by Molly Ringle
“I’m sure he offered whatever she wanted most. Fame, probably. Or at least parties with famous people. Besides, he’s good at charming his way back into people’s good graces. Oh, it doesn’t matter. If we try to control them, they’ll only misbehave worse.” Adrian folded his arms and watched Kiri munch from her bowl of dog food.
Sophie reached through her memory, following those ripples that the name “Dionysos” caused. Still no definite recollections, only random images that could have come from mythology books: outdoor parties under the moon, wine poured in abundance for everyone, all the attendees in animalistic costumes and masks…but also a sober bearded man in the daylight, crouching beside grapevines to tend them, with Demeter helping him.
Sophie dismissed the thoughts, accustomed by now to her memories not telling her all she wanted to know. “I suppose it’ll make sense once I get to that part,” she said.
“To the degree it ever makes sense.” Adrian’s gaze wandered across the floor. “I told Zoe, you know. ‘If you did this for Tabitha, well, try to see beyond that. I realize I’m biased, having been your dad and for other reasons, but you’re fabulous on your own and you don’t need to impress any particular girl.’”
Sophie mulled that over. “Are you saying Hekate and Dionysos were…involved?”
Adrian swung his boot to tap a stray kibble back toward Kiri. “It’s complicated.”
Sophie considered Hekate, the child whose image was strengthening in her mind. She suspected it wouldn’t be long before the dreams brought her a long-ago pregnancy announcement. “So if we had a baby, then evidently I convinced you to do a certain thing at least once.”
Adrian unfolded his arms, and snaked one of them around her waist. His fingers slid up and down her hip. When he answered, his voice was markedly warmer. “Oh, it was rather more than once.”
Sophie’s body didn’t respond in the wildfire way it would have last week. But there was a glimmer, a pleasant notch upward in heat.
However, as she contemplated that, and gauged whether she’d be able to follow through, Adrian seemed to remember her recent diffidence, and immediately pulled his arm away. He walked to the fridge, opened it, and stared inward, his face a carefully constructed blank mask.
Chapter Twelve
A few days after Persephone and Hades broke the news of the immortality fruit to the others, they walked into the bedchamber in the evening to find a small bird darting around the stalactites. Birds didn’t usually fly down into the Underworld, but occasionally one, lost or adventurous, swooped into the entrance and wound up fluttering around frantically in some part of the cave.
Persephone laughed. “Poor silly thing.” She fashioned a net by wrapping a veil onto a long spear handle, and set about climbing the wall to catch the bird.
Using handholds of tiny ledges and lumps that took immense muscle strength and control to hang onto and wouldn’t have sufficed for any mortal rock-climber, Persephone ascended easily, one hand free to hold the net. She swung the net through the air. The bird darted to avoid it, soared straight to the cold fireplace, and flew up the chimney—perhaps the way it had entered in the first place, and a good method of escape now.
Persephone and Hades laughed. She threw the net to the floor and picked her way back down the wall. Hades’ hand closed around her bare foot to help her, and she turned and slid into his arms. Her legs straddled his waist; her tunic slid up around her hips. He moved his hands beneath it and stepped forward to press her against the rock wall.
Nearly every day since the spring equinox she had invited him to let her make use of those cloudhair seeds she kept around to avoid pregnancy. Every time he had refused, and redirected their desire to other tantalizing activities.
But it was increasingly clear Persephone was immortal. She had proved it by sensing him, by switching realms, and by feats of strength such as climbing this wall. As she kissed him now, her legs around him, she felt his resistance crumble, the evidence of her eternal youth finally conquering him.
Neither of them needed to speak a word of explanation. Persephone pulled his tunic out of the way. He shifted into position and pushed forward, and their bodies interlocked. A spark of pain gleamed inside her, and she caught her breath, then it lulled to a spreading warmth. He filled her; she surrounded him. They lingered a moment, breathing against one another’s lips. Then Hades lifted her by the backs of her legs and moved her to the bed, and tumbled down on top of her.
