by Aimee Carter
At last a few faces seemed to light up with understanding.
“She lives among the people. I don’t mean we have to abandon Olympus. We just need to join together with the mortal world and understand it. As long as there are mortals, there will always be love and music and travel, and in order to stay tied to those things as we are now, we must go down to earth and represent them. Everyone we meet will know who we are, even if they don’t know our names, and we’ll ingrain ourselves among them. Bottom line—we cannot hold ourselves above them anymore. We are not better than them, and we must remember that. We depend on them as they depend on us, and it’s time to start acting like it.”
“We have lost touch,” said Athena, glancing around at the others. “It couldn’t hurt to try.”
Nearly a minute passed as everyone seemed to absorb this. A few whispered amongst themselves, but it wasn’t until Zeus sank back down into his throne that everyone seemed to relax.
“We will try,” he said. “Abstract as that is. Do you have any solid suggestions for what we might do to implement these…ideas of yours?”
“Yes,” I said frankly. “We need to change our names. Right now. We need to cast aside our old identities, and we need to become the people we have to be in order to adapt and survive. The name’s just the start of it, but it’s as good a start as any.”
No one looked happy about it, not even Hephaestus, who hadn’t exactly won the name lottery. “What sort of names?” said Aphrodite, frowning.
“I don’t know. Names that will stick around for centuries, though I suspect we can change them again if we have to,” I said. “We’ll do whatever we have to do to survive.”
“Very well,” said Zeus. “Then why don’t you start us off? What is your new name, son?”
Son. It may have been a single word to him, but to me, it was a moment of acceptance—a moment when we moved beyond the struggles of the past eons and stepped into a new era where the slate was wiped clean.
It was exactly the kind of life Tuck wanted. And it was the life I would live when she couldn’t.
“James,” I said. “My name is James.”
* * *
Three years later, we all still existed.
Couldn’t lie and say it was easy—none of it was going to happen overnight, but to the council’s credit, they each tried. Only Hera kept a Greek name, refusing to budge from the roots she held so dear, though at least we were able to persuade her to change her name to the lesser-known Calliope. Even Zeus found a name powerful enough to satisfy his ego.
Slowly but surely, the council changed. Instead of deities lording over a world that didn’t know we existed, each of us began to spend time on the surface, interacting with mortals in a way few of us had in millennia. It wasn’t painless—more than a few attempts resulted in varying disasters, mostly revolving around Aphrodite and her new set of mortal conquests. Apparently the world had changed since she’d last waltzed into the middle of a village and announced herself. But soon enough, we all adapted. We all started down the road of becoming the people we needed to be in order to survive.
In those three years, I visited Mac, Sprout and Perry often, occasionally bringing Iris along with me. The three boys moved into the castle soon enough, and Mac slipped seamlessly into his role as the new earl. He was a kind, fair leader, exactly as I’d hoped, and as time passed, my concern for them lessened. They’d be all right. They already were.
But despite that, I could never escape the guilt that surrounded me over Tuck’s death. Even though the boys had long since mourned her, I’d never fully recovered, and that was why it took so long before I finally made the trip I’d been dreading.
I approached Hades’s throne with my head bowed—partially to show respect, but mostly to avoid looking at Persephone’s empty throne. He hadn’t chosen a name yet, the last of us to do so, but there was no hurry. If he chose to remain Hades, his existence was secure. Even after the last mortal died and the rest of us faded, he would live forever. But if he didn’t fill Persephone’s throne, it would be a very, very long forever. And I didn’t like the reminder of what I’d done to him.
“Hermes,” he said in a deadened voice, and he paused. “James. Is there a problem with the souls you’ve transported?”
“No,” I said.
“Then why are you here?”
It’d been an unspoken rule between us that I went out of my way to avoid seeing him while doing my duties in the Underworld. Despite a few awkward run-ins, most of the time we managed to keep our distance. “I have a request.”
Silence hung between us, and at last Hades sighed. “You want to see the girl.”
“I—” I clamped my mouth shut. Of course he knew. “Yes. I won’t stay long. I just want to make sure she’s doing all right, and I have something to give her—”
“No.” The word echoed through the throne room, even though he hadn’t spoken above a quiet murmur. “I cannot allow you to see her.”
I gaped at him. Was he serious? “Why not? You’ve allowed others to visit mortals in the Underworld before. Why can’t I see Tuck?”
But even as I said it, I knew. This was his revenge for what I’d done with Persephone. All these thousands of years of dancing around each other, pretending to be neutral—now that she was gone, now that he thought I’d played an integral role in stealing her from him, he was stealing Tuck from me. An eye for an eye.
“You can’t do this,” I said. “She hasn’t done anything wrong.”
