Dead Beautiful (3 page)

“How many?”

“None. Light bulbs haven’t been invented yet.”

O.k., so that’s not the best example, but it beats listening to Apollo come up with yet another paean to himself.

“Don’t encourage him,” Mum would say after one of my little chats with Hades. Because of the Hera thing she wanted us to keep a low profile. “Make nice with your father, and as soon as we can do it politely we’ll leave.”

Dad was always glad to see me but because of Hera (she’s got a short fuse — I’ve seen it in action, turning people into spiders, that sort of thing — oh, sure, she tried to pass it off on Athena, but I was there) mum figures the less attention he pays me the better, and definitely no special treatment. That would really cause problems. So while all the other cousins had departments to run, he hadn’t assigned me anything and mum hadn’t asked him to. Which means I helped her. She gave me projects — develop new flowers, tweak some of the existing plants (nectarines were my idea).

So mum really didn’t like the idea of Hades singling me out for attention.

Which I understand, but who am I supposed to talk to — ten minutes with Hermes would turn anyone into a Bacchante.

And am I going to spend the rest of my existence living with my mum?

Zeus

This whole father/uncle thing has gotten out of hand. Yes, Hades and I are related, but not that closely.

The problem is the records are sketchy, and then there are all those similar names: Crios, Cronus, Themis, Thia. People’s handwriting is awful; it just takes a slip of the stylus to transform Thia to Rhea.

That said, Cronus was my father and Chronus was Hades’, which makes us something like second cousins. We’ve been trying to get the records fixed since I took over from the Old Man, but you know how slowly the wheels of bureaucracy turn.

I’ll admit there’s a certain family resemblance: blue eyes, curly hair, and he will wear his beard the same way I do. But it’s not difficult to tell us apart: he’s a bit weedier than I am, a couple of centuries older, and you wouldn’t call him an extrovert. I’ve got nothing against serious-mindedness — some of us, and I’m not naming names but I hope Pan is listening, could use a bit more of it — but we can all agree that sometimes you can have too much of a good thing.

Anyway, I just wanted to put that rumour to rest. I mean, we can’t have those folks on earth thinking anything goes. You just have to check out my family tree — Cyclops, or the fifty-headed Sons of Earth — to understand bad stuff can happen if you get too close for comfort.

Hades

This whole uncle/father issue. I know Zeus says we’re second cousins or some such, but who can tell with that guy? I mean, it never occurred to me, but how can you know? He’s a notorious philanderer — there’s the whole Leda episode, right?

I can’t say I understand his wandering eye. Hera’s a nice woman, a bit short-tempered, but who wouldn’t be with a husband like that? The minute her eyes are off him he’s cavorting with any nymph who takes his fancy, or one of his own sisters, for Gods’ sake.

A relationship has to be built on mutual trust and respect, and in Zeus’ case, where’s the trust? Hera, I know, is upstanding. No hanky-panky on her part. For one thing, she’s too busy. She keeps him stocked in thunderbolts — I heard they changed suppliers recently, some environmental concerns, and things have been a bit bumpy in that department. She handles all the feasts, and when you consider that’s upwards of 150 guests, well, that’s a challenge for anyone, even the most organized. And who do you think is responsible for keeping Olympus neat and tidy? I mean, those guys can be real pigs. Not that Hera does the cleaning herself, no, she delegates it, but the place is spotless, which means she’s on top of it all the time. So it can’t be easy. And then to have to wonder what your other half is up to — it’s enough to make anyone out of sorts.

Zeus

Oh, we’re back to that again, are we? Can’t trust him when he’s out of sight. Cavorts with any nymph that takes his fancy.

Let’s get this straight: I am a busy God. On the one hand, do you seriously think I’ve been involved with half the women who claim to have been with me? It’s impossible. If I were out boffing that many nymphs, maenads, mortal women, whatever, nothing would get done.