Finally, I can do everything, she thought in bliss, moving with him. Not just everything Aphrodite could do with men, but everything anyone could do, anywhere. The world was hers.
Her increasing excitement scattered her thoughts beyond words, and she let herself only enjoy him.
Afterward they lay side by side, garments still half on, their hearts slowing back to normal. Persephone sat up and crawled over Hades. She reached across to the flat-topped stump he had brought down as a table. On it sat the cloth bag of cloudhair seeds and dried mint leaves. She untied the drawstring, poured a small handful into her palm, and tossed them back into her mouth.
A glance at Hades found him watching her, smiling gently. “Thank goodness,” he said. “I wasn’t quite ready to face that risk yet.”
“Nor me.” She grimaced. “Ugh! Aphrodite wasn’t joking about the taste. Even with the mint. Bitter and oily. And the texture’s like thorns.” She swallowed, shuddered, and washed down the seeds with a swig of water from a jar.
“Sorry, love. If we ever find an herb that works for men, I’ll happily take it, no matter how it tastes.”
“I know you would. We’ll keep looking.” She settled into his arms, and wrapped his thigh between hers. “Worth it, though.”
“Mm.” His sigh was more of a groan. He nuzzled her throat. “I completely agree.”
Sophie opened her eyes to the darkness of the trailer. Heat cocooned her. Adrian breathed in sleep, his head turned away. She had no idea what time it was, and at the moment cared nothing about such details.
She slid her hand under his shirt, reveling in the taut skin and the wiry hairs leading down from his navel. His warmth and scent captivated her. His breath hitched, his consciousness creeping back as she moved her hand inside his flannel pajama pants. She stroked one lean hip and then the other, and finally dipped between them.
He slid his arms around her and released his breath in a gratified moan.
She climbed onto him, knees planted on either side of his waist. He peeled off her shirt. She did the same to his, then lay down so their bare chests met. Without cloudhair seeds of her own, she wouldn’t take it as far as Persephone and Hades had, but she could take pleasure in him, and give it back. At last.
She expected a question or a triumphant remark any moment, as they kissed and stroked one another. And she would have been happy, if shy, to relate the dream she’d awoken from. But he said nothing, smug nor otherwise; asked her for no explanation. He only breathed and groaned and touched and received. Goddess bless him.
OMG girl!! Zoe texted Tabitha when she got the video link. You are a rock star ALREADY! FFS, invite me next time. After shooting it off, Zoe wondered if she should have added a wink or something, to sound less needy. But then:
Ha, I wanted to come get you! Tab texted back. But even with the horse it takes what, 3 hrs ea way to NZ? And I didn’t think your folks would let you out so easy this time. Next time def!!
Sounds great, Zoe answered, and this time added the smiling emoticon. You’re careful abt not showing your powers too much, right?
Yeah & besides, I think I’ll mostly be making things happen for others. Awesomest parties, coolest connections, cos we have the money, you know? Anyway, N thinks the weirdos don’t even know for sure I’m connected w/ S. We’re in different states now and all.
Zoe worked it out: N for Niko, S for Sophie, weirdos for Thanatos; but was that a safe conclusion about Thanatos’ cluelessness?
Well, be careful. I’d hate to see my new favorite rock s
tar get assassinated.
Aww, Tab texted back. Can I count you as my new favorite groupie, then? ;)
Zoe grinned, demeaning though the words might be if taken a certain way. Absolutely, she answered.
Chapter Thirteen
During the month that passed before the gods were to present the names of their candidates for immortality, Hades and Persephone examined the little orange tree with doubt. Only three oranges looked ripe enough to eat, and even if all it took was one decent-sized bite, that would probably translate into no more than twenty doses per orange. Sixty total. Persephone had opted not to choose anyone this time around to propose as a candidate, and when she asked Hades if he had anyone in mind, he said he needed no one except her.
But if each of the other thirteen immortals chose four, and if they were all approved, that would make fifty-two new immortals.
“Just enough orange, if we’re lucky,” Persephone concluded.