“But you have.” He leaned forward, his silver eyes locked on me. “You are the one who wants to see her, not the other way around.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.” He straightened again. “I will not allow it, and if you try to sneak away to find her, I will have her moved around the Underworld as many times as I must to keep her from you. You will never see her again, not as long as I am King of the Underworld.”
He may as well have reached inside me and ripped out every piece of me that had ever mattered. I stood there, trembling, trying to think of a way around it, but I’d already apologized a thousand times over. I’d already done everything I could to make it up to him. His pride and his fury stopped him from moving beyond this, and now, because of that, we were both stuck.
My hands tightened into fists. I could hit him. I wanted to hit him more than I wanted to live, but I’d worked too hard to get back on even footing with the rest of the council. Any attack on Hades would only send me spiraling again.
I couldn’t do a damn thing, and he knew it.
“Then—could you give her something for me?” I said, slipping my shaking hand into my pocket. The moment my fingertips touched the pendant, however, Hades shook his head.
“No.”
Of course. Of bloody course. I raked my free hand through my hair, my vision growing red. “It isn’t my fault, what happened to Persephone,” I blurted. “She’s the one who made those decisions. I just pointed out the fact that she had a choice.”
“She did have a choice,” said Hades. “But so did you. I am not holding you accountable for Persephone’s actions. I am holding you accountable for your own.”
I turned away. He was right, even if his methods were despicable, even if he wasn’t being fair. I’d made my choices, and I’d suffered the consequences for them time and time again. This was just the final one.
“All right,” I said shakily as I turned back to face him. “Fine. I accept your ruling, und
er the condition that this is it. You can hate me as much as you want, but this is the last time you hold this over me. Period.”
He tilted his head almost curiously. For one of us to talk to the original six like this—it was crazy, especially when he already couldn’t stand me. But I didn’t care. Enough was enough.
“We’re even. I took Persephone from you, and you took Tuck from me. End of story.”
I brushed my thumb against the pendant as I spoke. I’d never see her again. Not easy to swallow, not by any means, but I refused to break down in front of Hades. I was stronger than this. Tuck had made me stronger than this, and to accept this with anything but bitter grace would be dishonoring her memory. And I wouldn’t do that.
“Very well,” said Hades after a long moment, touching the empty throne beside him. “We are even. Now go.”
I made my way past the pews, aware of the souls who’d witnessed every moment of our conversation. None of them mattered, though. The only soul I wanted to see was one I would never meet again. Hades had seen to that.
Halfway down the aisle, however, I stopped and faced him once more. An invisible fist squeezed my heart. “Is she happy?”
Even from a distance, I could feel Hades’s stare burning into me. “Does it matter, when you cannot do anything to change it?”
“Yes,” I said. It mattered.
He pursed his lips, and at last he sighed. “Yes, she is happy.”
That was all I needed to know. It would never change the past, it would never get me there in time to save her, but at least I could rest knowing she wasn’t in any pain. That was one small amount of comfort Hades could never take from me.
“Thank you,” I said, and without another word, I turned and walked away.
* * * * *
God of Darkness
Calliope’s Offer
As Lord of the Underworld, Hades was feared by the living and revered by the dead. A member of the eternal council of gods, he had unimaginable power at his fingertips, ready to do whatever he must to uphold his duties and laws. And as the ruler of the souls who died, he would live forever, guaranteed true immortality through his duties to them.
But he would have traded it all if it meant he could be mortal.
In his existence, Hades had seen more faces and heard more stories than the rest of the council combined. Eventually every mortal entered his kingdom, and while he only came face-to-face with a fraction of them, he felt each and every presence. He felt each and every moment of their lost lives.
And that was why he envied them their mortality. To have a set period of time to live—to know there would be an end instead of an endless sea of time… It would have been a wonderful thing. That way, even if he wound up alone, he would know it would end someday. Being a god granted him no such relief.
He sat in his throne after a long day of judgment, the silence heavy around him. The number of souls had seemed to grow exponentially over the past few centuries, or perhaps it had only seemed so as he no longer had Persephone. His wife, his friend, his partner—he had depended on her far more than he’d realized. Even knowing she would never love him the way he loved her, he held on to her memory, treasuring it as one would a lifetime of happiness.
He’d kept his promise to himself, however, and had never gone to see her. It was agonizing, knowing she was so close yet so in love with someone else, and he couldn’t allow himself that kind of pain. The wounds had only begun to heal, and while scars were inevitable, to rip them open again would only ensure they would never close.
Instead he allowed himself to dream about her during what little time he did sleep. He allowed himself to dream about a life they could have had if he had not been so wrong in his actions—if he had done what she wanted, said the right thing, never allowed Demeter to talk him into marriage in the first place. If he had asked Persephone herself what she had wanted all those eons ago, before they’d both done irreparable harm to each other. And during those brief hours, he was happy.
