Dead Beautiful (8 page)

Cyane yawned a little. “Being outside all day always makes me tired,” she said.

“We should get going, then,” I said.

The girls gathered their stuff, checked their dresses and hair. We started off. I heard another low rumble, this one had an edge to it, a threatening tone.

“I think I forgot something,” I told them.

“We’ll wait,” Cyane said.

“No, no — you go on. I’ll catch up with you.”

“Come on, come on,” the girls giggled, pulling on Cyane’s arm.

She looked at me, unsure. I nodded to her. Go.

As they moved off I walked over to the mouth of the cave and set down the jonquil. Then I turned and walked away.

Demeter

Not that I had much spare time, but in the occasional free moment I had I’d daydream about Persephone getting a department of her own now that she was serving her probationary period before being elevated to Level-1 status. Or maybe instead of Zeus having to create a whole new department, I could diversify and she could take on some of my duties. She has a real talent with flowers. She could handle them and I could handle edibles. There would be some cross-over — apples, pears, almonds — so we’d still be able to work together. I decided I’d talk to Zeus about this idea.

I thought about Persephone and Darryl, what handsome children they would have, the two of them so tall, clean-limbed and fair. I imagined a flock of plump, blond babies that I could cradle in my arms and sing lullabies to, the same lullabies I sang to Persephone when she was a baby. I saw my grandchildren growing into toddlers, motoring around on their sturdy legs, their eyes bright with happy expectation.

It’s what the mothers of daughters dream of; that someday their daughters will experience the joy in their children that we took in them, noting every phase, recording every benchmark, certain no other child has ever been so beautiful, so smart, so wonderful.

Forgetting, of course, that no daughter wants her mother’s life.

Hades

One more message. Clear and unambiguous. A declaration.

Persephone

It was morning in the springtime of the world. The air was fresh, new-washed with dew. It smelled of lilacs, roses, mock orange, freesias. The breeze was a warm caress. It whispered in my ear, “You are young, all is possible. Come away, come away.”

Usually I ignore the wind: all form and no content, full of empty promises. Today, however, was different.

I was tired. Tired of working in the greenhouse, tired of the same old routine. I was tired of listening to Darryl discuss mortared vs. mortar-free walls. I wanted to walk out of my life into a new one.

“Come on,” I called to Cyane.

“Sure.” She was all excitement and play. She’d been kind of cool towards me recently. I knew she liked Darryl. I could tell by how her glance lingered on him, how she listened more closely at the mention of his name. I guessed she was jealous, but what could I do? I needed him around to divert mum and Hera’s attention. Really, for all I cared, Cyane could hook up with Darryl. They seemed well-matched, neither one of them what I’d call “big picture” types. But not yet. I needed him just a while longer.

Still, it was nice to see her perked up.

“Let’s go for a walk, check out some of the experiments.”

We tucked away the trays of seedlings I’d been working on, checked the temp and humidity settings to make sure all would be well, and closed the greenhouse. Then we headed into the fields. The sun was out — it was always out in those days — small wisps of cloud sailed past high up in the gentian-blue sky.

Something was stirring. Beneath my feet I could feel the very ground purring. In the air I could smell a musky undertone beneath the floral scents that surrounded us.

We went to the bulb/rhizome/tuber/root stock field, where I had planted out the new strains I’d been working on. I had a separate field for annuals, one for perennials, and another one for what the humans called weeds, but which are some of my favourite plants, so resilient and robust.

The air had an unearthly clarity; each pistil, stamen, sinuous stem, swelling bud, unfurling leaf etched in detail. Chionodoxa petals looked like velvet; I brushed my fingertips over them, they were softer than a dream. Peonies, their heads explosions of pink and mauve, tumbled on the ground, lying as if satiated.

And then, in the middle of the tulips, I saw it — a plant my hand had never touched. White, with the barest blush of creamy pale gold, it glowed like seduction, like a promise of good fortune. The head was so heavy it swayed on the stem, a stem so slender and elegant it looked as though it would snap under the load it bore.

The flower’s scent flowed out to me: the crisp bite of citrus, cinnamon, and something else, a darker, slightly bitter tone that perfectly undercut the almost too-sweetness of the other notes.

I knew what it meant. I moved towards it, Cyane’s voice a dissonant cawing in the background.

I slipped my hand around the stem; one quick jerk should free the bloom. I knew that in taking it, I was making a decision, I was making a choice.

The earth groaned, cracked open. He stood beside me, a tall dark shape carved in the day’s brightness.

I turned to him. His power flowed to me. Yes, I thought, holding out both my hands to him. He took them; I pulled him to me. His cloak surrounded us, erasing the sunlit world. I was swallowed by darkness.

3. Winter

Cyane

Everyone is blaming me but I had no idea. Demeter showed up recently and went — excuse my Latin — apeshit on me, but like I said to her, I did not know what was going on.

I didn’t tell her what happened — Pers has run off with Hades (at least I think that’s what went on) — because do I need that wrath of Demeter to fall on my head? I don’t think so. She’d probably turn me into a weed or something.

Those guys upstairs know what’s going on. Zeus sees all, knows all. He can give her the news, he can take the flak. I didn’t tell Demeter that. She’d wig out on me. I just played dumb.

All I ever did was drop off that bulb thing. The next thing I know Pers is pulling up a white flower and the ground, the ground just splits open and there he is — Hades, erupting beside her like a pillar of black lava. I could feel the heat coming off him. I was so scared I just about turned into a water freshet.

Anyway, here’s the thing: when Hades took her, well, he didn’t take her. I don’t think. It didn’t look that way. Demeter’s going on about how Pers has been abducted and stuff, but it wasn’t like that.