“But so many immortals.” Hades gazed into the orchard, the shadows falling over his face.
But when the meeting came, again at night around the same fire pit, nowhere near fifty-two were proposed. Most of the immortals brought no names at all.
“No one for me,” Hermes said. “It’d only tie me down.”
“None for me this time either,” Demeter said.
“I imagine someday I’ll have a love I’ll wish to bring into our circle,” Apollo said. “But for now I don’t.”
Zeus, at his turn, seemed about to speak up at some length, but a stern glance from Hera shushed him, and he only said, “No one for us, either.” A particularly beloved mortal woman would have been his suggestion, Persephone supposed, or one of his many illegitimate children. Perhaps someday he’d brave Hera’s jealousy and bring forth some such person. But not today, thankfully.
The list ultimately came down to merely five candidates: Poseidon’s wife Amphitrite; his three daughters, all grown but still young; and Adonis.
Aphrodite, of course, proposed Adonis’ name. She spoke more timidly than Persephone had ever seen. She stood with her hands drawn close to her chest, in the pose of a child expecting to be chastened. Her long black hair, rather than tumbling loose as usual, was arranged in a tame braid draped over one shoulder.
“You’ve all met him at some point,” Aphrodite said. “But he’s a better man than most of you know. It isn’t merely that I love him. I don’t intend to marry him and he knows that. Marriage isn’t my fashion. But he’s patient and smart and well-mannered, and knows how to tend vineyards and make the best wine any of you have ever tasted. In fact, he’s taken over the management of the vineyards almost completely, since his parents have grown so careless—”
“And therefore he should live forever?” Ares said with disdain.
“Let her speak,” Athena said.
“I know he’s young,” Aphrodite said. “But he shows such insight and passion already—”
Ares snorted.
“Give him a chance, please,” Aphrodite concluded, turning her face toward the others and ignoring Ares. She withdrew and sat upon her log.
“Five, then.” Athena rose. “We adjourn to think these five names over, and meet here again three days from now after sunset to vote.”
The voting day came. The immortals assembled as before.
Athena opened two skin bags, and began walking around the circle, handing out the contents. “Five white stones and five black ones for each of us. The jars will be upon that boulder.” She glanced at Rhea, who held up one of five slender-necked amphorae standing at her feet. “We’ll take turns going to them individually, and casting our votes.”
She reached Persephone, who held out her cupped palms and received the ten stones, dropped in with meticulous measure. Athena moved to Hades and parceled out the stones into his hands.
Rhea, meanwhile, stood near the fire, and shook each amphora and tipped it upside down to show they were empty. Each candidate’s name was written in charcoal upon a jar, in the angular lettering that had lately become common among educated Greeks. Rhea carried the five jars to the waist-high boulder several paces outside the circle, in the dark of the night, and set them upon it.
“Rhea, as the most senior member, would you like to vote first?” Athena asked.
Rhea nodded, picked up her white and black stones, and took them to the jars. With her back to the others, she dropped a stone into each. They clinked and bounced against the hard clay. She threw the unused stones out onto the dark beach, then came back and sat, her face impassive. The others all followed suit in turn.
At Persephone’s turn, standing before the amphorae in the shadows, she dropped a white stone into each of the three jars marked with the names of Poseidon’s daughters. They were kind young women, friendly the few times she had met them, and she heard only good about them. They were still young, only one married so far. But Poseidon said they all longed to become immortal and take the glorious path that their father and aunts and uncles had been given. Even the married daughter, he said, was not deeply enamored of her husband, and looked upon immortality as a chance at a happier life. Persephone was glad to offer it to them.
She also selected a white stone to drop into the jar with Adonis’ name. He had never truly been a rival to Hades. Demeter had wished that match, not Adonis, nor Persephone, nor anyone else particularly. He loved only Aphrodite, and had never been more than a charming friend to Persephone. Aphrodite knew him best, and Persephone trusted her word. Besides, the male gods would likely vote against Adonis out of sheer jealousy, so he needed all the white stones he could muster.
