Chapter 2
Persephone
Persephone found Hades in the ballroom. He had changed into more appropriate clothing for the impending winter weather: a dark pair of jeans, a thick sweater, and a wool jacket. In the time she had gone to change, he had showered, his hair slicked back and tied.
The moment she entered the room, his gaze shifted to her and her entire body flushed.
She used to think this feeling would end, that her days of swooning over her partner were numbered.
That’s what the gods—in particular, her mother—had taught her to expect, and yet the intensity of their relationship had not ebbed, even as they transitioned into a more mundane life post-war.
If anything, she felt more in love than ever, but maybe that had something to do with the pregnancy.
She was certainly more emotional. Every time she thought of Hades as a father, butterflies erupted in her stomach.
There was something so intense about this entire experience, especially since Hades had always wanted children.
Hades smiled as she approached, his hands framing her belly.
“Darling,” he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “What are you thinking?”
She smiled. “I am thinking about how handsome you look.”
There was a tinge of doubt in the arch of his brow, but whatever he might have said next was forgotten at the sound of Hermes gagging.
Hades glared at the God of Mischief. “Are you declaring war early, puffball?”
“Puffball? Is that the best you got, snowman?” Hermes asked, bouncing on his feet, as though he were preparing for a fight. “Get it?”
“No one gets anything you say, Hermes,” said Apollo, entering the ballroom from the hallway with Hyacinth. They were both dressed in black winter gear. The God of Music smiled. “Hey, Seph.”
“Good morning, Apollo, Hyacinth,” she said.
Hermes made a sound in the back of this throat, offended. “It’s like old man but snowman. Duh.”
Silence followed his explanation. Hermes folded his arms over his chest, shining suit squeaking with the movement.
“I don’t know why either of you celebrate Christmas. You are both such curmudgeons.”
Apollo rolled his eyes.
“I don’t know what that means,” said Hades.
“It means you are an asshole,” he said. “An old asshole.”
“I’ll show you old asshole—” He started toward Hermes, but Persephone placed a hand on his arm.
“Darling, the children are expecting snow.”
Hades met her gaze and after a moment relaxed. “Of course,” he said, turning with her toward the doors of the courtyard.
“Coward,” Hermes muttered.
A second later, his scream echoed in the room. Persephone turned, but Hermes was nowhere in sight. She looked up at her husband, eyes narrowed.
“Hades,” she warned. “Bring him back.”
“He isn’t far,” Hades nodded, directing her attention out the open doors where she saw Hermes fall from the cloudy sky, arms and legs flailing.
“Hades,” Persephone repeated. “This is supposed to be a time of peace and joy.”
“This brings me joy,” he said.
She glared at him, and he sighed, bringing Hermes to an abrupt stop, his nose only a few inches from the ground.
“Thank you,” she said, smiling up at him as they passed through the doors to cheers and applause.
“I live by your command,” he said, leaning to kiss the tip of her nose.
She rolled her eyes though she knew it was true. He left her side and approached the children who gathered close.
“The time has come for our annual snowball fight,” said Hades. “Who is ready to battle?”
The children answered in a chorus of cheers, excitement electrifying the air. They were dressed for the cold, though the temperature had yet to drop. Persephone could pick out all the hats, scarves, and mittens Alma had knitted.
“Hmm,” Hades hummed, somehow sounding both amused and doubtful. “I’m not sure you’re excited enough.”
The children screamed again, louder this time, and Hades chuckled. Persephone’s heart squeezed.
“That’s better,” he said, and in the quiet that followed, he lifted his hands. He did not need to use any sort of physical movement to bring about the snow. It could come with a simple thought, but the display was for the children, who appreciated the magic of the moment and watched on in awe.
“He will make a lovely father,” said Hecate.
“The best,” said Persephone. She felt the truth of those words so keenly in her heart, it brought tears to her eyes.
The sky grew darker and the temperature dropped, and as the first few flurries began to fall, Hecate spoke. “If only he believed it.”
Persephone sat in the ballroom threading cranberries onto string while Alma stitched and stuffed felt ornaments. The shouts and screams of children playing reached them through the doors, now closed to keep in the warmth.
“How has no one declared victory yet?” Yuri asked, gazing out the windows.
The courtyard was crowded with snowmen of all sizes.
Beyond, the Underworld’s vast landscape was covered in about six inches of packable snow with which Hades and Hermes had constructed their own fortresses.
After their verbal sparring match, Apollo took Hades’s side in the battle, which meant Hyacinth also chose the God of the Underworld. Hermes was still complaining about it.
“One of them would have to concede,” said Persephone with a deep sigh.