When he was materializing it was as if Pers was expecting him. She wasn’t scared; she didn’t run away. She stood there. I’d swear she grew taller, more majestic — kind of frightening in her own way. Their eyes met, she smiled, held out her hands to him and he went to her.

Zeus

Women.

First time in months I get to bed at a reasonable hour, Hera’s in a good mood. We’re thinking maybe a little horizontal mambo, right? And suddenly someone is out in the main hall storming around (and I mean storming: thunder, lightning, the works) and any thought of hokey pokey flies right out the window.

Hera was not too happy. Neither was I. If I’d had a thunderbolt handy …

So I climb out of bed, grab the first chlamys I can lay my hands on, and stomp down to the throne room. There’s Demeter, pacing back and forth all in a froth.

“What,” I ask, “seems to be the problem?”

“Don’t you know?” she snaps. “You’re supposed to know everything.” In that
you’re so big and all-powerful and omniscient
voice she gets every once in a while. That’s one of the things that really got up my nose during our time together.

“I was preoccupied,” I tell her, thinking of Hera waiting for me in bed. “Can we make this quick?”

“It’s Persephone.” Dememter’s out of breath. Her hair is a mess. And frankly, it looks like she’s wearing a garbage bag. What did I ever see in her?               “She’s gone,” she says.

“That’s what this is all about?” I am really, really pissed off. “I can’t remember the last time I got to bed at a decent hour, and this is what you’re waking me up for? Give it a rest. She’s an adolescent, practically an adult. She’s probably out having a piss-up with that water nymph and some Nereids. She’s growing up; she’ll be doing more of this. Get used to it.”

“Which just shows how well you know your daughter.” Demeter rounds on me, her finger stabbing in my direction. “Because she
is
your daughter, a fact you seem happy to ignore.”

“I know she’s my daughter just —” I’m thinking of Hera. I have to deal with this, but why should she have her sleep disrupted? Maybe if I can cut this short there will still be time to slip back in beside her, nuzzle her neck the way she likes  — “keep your voice down.”

“Keep my voice down?” Demeter repeats. “Keep my voice down?” Louder this time. “Your daughter —” bearing down on me. “— your daughter is missing and all you can come up with is ‘Keep your voice down’?”

“Would anyone like some mead?” a cool voice asks. “I know I could use some.” Hera stands in the door.

For a moment there is, I think it’s fair to say, stunned silence.

“Hi, honey,” I say. I smile at her but she doesn’t smile back. Great. That’s tonight shot.

But she’s not looking at me. She’s staring at Demeter. Wonderful, just what I need now — a catfight between the two of them.

“Hon —” I start.

“Demeter?” she says, holding up a carafe of mead.

Demeter looks nonplussed, as if she suspects Hera’s up to something.

“Hon — ” I try again.

“I am not talking to you,” Hera says to me without taking her eyes off Demeter’s face. I think acid best describes her tone of voice. “Here,” she says. She pours some mead into a flute, crosses the hall and hands it to Demeter. Then she settles on the marble bench that surrounds the hall. “Come, sit,” she says to Demeter, patting the space beside her. “Let’s collect our thoughts.”

Demeter throws me a puzzled glance. I shrug. I have no idea what’s going on.

“Demeter and I — ” I start, but Hera shuts me down.

“You have made enough of a mess already,” she bites out, shaking her finger at me. Why am I suddenly the target of all these fingers? “This is your daughter we’re talking about and the best you can do is ‘Lower your voice’?” I’m beginning to think I’m hearing echoes in here. “I can tell you, if it was one of my children, there’d be Hades to pay. So,” she turns to Demeter. “Talk to me. When was the last time you saw Persephone?”

I don’t know who is more surprised, me or Demeter. After a second’s hesitation, Demeter sinks down beside Hera.

“Let’s see.” She says thoughtfully, “We had breakfast yesterday.”

“So, seven-thirty, eight o’clock?”

Demeter nods, takes a sip of her mead.

“Seventeen hours ago. How did she seem?”

Demeter frowns. “She seemed fine. She’s been working on a new strain of pimpernels.”

Hera leans over and pats Demeter’s arm. “Isn’t that sweet? She is such a lovely young woman. Really.” She nods at Demeter’s doubtful glance. “It’s so nice to see young people with purpose. I really wish some of ours — Hermes, for example — oh, but —” she catches herself, “this is about Persephone. Now,” she looks at Demeter with a serious expression,  “don’t take this wrong, o.k.?”

Demeter shakes her head, staring at my wife in bewilderment.

“How have things been between the two of you? Because —” she rushes along, “Zeus knows, I appreciate things aren’t always smooth between parents and children. Dionysus is a sweet boy, but when I think of the trouble he’s given us —” she shakes her head, “well, long story short, I know things aren’t always perfect in the family unit.”

“Recently,” Demeter begins, “I thought things were fine. I mean, there was a bit of friction a while ago, but who doesn’t have that once in a while with their kids? But I thought that had sorted itself out, and she’s been seeing this very nice young demi-God, Darryl.”

“Darryl?” I exclaim. It sort of bursts out. This is the first I’ve heard of this. Nice to be kept in the loop. “And when were you going to fill me in on this?” I ask Demeter.

The two of them give me a look that kills the words in my mouth.

Hera nods approvingly. “I know him. He’s a fine young man. Solid. Good family. So,” she continues, “you don’t think Persephone is upset about something and is just sulking somewhere?”

Demeter shakes her head. “No, as I say, things seemed fine.”

“So you think …?”

“I don’t know what to think.” Demeter dissolves into tears, collapsing against Hera. “I just don’t know. She’s my daughter. We’ve never been apart for even one night.” Above her head, Hera rolls her eyes at this. “We’ve discussed it, and she would tell me if she was going to Cyane’s for a sleep-over. She’s never done anything like this before. All I can think of is that she’s been kidnapped.”