkers laughed and spoke. She heard their words as if through a film, as if it was translated just as it got to her ears. Someone was telling a tale of an old battle, and while the others laughed, the occasional eye roll said most of them would rather be listening to anything else, but hey, at least there was ambrosia.
Cressida walked ahead slowly, wondering how close she could get before they noticed, but sure they would notice. A few glanced at her but didn’t seem to sense anything strange. As Cressida joined the circle, a young woman with flowers strewn through her hair moved aside, making room.
Cressida sat and tried not to stare at anyone, though she guessed the flower woman and quite a few of the others were nymphs. Someone passed her a cup, and the closest nymph filled it with glowing liquid from one of the long-necked ewers. She smiled but didn’t drink, knowing that would trap her here, though what a place to be trapped!
She mimed taking a drink and tried to put on a smile.
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