Dead Beautiful (20 page)

“She is,” Hades insists. “She’s your child; you raised her, you taught her, and now you have to trust she is going to make good decisions.”

She glares at him. “When your child is the age Persephone is today, I am going to throw those words right back in your face,” she hisses. “I promise you.”

Persephone

They are all there — mum, dad, Hera and Hades — standing around my bed, when I wake up.

My gaze lingers on Hades. Seeing him is like coming home after a long absence; in him are my safety, comfort and pleasure. My eyes move hungrily over his face, so beautiful to me now: the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the shadows that shift in his eyes which I can read so clearly. Our eyes lock. I see my desire reflected there, and also hope.

I look over at mum, her face more familiar than any other. She smiles down at me.

Standing at the foot of the bed, Dad coughs. “Persephone,” he begins in his best
this is a very serious situation
voice.

“Yes, dad?”

“How are you feeling?”

“A little feverish but better.”

“That’s Hestia’s infusion at work,” he says. “Glad to know you’re on the mend. Now, Persephone,” he continues, but he seems to lose momentum. “That is, ah.” He casts around, seemingly at a loss. “Hades tells us that, um, you and he, ah —”

“I am his consort, yes.”

“And are you … that is to say …” Dad looks decidedly uncomfortable.

“Pregnant?” I say.

His face turns deep red. He blusters, “Well, yes, that is, exactly.”

“Want to feel the baby?” I reach for his hand but he flinches away as if my touch might burn him.

“No. Thank you. That’s fine.” He clears his throat. “That does clarify things somewhat, although not entirely.” He scratches his head.

“The question is,” says Hera coolly, picking up where dad left off. “Whether, given the situation, you want to live with Hades, or with your mother. You have to choose.”

“Either mum or Hades?” I ask.

“Exactly.” Hera nods.

I look at both of them, my heart swelling with sadness. How can I not choose Hades? But choosing him means not choosing mum, who loves me more than anything in creation, and whose love I need or life is flat and stale. But without Hades there is no life. I need both of them to be fully alive. “Both,” I say. “I choose both.”

“That’s not possible,” dad says.

“I choose both,” I repeat.

“But…but…but…” he splutters. “You can’t. You know that’s against regulations. It’s never been done. You’re one or the other, up above or down below. No in-betweens. No fence-sitting.”

“What about Hecate?” I ask.

“Well, she’s different,” Dad mutters. “Precedents were set … not under my jurisdiction, that sort of thing. But what you ask simply won’t work. We can’t have you traipsing back and forth. What will people think, that death is conditional? It will upset the very basis — no one will listen to us — rules will be flaunted —”

“I think we should try it,” Hera says.

Dad stops. “Try it?” he echoes, after a moment’s stunned silence. “Try it?”

Hera nods. “It’s worth considering. Simply because something hasn’t been done before isn’t a good reason not to try it.”

“But — but —”

“If Persephone goes to live with Hades,” mum breaks in, “don’t expect me to be out there making things grow.”

“You see what I mean?” dad demands. “It’ll be chaos all over again. Numbers dropping —”

“Have you looked at the numbers since Persephone returned?” Hera asks.

“What?” Dad says. “That is — no. They’re on my desk, but I’ve been too busy.”

“Because if you had,” Hera continues, “you would have seen that since Persephone’s return, and Demter’s return to work, the number of sacrifices has skyrocketed.”

Silence. “Skyrocketed?” Dad says eventually.

Hera smiles at him. “Humans never value what comes easily,” she says. “Give them a comfortable house and hearth, enough to eat, and they’re off climbing mountains, or fashioning wings out of wax and feathers. They need a reminder every once in a while of how tenuous life is, how much we do for them. I see potential here,” she continues. “Demeter can take a few months off, get some rest. Yes, the crops will do badly, but just imagine how grateful the people earth-side will be when she returns. I anticipate mass celebrations, holidays, increased sacrifices. And once they’ve been through the cycle a few times they’ll get accustomed to it, they’ll even look forward to it. Then they can turn their ingenuity to developing survival techniques for the difficult times. It will take their minds off war — for a while.” She folds her arms and looks around the room at the others.

Hades stands apart, tall and imperious. He is not listening to all this talk of numbers. His expression is grim; his eyes are on me. “No,” he says with finality.

“What?” says Hera.

“I will not lose my wife for months at a time.”

“Don’t be so selfish,” Hera scolds. “You would put all that we have at risk —”

He turns to face her, fixes his gaze on her. I see her fall backwards a step, grow pale. “Do not forget yourself, Hera,” he says menacingly.

A chilly silence descends on the room. Then mum steps over to Hades and rests her hand on his arm.

“We must come to an agreement, you know,” she says to him quietly. “Or I will lose my daughter and you will lose your wife.”

Cyane

So Pers gets to be Queen of the Dead — how cool is that!

She came to visit. It was really thoughtful of her and right away I remembered how much I like her.

“I meant to come sooner,” she said. “It’s just that mornings still aren’t great.” She did look a little green around the gills. “And there’s all this stuff from mum’s time away that needs to be straightened out.”

Then she told me about the schedule they had decided on; for six months she’ll live with her mom up here, the other six months she’ll live down there with Hades.

“I’ll be going away after the baby is born,” she said. “Hades agreed to let me stay up here until then — he knew it would have made mum crazy if she couldn’t be with me for the birth. He’s going to take some time off and be here, too.”