Leaning against his throne, he exhaled, his eyes falling shut. Five hundred years today. That was how long it had been since he’d let her go, and it still felt as agonizing as the day he’d watched her die. Forget scars. At that moment he was convinced it would never get better no matter how much time passed.
The doors of the throne room opened, and with a sigh, he stirred. The next batch of souls weren’t due until morning, and James knew better than to bother him. But even though he hadn’t anticipated anyone in particular, he certainly hadn’t expected the girl standing in the archway at the end of the aisle.
“Hera. Calliope,” he said, correcting himself as he stood. “It is good to see you.”
“And you as well, Hades.” As she approached him, she bowed her head, and he did the same. It had been millennia since the two of them had been alone—since before his marriage to Persephone, and the reminder stabbed at him. “I didn’t interrupt anything, did I?”
He shook his head and took her hands, squeezing them in greeting. “No, no. My day is done. I was about to retire.”
“Oh.” Her smile faded slightly. “I was hoping we might talk.”
“Of course.” He offered her his arm, and once she took it, he led her from the throne room. The hallways were lit with everlasting torches, giving the home an eerie feel, but he preferred it. He could’ve easily created a light that didn’t make the shadows dance, but that would’ve only made his loneliness worse.
Once they’d stepped inside a cozy sitting room he never had the chance to use anymore, he glanced around as she did, taking in the room. Funny how a routine could make the once-familiar strange. He summoned tea and poured them both cups, and as he sat beside her on the sofa, he saw her shift closer to him. Perhaps she simply missed him. Or perhaps she sensed how badly he needed some form of comfort.
“This place hasn’t changed much,” she said between sips of tea. “How are you holding up?”
“It has been a long time since anyone asked me that,” he said with a faint smile, though he found no joy in either her concern or his observation. “I have been better, I suppose.”
Calliope’s expression darkened. “Yes, you probably have.” She set her hand over his. “Is there anything I can do?”
He shook his head. “Powerful and enchanting as you are, I’m afraid there isn’t anything anyone can do.”
She blushed and lowered her head for a moment. Bashfulness didn’t look right on her. “You’re too kind.”
“Hardly. It is not my fault that Zeus—er, Walter does not appreciate what he has.”
Her lips twitched in annoyance, and perhaps something deeper. “No, he does not. Have you not chosen a new name?”
“I’m afraid I haven’t found the time. Or discovered much of a selection.”
She scoffed. “You see countless people pass through here. Surely one of them has a name you like.”
“Their names are their own. I could not possibly steal it, as Diana took Ella’s.”
Calliope grinned. “I think she did it solely to get a rise out of her, after those comments Ella made about her and Walter.”
“And you do not agree with Ella?” said Hades. “I would have thought…”
“I know what Walter does,” she said with a shrug. “There’s little point in fighting it now.”
After eons of hearing secondhand stories of Calliope’s jealousy—and occasionally witnessing it himself—that was certainly an unexpected surprise
, and Hades was quiet as he absorbed her change of heart. “Have you found someone, then?”
A strange look passed over her face, and she held her chin a fraction of an inch higher than usual. “And if I said I had?”
“I would be pleased,” he said, despite the bitterness that sawed away inside him. Even Calliope was finding love, yet he would remain eternally encased in loneliness until the end of time. And perhaps even then he would not be granted relief. “May I ask who this lucky man is?”
A pause. It wasn’t like Hera—Calliope to be anything but direct unless she wanted something. But what could she possibly want from him? Was her new lover mortal? Did she want Hades to spare him until she was done? “You may,” she said slowly, her hand shifting toward his. “If you believe you are prepared to hear the answer.”
“And why would I not—”
Her fingers brushed his, and he stopped. Calliope held his stare, her blue eyes earnest and scheming all at once, and she leaned in toward him. “You know why,” she said softly. “You’ve always known.”
Hades grew completely still, not even allowing his heart to beat. Perhaps then time wouldn’t pass, and he would never have to face the inevitable consequences of this moment.
Hera. Calliope. His sister loved him. Longed for him. Coveted his company. He could feel it now, those tendrils of emotions as old as the council’s reign snaking toward him. How had he missed it before? Was she really so skilled as to keep even her strongest feelings so closely guarded?
It didn’t matter how she had kept it a secret. What mattered was the way she watched him, waiting for his answer with hope in her eyes and a smile dancing on her lips. It’d been so long since he’d seen her like this—as though she finally saw something good in the world that she wanted.
And it terrified him.
Even if he could entertain the notion of being with her, even if he could move past his suffocating love for Persephone, his brother would never forgive him. Such a slight on Zeus—on Walter would seem like an act of war, and he would fight until the end of the world to win back his possession.