by Molly Ringle
She arrived at the vineyards one spring day when he was sixteen. Adonis was at work among the vines, crouching to examine each root for signs of pests, when he heard horses’ footsteps on the rocky path. He stood up and beheld the most beautiful woman the world could possibly have produced. She slipped down from her horse, white and lavender garments fluttering. Flowers and jewels glinted in her sleek black hair and on her arms and hands. Other people surrounded her, a group of men and women, probably her servants and guards, but Adonis barely glanced at any of them. She captivated him.
“Well, well,” she said in greeting. “If the wine is as delicious as the workers in the vineyard, then it shall match its reputation indeed.”
Adonis blushed, smiled, and invited her to the house to meet his father and to taste all the wine she liked.
His father scented wealth at the first glimpse of the woman and her entourage, and donned his most complimentary behavior. Adonis assisted him, fetching and pouring all the jugs of wine they requested, and listened to their conversation. Soon he found out exactly who she was.
No wonder she had captivated him. She was an immortal. In fact, she was the immortal every man dreamed of and told tales about: Aphrodite, goddess of love. And worth every starry-eyed poem composed for her. She owned a small island not far off the coast nearest Adonis’ house, and though he had heard roughly where it was, his family owned no boat, being confined to the hills and valleys of the vineyards. And Adonis’ father would never have let him take time off to seek passage to such a place regardless.
But she saved him. By catching his enamored stares, and answering them with smiles and winks, she worked him into a state of tortured joy from across the room without even touching him. She bought several barrels of wine at the end of the afternoon, and Adonis, along with her own servants, lashed them onto the donkeys and carts she had brought. Aphrodite climbed onto her horse, then paused and asked his father, as if in a passing thought, “Would your son be available to come work at my palace? I like to choose only the most fetching attendants, as you can see, and I’m quite taken with his looks.”
While his father opened his mouth in astonishment—for surely he had never seen anything in Adonis except his faults—Aphrodite added, “If it works out for us all, I’ll happily pay the wages of another worker to replace him here on the days when he’s with me. Two workers, even. I suspect he’s worth that.” She favored Adonis with another wink.
Shortly thereafter, Adonis’ life was catapulted into near perfection. His father suddenly viewed him as a valuable asset to be sold and lauded, much like the wine. He sent Adonis to spend half of every month with Aphrodite, and spoke it far and wide that his son was the consort of the most beautiful goddess in the world, and his family and his wine were therefore blessed. He charged higher prices than ever for his wines, and people paid it.
That mattered nothing compared to how Aphrodite made Adonis feel. She caressed him and told him in quiet outrage that in civilized lands like Kypros and Crete, no one was allowed to beat their spouses or children. It was not the will of the gods. And she excited him to blissful frenzies he didn’t know a man could survive. He hadn’t done more than roll around drunkenly with a few girls at festivals before, and Aphrodite showed him how much he’d been missing, how truly there was an art to sexuality. He was completely in love, and felt loved, even though he understood she would always retain other lovers too. It was a strict rule of hers. The goddess of love couldn’t confine herself to one person and lose the opportunity to educate and please so many others.
It meant he could never marry her. But he didn’t care—at least, not at first. He already got to do anything with her he wished, and appear on her arm at festivals and feasts, and enjoy her gifts of fine clothes and jewels and foods. Why would anyone wish for more?
But he did wish for more as their dalliance stretched out to two years and beyond. He wanted to be everything she was—and everything the immortal men were, whom she still indulged in private visits that made Adonis fume with jealousy. There was no way to make him immortal, as far as anyone knew, but maybe marrying her would at least lift his spirits and his status.
However, she always refused—gently. And his parents, after those few pleasant years of letting him have his way, started losing their patience and urging him to marry. By the time Adonis was eighteen, his father was drunk and unreasonable most of the time, and his mother a wretched mess. They’d got it into their heads that Adonis marrying would fix their lives. Which it wouldn’t, but they nagged and shouted at him about it anyway. If Aphrodite wouldn’t have him, they said, then he must choose some other girl. How about that friend of his, Persephone? She was the daughter of an immortal—almost as prestigious. He should marry her. Aphrodite suggested it too, lightly, and promised she’d still be available to Adonis after that. Persephone would understand. Adonis hardly knew what to say to such a bewildering proposal.
Persephone’s mother Demeter apparently wanted him in that marriage too. She visited the vineyards sometimes on days when Adonis was there, claiming she wanted to know all about how to care for the vines, and insisting that Adonis be the one to show her. She listened attentively and praised him for his knowledge. Though it made sense for the agriculture-inclined goddess to take interest in a successful vineyard, her visits also felt like the grooming of a potential son-in-law. But he saw no way to disillusion her of her notions. Even Persephone seemed resigned to the notion of marrying him, though clearly it saddened her, for she, like Adonis, loved an immortal instead.
When Persephone and Hades eloped at the spring equinox festival, Adonis’ heart lifted to the skies. Not only did he delight in his friend finding her happiness, but now perhaps Aphrodite would see immortals could marry mortals, though she had already seen such evidence in Poseidon’s family.
But no. Aphrodite applauded Hades and Persephone for following their hearts, but could not bend her own rule.