I wanted to ask her what it was like down there, and what being Queen of the Dead was like, but I couldn’t. She has changed; there’s something about her that stopped me. She seems more powerful now, more regal. Serious. And there’s also a sadness in her eyes that wasn’t there before.

Then she started talking about Darryl. “I hope the two of you will be very happy together,” she told me. “He’s a wonderful demi-God and I feel badly. I was a little unfair to him — not being completely open about what was going on. You and he seem very well suited. He has a good head on his shoulders, practical, and so do you.”

Then she stood up to leave. We said good-bye and hugged. I told her it was good to see her again, how much I’d missed her. She promised she’d send word the minute the baby arrived.

After she left I thought about what she’d said. Darryl is a nice fellow. Not in Hades’ league, but Hades is out of my league. But maybe Hades has a cousin or something ….

Zeus

Finally things have settled down around here. About time, too. I’ve sorted out the whole Demeter- Hades- Persephone situation to my satisfaction, and everyone else’s, too, no doubt. I quite like this winter-spring-summer-autumn schedule I’ve come up with. Lots of opportunities for celebrations and sacrifices, and new holidays always bring in new converts.

Time to track down Hera. It’s been a stressful few months. We could take a break, maybe a little trip.

I find her in the closet, selecting gowns, which are folded by invisible hands and lowered into traveling cases.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“Well,” she says, scrutinizing a shawl that floats in the air in front of her, “I did promise Hermes a trip to Crete when all this was over. And after that Athena, Aphrodite and I thought we’d drop in on Ganymede’s cousin, Paris. I know you have a lot of reading to catch up on.”

“You spend an awful lot of time with Hermes.”

She laughs. “I might almost think you’re jealous,” she says. “You’re not jealous of that silly boy, are you?”

“Of course not,” I say. What an idea. “Just don’t be too long.”

On the other hand, it occurs to me that while she’s away I might take a little trip myself. It’s good to stay in touch with the constituents. I find the young, pretty ones often have an interesting take on things. “I’ll miss you,” I tell her. “Remember to send postcards.”

Demeter

My daughter must leave me. This is the truth, and although it saddens me, I understand this is what must happen. Persephone can’t live the rest of her life with me any more than I could stay with my mother. She must go out into the world — or the Underworld, in her case — just as I had to leave my mother’s embrace.

For days I contemplate this. When she is gone the fields will hold no interest for me, the unfurling leaf, the bursting blossom will only remind me of what I have lost. What will I do? The long months of her absence will stretch before me like a wasteland. I must find something to occupy my time.

Then I remember Eleusis: Cleisidice, Demo and Celedice, their high spirits and shimmering laughter, the family’s kindness and hospitality. I recall — the memory rising in my mind like one of Hades’ shades — Celeus and Metaneira telling me about Doso, their daughter who died.

In that moment I decide that when Persephone departs for Hades I will return to Eluesis, to Celeus and Metaneira. I will reappear at their door as the old woman I was, this time bearing fruits, vegetable and flowers. I will tell them I have come into good fortune, and they will be happy and celebrate with me. While I stay with them their crops will flourish, their herds multiply. The girls will marry their sweethearts and bear fat, happy babies so that even in my grandchild’s absence I will be surrounded by little ones. Are my wishes purely selfish if they bring happiness to others as well?

From these people I will learn how to live in the face of loss.

Persephone

So I didn’t die. As with the pomegranate seeds, that was a metaphor.

Dad, Mum, Hera, Hades and I sorted things out. You know the drill; when I’m up here with mum it’s summer, the world is lush and green. When I’m downstairs with Hades, the earth is cold and barren. When I’m in Hades, mum and I stay in touch using bumblebees, the only creature that can travel easily between both realms. Plus, we’ve brought in some back-up help. Dad didn’t ever want to be short-staffed again the way he was when mum went AWOL that first time, so he got her to train some assistants. She handles the northern hemisphere; they handle the southern one. She’s on-call for problems. Maybe, in a few millennia, one of my children will go into the family business.

Once a year mum, Hades and the kids and I get together, on the day when the barrier between Hades and the upper world is weakest, when some of Hades’ subjects pop up to check up on loved ones or to harass not-so-loved ones.

And after all that, happily ever after, right? Well, pretty much. Mostly happily, as happily as any two strong-willed, independent-minded individuals can be. Ever? Ever is a long time, even for immortals. Let’s just say so far. As for after, up to this point we’re still in the middle of it. It’s still now, and I don’t know when now becomes after. Happily so far is all I can say with certainty and it’s good enough for me.

One more thing — those occasional unseasonably cool days that crop up now and then during the summer? Six months is a long time to be apart. Those chilly days are when I leave the kids with mum and sneak off for a little R&R with Hades, still my dark prince, still hot  — and still dead beautiful.

About the Author

Melanie Dugan lives with her family in Kingston, Ontario. She is the author of two previous novels,
Sometime Daughter
(Second Story Press), and
Revising Romance
(Sumach Press). Her website is www.melanie-dugan.com

Acknowledgments

Every book is a team effort. Several people helped me see this project through from beginning to end. Thank you Don, Dugan and Hayden, Hammond Dugan and Gisela Argyle for your behind-the-scenes support; to Steven Heighton and Jo Stanbridge for your enthusiasm. Thank you also to Lori Richards, who created the beautiful art for the cover, and helped make my vision for the book a reality. And thanks to Christina Decarie and DJ Berger of upstanding UpStart Press, for yeoman work.