Hasn’t it ever occurred to anyone that some of these individuals might simply be making up these stories to inflate their own reputations? I mean, it looks pretty good if you’ve bedded a God, doesn’t it? And not just any God, but the top dog God. And if you convince yourself your kid is the son or daughter of a God you feel entitled to claim lots of extras for them. “What do you mean, he didn’t make the soccer team? He’s the son of Zeus. Maybe you should reconsider. You don’t want to bring down the wrath of Zeus on the soccer team, do you?” As if I have time to keep my eye on every little soccer team — although Becks did well, didn’t he? Chip off the old block, that boy. Good looking, too. Even though you’d think it was his wife who was related to us, the way she struts around.

Plus consider the costs of having that many offspring. The annual dental bills alone would be equivalent to the GDP for several small African countries. And as I’ve said before, this job comes with no benefits.

On the other hand, this is a high-pressure position, sorting out everyone’s demands — the folks’ on earth, the other Gods’. I mean, it’s no cakewalk. I’ve got Helios and Apollo jockeying for the position of top God of light. Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos — they’re a handful. Stubborn doesn’t begin to cover it. Eris is always creating snafus — how difficult is it to guess her favorite vacation spots are the Baltics and Israel? And Nemesis — don’t get me started. I suggested she try that mega-vitamin anti-PMS therapy and she just about bit off my head. Plus there are always the up-and-comers nipping at my heels. I know how I got the job.

So who’s going to criticize me for taking a little well-deserved R&R? Listen, Hera and I have discussed this. She knows the pressure I’m under. Every once in a while we sneak away for a weekend. But she’s busy, I’m busy. I have to go on business trips. Our rule is: what happens on the road, stays on the road. She’s fine with that. And when one of these rumors pops up we sit down and talk. Usually I can demonstrate there’s no way I could possibly have been involved.

As for the Leda episode, can you seriously see me dressing up as a swan? I don’t know what that Leda was smoking or what she’s into to come up with a story like that. A bull, sure, or a stallion — but a swan? How well is that going to play with the other guys? I can just imagine Poiseidon. “Ho, ho, ho, dressing up as a swan, are we? Wink, wink, nudge, nudge.” He’d never drop it. I’d be getting feather boas for my birthday from here until Gotterdammerung.

Demeter

I shouldn’t have let her go to that private school. That was where she fell in with the water nymphs and naiads and all those lesser deities.

It’s the water nymphs that are problematic. They’re moral relativists. Most of us, we know right from wrong, but not them, with them it’s always a question of context or motivation or background. They’re slippery. A lot of lawyers from that stratum of the hierarchy.

Not the sort of individual you want influencing an impressionable young mind. First, teach them right from wrong, then, teach them to think for themselves. Not the other way around.

Persephone wanted to go, she argued for it. I said, “Hon, I can keep homeschooling you. It’s going well. Why wreck a good thing?”

But she wanted to be around people her own age, which is understandable. I suggested Olympus S.S. but she’s not really that close to her cousins and, as she pointed out, they’ve all been together since kindergarten. It would be difficult to be the new one in class.

She was quite persuasive. It wasn’t just simply, “All the other girls are going,” because she knew I’d say, “And if all the other girls were going to jump off Mount Olympus, would you?” We’ve been down that road before.

No, she said she wanted to meet other individuals who would be working in the same area, pick up technical information, which was a compelling argument. In my day you could learn on the job, but these days there’s all this new technology to master, a lot of knowledge is quite specialized. When she presented it that way I had to agree.

Hades

And what’s with all this “my white armed daughter”? Her arms weren’t that white. She spent a good deal of time traipsing around outside and those diaphanous gowns don’t give much SPF protection. Persephone could be looking at melanomas down the line.

And this “torn from my arms” nonsense? She came to me, and willingly. Kidnapping is not my style. And it’s not as if this was our first meeting. This situation didn’t arise out of the blue.

Let’s back up a little.