Amphitrite’s jar she left for last. She plucked a white stone from her palm, then hesitated. Amphitrite was a good, bright, caring woman; everything Persephone had heard about her, or seen with her own eyes, indicated this. But Demeter had once loved Poseidon, and might still. Would making his wife immortal make Persephone’s mother miserable?
But then, Demeter had tried to keep Persephone and Hades apart, and the recollection chilled Persephone’s sympathy.
Besides, if they all had eternity to exist together, Poseidon could easily come back around to loving Demeter, and Amphitrite could find another man. Or Demeter could come to love someone else.
Persephone dropped the white stone into the jar and returned to her seat.
Hades voted, and all the rest.
Rhea and Athena brought the jars back to the fireside.
“Ten votes in favor are needed for approval,” Athena reminded everyone, as they leaned closer to watch the results. She lifted one of the amphorae. “Amphitrite.” She tipped out the contents into a wooden tray. “Twelve white, three black. Amphitrite joins us.”
Persephone smiled at Poseidon, as did nearly all the others. He drew in a deep breath and beamed, but gazed at the fire rather than meeting anyone’s eyes. It must be difficult to adjust to, she thought, realizing the wife you had accepted to be mortal was in fact staying beside you forever. Hades would know best how that felt. Indeed, his arm slipped around Persephone, and he hugged her. Meanwhile, Demeter gazed at the fire with a carefully neutral smile. Sorry, Mother, thought Persephone. You’ll have to live with it.
“Rhode,” said Athena, naming Amphitrite and Poseidon’s eldest daughter. She poured out the stones. “Thirteen white, two black.”
Nearly everyone smiled now, and Poseidon’s face grew more joyous. Keeping a child forever was surely easier to be glad about.
“Kymia.” Poseidon’s second daughter. Athena revealed the count. “Thirteen white, two black.” She cleared the stones away. “Benna,” she said—the third daughter. She poured out the jar. “Thirteen white, two black. All three daughters join us.”
The group drew a breath and murmured remarks, their tone delighted on the whole—especially Hermes, who raised his voice above the hum to ask, “Poseidon, once they’re immortal and fully able to fight me off, I’m allowed a go at it, right?”
Smiling, Poseidon threw a shell at him.
&n
bsp; Though the votes were meant to be secret, Persephone studied each face in the circle and tried to decipher who dropped in those black stones. Would Demeter have voted against Amphitrite, but not the daughters? Quite possible. Hera and Ares, she supposed, could always be counted upon for jealousy, and would disapprove nearly everyone. But she supposed the truth behind the votes could surprise her. Who knew another’s heart, really?
Athena picked up the last jar. “Adonis,” she announced.
The group went silent. Aphrodite clenched her hand around her braid.
The stones scattered into the tray. “Four white, eleven black.”
A collective sigh whispered through the watchers. Aphrodite closed her eyes and bowed her head.
Pity moved Persephone to speak. “Couldn’t she propose his name another year?”
“I don’t see why not.” Athena tipped the stones out onto the ground. “Circumstances may change, and with them our opinions.”
“I doubt they’d change much.” Hera’s voice was dry.
Aphrodite rose, her back straight, grace infusing her limbs again. “We’ll see. I grieve mainly to have to break the news to him. It will hurt him more than me.” She turned away and stepped over the log.
“But you have so many ways to console him,” Ares taunted.
She sent back a glare at him. “You needn’t seek me out for a while, Ares.” She stalked off into the darkness, her pale green cloak rippling behind her.
Ares scoffed and leered at his companions, as if to prove he didn’t care.
Persephone guessed otherwise, however, and Hermes must have too. His eyes glinted with wickedness, and he adopted a concerned tone. “My friend, it’s too bad you don’t practice thinking as often as you practice throwing a spear.”
Ares had no spear at hand—probably he knew better than to bring one, after the episode with Kerberos—but within a moment his arm flashed out and a knife flew at Hermes, its polished blade gleaming in the firelight. Persephone gasped, as did everyone around her.