“Not even loving you as much as I do,” she said, nestled against him in bed, smiling with sweet regret in the moonlight spilling through her window.
He loved her and he wanted to kill himself. All at once. Such was life as Aphrodite’s plaything.
Then came the fabulous announcement. Persephone and Hades had found a way to confer immortality. Persephone herself had undergone the metamorphosis. And Aphrodite was going to put his name forward as a candidate.
“But only under the condition, darling, that you do not insist on marriage or exclusivity,” she said. “Not even then. It isn’t who I am.”
“Of course, that’s fine.” Rapture made his future glow like the sun. He’d be immortal and with her forever, and could set up his mother on a comfortable private island of her own and leave his father to drink himself to death and never have to deal with him again…
But the other immortals voted him down. They, too, it would appear, viewed him as Aphrodite’s plaything, not a man worthy of living forever.
The emotions of that evening dragged Tabitha in for a closer look, slowing the scene to the pace of actual life.
Adonis sat upon the beach outside her house and stared in shock at the cruel ocean. Beside him, Aphrodite stroked his arm in silence.
He clenched down his emotions, picturing, as he always did at such times, a thick bronze armor wrapped around his heart. He wouldn’t let Aphrodite see him weep, just as he never let his father see him weep when his father struck Adonis or his mother—at least, he hadn’t let his parents see such emotion since he was a little boy. And he had to look strong if he was to be a man worthy of the incomparably desirable goddess of love, who already honored him more than he deserved.
Sharing her he could have stomached if he got to be immortal. If he were immortal, she would look at him as an equal, the way she looked at Hermes and Ares and Zeus and Hades and all the others. Not like a beloved young pet, the way she seemed to view him now.
It was sweet, yes, how she caressed him, and how she said, “My darling, I’m so sorr
y. Is there anything I can do?”
But he only shook his head. He wasn’t to be her equal after all. And he couldn’t even indulge in the consolation of weeping upon her shoulder, because then he’d despise himself and have not even the last shreds of dignity in which to clothe his suffering.
Tabitha hauled her mind back from the scene, fleeing from the storm of pain. She opened her eyes and rolled onto her side. She focused on the shelves of alphabetized boxes in which her roommate kept her sheet music organized. The mundane detail helped a little, but that agonized fire that was Adonis’ soul still burned inside her.
In all the lives she had remembered till now, she had always rushed her memory past any sign of trauma, glossing over it until she got to a safe point from which to look back upon it. She had lived through enough humiliation and rejection herself. She didn’t need or want to pry into anyone else’s. And it did feel like prying, even though it was her own soul.
But her friends wanted her to see this, and now she had to admit: having tasted the glory of the Greek deities as they had actually lived, she was hooked. Even with the pain that came along with it.
She sat up and pulled her long hair over her shoulder, winding it into one thick rope as she stared at the window. She ached to learn more. She could pretend it was to find out where and how Adonis became Dionysos. But a more pressing and tantalizing possibility had flared to life in her head.
Aphrodite’s soul was out there somewhere, alive again and immortal. Niko had said so. She was a gorgeous Swedish woman; that much had stuck in Tabitha’s mind. And now that she could recall Aphrodite, Tab’s immortal frame could sense her: far away, likely in Sweden or equally distant. But distances didn’t matter much.
Tabitha could jump on her spirit horse and go see her. Now, today. Her feet were on the floor and she was reaching for her coat before uncertainty stopped her. Why hadn’t this Swedish woman come to meet her already? She easily could have.
The likeliest answer was that she didn’t want to, or wasn’t comfortable doing so. She must know that Adonis was born a woman this life, and probably she herself was straight. That could be reason enough. Still, a friendly visit…why hadn’t she come?
Tabitha slumped back on her bed. Knowing what happened in the rest of Adonis’ life would be her best guide in answering those questions. But she sensed darkness ahead for him, flashes of bad things and worse things and truly horrible things, and she recoiled from the thought of lying here longer and remembering them.
Besides, it was past noon and all she’d had today was coffee. Time for lunch. Also, she thought as she pulled on her coat, time to call back the TV studio in New York and tell them that yes indeed, she would like to come on and chat.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Hey, honey, said the email from Sophie’s dad. We assume you’re coming back up for Thanksgiving? Let us know if you need us to come get you. Handy if you can get a ride with someone else though.
The Oregon police called me yesterday. They had questions about you and Melissa, to figure out where all these attacks on you are coming from and how much Melissa had to do with it. Obviously I don’t have a clue. But if you do, this is really the time to be speaking up. I trust you and so do they. But this is a damn confusing case. They said as much.
Let us know your plans. Love you.
Sophie read the email on her phone as she stood in the corridor outside the chemistry lecture hall. Her mind still staggered from the midterm she’d just taken. How could it only be midterms of her first quarter of college? Hadn’t she lived, oh, three thousand years or so since she arrived in this town?
“How’d it go?”
The voice in the silent hallway startled her. She turned. Adrian sat on the polished wood steps leading to the second floor of the building, rain glistening on his black wool coat.
She let out her breath in relief. “Stalker.”