Alma looked over her narrow glasses. “Remember last year? They battled for three days.”
“Perhaps you will go into labor and Hades will be forced to abandon his conquest,” said Yuri.
Persephone blew out a breath. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”
A few children hurried inside, their cheeks rosy from the cold.
“Boots off at the door!” Tyche called before they could track snow across the marble floor. Alma rose from her spot, leaving her needlework behind to help the goddess with the hot chocolate.
“Do you feel ready?” Yuri asked, gaze flickering to Persephone.
“I’m ready to not be pregnant,” she said.
Yuri smirked, and after a quiet moment, said, “I never had a chance to know what it’s like.”
Persephone’s throat felt tight. The dead retrained their appearance in the afterlife, and it was clear Yuri had died young, a victim of the Plague of Athens.
“You may not know what it is like,” said Persephone. “But you are no less a mother to the children of the Underworld.”
It was an unhappy truth, one that should go against the natural order of the world. Persephone doubted much would bring comfort to mothers and fathers who lost children, but the souls who received the littles on the banks of the Styx cared for them and loved them deeply.
Yuri swallowed, eyes falling to her hands. “Thank you, Persephone.”
“What are you doing, Lady Hecate?” one of the children asked. At the same time, Persephone was overwhelmed by a pungent, sharp odor. A knot formed in her throat as she turned to see the Goddess of Witchcraft in the entryway of the ballroom, holding two strands of braided garlic.
“Oh no,” she said, letting out a slow breath, hoping the nausea ceased.
“I am decorating,” Hecate replied.
A few more children gathered around the goddess.
“Those aren’t holiday decorations!” said another, giggling.
Hecate smiled, mischievous. “Oh, but they are,” she said. “Have you not heard of the Kallikantzaroi?”
“The Kallika—what?”
“The Kallikantzaroi,” she repeated. “They are gremlins. For most of the year, they labor, sawing at the sacred pillars that keep the sky and earth apart.”
“I thought Atlas kept the sky and earth apart,” said one of the children.
“He did,” said Hecate. “But Heracles built the pillars to free Atlas during his twelve labors and now, every year, days before Christmas, the Kallikantzaroi abandoned their task to cause chaos.”
“Are they scary?” one of the children asked.
“They are small and hairy,” said Hecate. “With goat-like legs and sharp claws—”
Persephone cleared her throat and Hecate pivoted.
“But they are very, very stupid,” she said. “And you have no need to worry over them. I will keep you safe.”
One of the children scrunched their nose. “With garlic?”
“Yes,” she said. “Garlic is one ward.”
One. The word filled Persephone with dread. She knew the goddess had a myriad other rituals and protections she would use over the next few days, some even smellier.
“Why?” another asked.
“Because garlic is magic,” Hecate replied, and Persephone knew she meant it. The goddess used it for everything, even for healing.
“All right, children,” said Tyche. “Let Lady Hecate get back to work. You have cookies to decorate!”
“Cookies!” a few of them exclaimed and raced across the ballroom where they were piled along with an assortment of colorful icing.
Persephone took another shaky breath. The knot in her throat had grown and her mouth watered.
“Are you okay?” Yuri asked, frowning.
The doors of the ballroom burst open and Hades entered. His cheeks and nose were rosy, and strands of his dark hair stuck to his face. In just a few strides, he was kneeling at her feet. Apollo and Hyacinth were close behind.
It was dramatic but his worry was very real, always aware of how she was feeling. Sometimes she wished he’d turn it off and save himself the anxiety, but he claimed that was impossible.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she said, squeezing his hands, gaze shifting to the Goddess of Witchcraft. “Hecate, do you think we can save the garlic for later?”
Her expression morphed into one of horror, and the garlic vanished from her hands, the scent of warm cookies and sweet icing suddenly permeating the air.
“Of course, my dear,” she said. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“You were doing such a lovely job explaining the Kallikantzaroi,” she said. “I did not want to interrupt you.”
“You should have,” said Hades, then he looked at Hecate, rising to his full height. “No garlic in the castle, Hecate.”
“That’s not necessary—” she began, but Hecate interrupted.
“It’s fine, Persephone,” the goddess assured. “I have other ways of banishing the Kallikantzaroi.”
Again, the doors flew open and this time, Hermes strolled into the room.
“What the fuck, Hades?” he demanded, hands on his hips. “We were in the middle of a battle and you deserted! Are you ceding victory to me?”
Hades held Persephone’s gaze.
“I’m fine,” she said. “Truly.”
He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead before turning on Hermes.
“Not a chance, Puffball.”