I probably saw Persephone for the first time when she was no more than an infant. I don’t remember. But we’re a tight bunch up on Olympus, we get together pretty regularly. Not that I’m there as much as the rest of them.

To be honest, it can get a little claustrophobic up there. The air is pretty thin, they all spend way too much time together and they’ve all got egos the size of Mount Olympus. Things get blown out of proportion; personalities clash. Everyone’s competing for market share, sacrifices.

Every time I leave I’m glad to be out of there. I get back to my place, it’s quieter, I’ve got my routine. Olympus can be a total circus at times; centaurs trotting in and out over the marble floors all day long, Dionysiacs singing and dancing and dismembering some poor soul. I have no idea how Zeus can think sometimes.

Anyway, Persephone didn’t really register initially. As a rule, I am not interested in little girls; they’re silly and giggle and have as much substance as Aeolus.

She first caught my attention about three years ago — Saturnalia, was it? (Renaming that particular holiday has been an improvement. Just try saying Cronusalia — it sounds like a demented flower, or a foot problem, or some activity involving necrophiliacs.)

Aphrodite and I, well, that was old news by then, long over. I realized after the fact that Aphrodite’s modus operandi was to love and leave. More accurately, to love. She simply isn’t good with follow-up. You might say she has Attention Deficit Disorder in that area; once the first flush of passion has abated, she’s no longer interested. That’s her job description; it’s her nature. You can’t really blame her. I understand that now, but pain is still pain, and understanding its cause doesn’t mitigate the suffering it creates.

I had been staying away from Olympus more than usual. I didn’t need reminders.

So it was a fluke, really, that I was there. Zephyr knew a nymph who new a Nereid who was selling a customized chariot that sounded interesting. I went to check it out and Olympus was on the way home. I figured I’d pop in, stay for 20 minutes or so, get caught up on the most recent news, and blow. What did I know?

I walked into the main dining hall, which was thronging with Gods, demi-Gods and the usual lesser deities, and there she sat, glancing around the room, restless. She was as fresh as a newly-opened rose, as radiant as truth, her skin tenderly luminous as morning dew. And it was as if her scent floated across the room to me: clear as sunlight, with spicy undertones like coriander or cumin. Her eyes rested lightly on me, she looked away, then glanced back, her gaze locking on mine. And when our eyes met — hers as glowing and infinitely deep as dark blue lobelia blooms — I felt a shock as the world was made new.

2. Fall

Persephone

I felt it. A charge, a zap of energy. Somehow it was as if I could for an instant see myself through his eyes. I saw him seeing me; I saw the initial flash of surprise, and then desire spreading through him the way the shadows of evening spread like a bruise through the sky, cloaking everything in darkness and secrecy. I saw recognition, as if he knew me, knew all about me, and still wanted me. I saw myself as desirable, as desired, and wanted to see more.

Ares belched. “Great spread, Ma,” he said, digging around in his mouth with a toothpick. Hera’s gratified glance rested happily at that end of the table, away from my mother and me. I lowered my eyes.

Surely Hera had felt the current that passed between Hades and me? Surely everyone had? I fiddled with my gown, waiting for the moment when mum would gather her robes and shawl around herself, and stand, saying, “Come Persephone. We must be going.” As she always did when Hera went Arctic. I waited, but conversation streamed along undisturbed.

I glanced up. Mum was chatting with Eos about Daylight Saving Time; the Muses were rehearsing a number with Apollo accompanying on the lyre; Selene and Artemis were discussing a new line of running shoes; and Hera was patting Ares’ hand.

Maybe I had imagined it.

My eyes moved to Hades. Over Hestia’s head, his eyes met mine. For a heartbeat they bored into me, then he turned to say something to Dionysus.

I hadn’t imagined it.

The world had cracked open and no one had noticed.

Cyane

I didn’t know what was going on. She asked me to drop off a message, only I didn’t know it was a message.