He rose and descended the steps to her, glancing toward the lecture hall she’d come out of. “I sort of miss exams. Exciting. If stressful.”
“Yeah. I think I did okay. But there’s this.” She handed over her phone, the email still on its screen.
He read it. “Ah.”
“The police keep asking me, too. How long before they figure out I’m hiding stuff? Stuff I can’t tell them without sounding crazy? Will they ever just call it a weird, inexplicable case and give up?”
“They might. There are more unexplained cold cases in the files than law enforcement likes to admit. I’m still hoping they’ll catch Quentin, though, and I’ll be curious to hear how she explains herself.”
“But isn’t Thanatos doing everything they can to hide her? And to hide any evidence that she did anything wrong?”
“Of course. But obviously someone detonated a grenade on campus, and however mistaken Melissa might’ve been in feeding Thanatos information, I think the police can tell she isn’t really the one behind it. So they need to decide whether Wilkes went insane and was acting alone, or what exactly.”
Sophie rubbed the back of her neck, which had tensed up during the exam and was only tightening further at this conversation. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep playing innocent. Sometimes I…I don’t know.”
“That’s natural. I doubt whether I’m on the right path every day. I suspect everyone does.” He sent her a reassuring glance, then returned to reading the email on her phone.
Yes, but he was immortal. Sometimes she doubted her strength to stick with this Greek-god involvement, was what she didn’t dare say. She loved Adrian and stood in awe of the spirit realm and its powers and charms. She had enjoyed meeting Zoe, and Adrian’s dad later that day—a soft-spoken man with gray streaks in his receding black hair, and a smile and stature like Adrian’s.
At least Adrian got to tell his parents the truth about what he was up to. Sophie still had to hide it. And lately her knees felt ready to crumple from the pressure of keeping it all secret and endangering her family. A mere mortal girl couldn’t be expected to take this all on.
“It’s this other part I’m concerned about.” Adrian scrolled up on her phone. “Thanksgiving. Another American holiday I don’t quite grasp.” He looked anxiously at her. “Do you go home for it?”
She took back her phone. “Yes. That one, everyone goes home for. Halloween not so much. Can you bring me home Wednesday night or Thursday morning, maybe?”
“Sure. Whichever.”
“I should stay most of the weekend. I have a paper to write and studying to do, on top of helping Mom with the cooking.” She took in his sad but affectionate gaze. “Where will you go?”
Adrian shrugged. “Errands for souls. The usual, I suppose.”
Sophie pictured him zooming around the world, quietly resolving murder cases without a penny in payment or a word of official thanks for it, improving humanity’s lot in the limited but unusual ways he could. Her love and admiration for him stirred again. But the wall separating her from the mighty immortals also looked higher at the thought. If she did become immortal and stay with Adrian forever, then she’d be on one side of that wall and her family would be on the other. And that notion, of course, also cast her down.
With her energy drained from the exam and these dilemmas, not to mention her recent scary dreams about the plague, she didn’t even try to give him a brave smile. Instead she gazed at her phone and nodded. “Another weekend at home’ll do me good.”
The plague had been killing its first victims in mainland Greece for only a few days when Aphrodite and Adonis came down to the Underworld. At the time, Persephone was speaking to the recently departed souls about the disease, while twelve-year-old Hekate grouchily ate a cup of yogurt and garlic at her side. Hades had gone out in search of healers on his home island of Crete, which was one of the most advanced civilizations around at the time and therefore should have the best ideas on how to contain a plague.
A murmur of news rippled through the souls, and soon two or three began telling Persephone at once,
“The goddess of love is here to see you. Aphrodite. Adonis too.”
Persephone thanked them and brought Hekate up to the top of the nearest hill, where they looked out toward the dark river. The solid white of Aphrodite’s and Adonis’ tunics stood out as they walked the path in the fields. Aphrodite waved to them. Persephone waved back, and descended to meet them.
“Who’s with Aphrodite?” Hekate asked.
“Adonis. He’s…her friend.”
“One of her lovers?” Hekate sounded bored, and licked yogurt off her wooden spoon.
“Well. Yes.” Hekate was getting old enough now to grasp such things, Persephone decided. However, she didn’t imagine Hekate would wish to get married at an early age any more than Persephone had wished it. Nor would she have many opportunities to meet prospective husbands unless she spent more time above ground, which wasn’t safe with a plague raging about.
They met Aphrodite and Adonis on the path. Persephone hugged each of them.
Aphrodite, of course, looked as ravishing as ever. So did Adonis. Persephone had seen him several times over the years, and his good looks had yet to fade. He was Persephone’s age, and therefore in his early thirties by now, an age by which many men were losing their hair and gaining wrinkles and paunches, especially men with access to as much wine as Adonis possessed. But he was blessed with strong bones, a handsome face, still-thick hair that was all gold and brown, and a trim body. Likely he didn’t imbibe as much as people thought. And he still wasn’t married. He held out against his parents there, though surely they nagged him to choose a young bride every chance they got.
Persephone stole a glance at Hekate, who was meeting him for the first time. She looked surprised and interested, studying him while standing perfectly still, the cup of yogurt cradled in her hands.