Chapter Six Hades
Chapter Six
Hades
Like everything Hades owned, the apartment was expensive, with dark-veined marble countertops and unlacquered brass hardware and hand-woven rugs. The living room was so vast it could fit multiple groupings of furniture, along with the poker table, around which several dozen people currently stood.
Hades glanced across the table at the only other player who remained in the game, some thirty-something startup billionaire.
The type of new-age tech bro who wore Vince waffle sweaters, who attended music festivals in Miami and bragged about his membership at Zero Bond.
Unimpressed, Hades turned his attention to the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked over the streets of Soho.
There were so many humans down there: streaming into the subways, pouring in and out of restaurants.
Little did they know that up here in the penthouse, Hollywood celebrities and finance CEOs gambled vast sums of money in what had become the world’s most exclusive, most expensive poker game.
It only happened once a month, but the buy-in was a hundred thousand dollars. And the stakes only went up.
“Raise,” the tech kid said at last, shoving his remaining chips onto the table. The other gamblers—who’d long ago folded and were now standing around the table clutching tumblers of Glenfiddich or glasses of Dom—gasped.
Hades gave a wolfish smile, then pushed his own chips forward.
His opponent’s face collapsed when they flipped over their cards and he saw Hades’s hand.
“You cheated!” the tech bro spluttered.
No, Hades hadn’t cheated. He was shockingly puritanical about playing poker like a human would. Where was the fun in winning if he used his powers?
“Congratulations, Lucian,” the dealer said deferentially, using Hades’s most recent alias. To these humans, he was nothing more than a mysterious and wealthy man who showed up at the poker game. They had no idea that he owned this apartment, let alone that he was a god.
When he saw Cerb in the corner, Hades reached into his pocket for his silver ring and slipped it on.
The humans who’d been looking at him glanced away, as if they’d forgotten he was there.
With a sleepy blink, the dealer began shuffling the cards, and several men reclaimed their seats at the poker table.
Hades stood and made his way through the guests.
None of them looked at him, not once. A waitress wove past him with a tray of drinks, neatly swerving the tray to avoid hitting him, though she didn’t seem aware of him at all.
At least, her conscious brain wasn’t aware of him, even if she sensed his presence on some instinctive level.
When he reached Cerb, Hades tucked the ring back into his pocket, becoming visible once more. Cerb didn’t even flinch at his sudden reappearance.
“Your nephew is here. I grabbed him outside Zeus and Hera’s place,” Cerb explained.
Hades nodded. “Bring him upstairs.”
Several minutes later, Cerb entered Hades’s office, dragging Hermes unceremoniously by the scruff of his neck. Hades nodded at the opposite chair, but Hermes crossed his arms and stubbornly remained standing, though he swayed a bit on his feet.
When Cerb had left, Hades opened a drawer and withdrew a key, then walked around to unlock the handcuff on Hermes’s wrist. Relief instantly flooded the other god’s face.
“Don’t even think about trying to run off. You know I’ll find you again, and it will only be worse,” Hades warned.
Resentment flashed in Hermes’s hazel eyes, but he sat.
“For the god of luck, you had a terrible run at poker,” Hades said mildly, taking his own seat. “Didn’t you learn from your mistakes last time?”
“I can’t pay you back, at least not right now—”
“I don’t want money,” Hades cut in.
Few of the gods understood how to deal in mortal money, content to perpetually live off handouts from Zeus.
But Hades had long ago seen the writing on the wall.
If the gods were going to live among men, they needed to operate like them.
So he’d started investing—with great success.
Hades had amassed a monumental fortune, the sort that could only be made by someone who had centuries to watch those investments pan out, someone observant and insightful and patient.
Someone unafraid to get their hands dirty.
“What I want is information,” Hades went on. “I assume you saw Hera this afternoon? What did you two talk about?”
“She wasn’t home,” Hermes said evasively.
Even better. “So she hasn’t heard your news yet?”
Hermes just stared at him.
Hades repeated himself slowly, as if speaking to a child, then added, “This is how you’re going to repay your debt to me, by telling me what you planned on telling Hera.”
“If I do…my debts will be cleared?” Hermes asked carefully.
“Why don’t you share what you know, and I’ll decide how much it’s worth.”
“After you’ve heard it? That’s hardly fair!”
“I’m always fair,” Hades replied, his tone dangerously calm.
Hermes shuffled his designer shoes against the floor as if he was thinking of running. Really, he looked ridiculous in that getup, a preppy button-down with sunglasses looped through the neck.
Finally, he cleared his throat. “It’s about Ares. Dionysus saw him in Queenstown.”
“Dionysus went looking for Ares?” Hades asked, surprised. If any of the gods had been searching for Ares, he would have assumed it was Hermes, a known busybody who constantly inserted himself into everyone’s business.
“No,” Hermes said, almost defensively. “It was a coincidence.”
Hades nodded, knowing that it wasn’t a coincidence at all. When two Olympians were in the same vicinity, they inevitably found each other, as if some divine gravity—the Fates, most likely—forced them together.
“What was Ares doing in New Zealand?” Hades asked. No one in the family had seen the god of war for over three years.
“Apparently, he’s there living with a mortal woman. They were out celebrating an anniversary. I asked Dionysus for more, but he could only tell me that she’s pretty, and is named Julia.”
Interesting, Hades thought. “Did Ares give any indication of whether he’s coming next month?”
Every year, the gods gathered at Olympus—every last one of them, down to the minor deities of rivers or dreams or railroads.
Artemis would emerge from whatever mountain range she’d been wandering; even Hypnos would wake for the occasion from his enchanted slumber.
This was the gods’ annual celebration of their own divinity, and none of them dared miss it.
None of them, of course, save Ares.
But the gathering at Olympus was more than just a party.
It also served as the Council of Twelve’s annual meeting to discuss the fate of the mortal world.
They chose presidents and kings, settled the outcome of wars, meted out gifts or punishments to mortals they loved or despised.
Hades wasn’t one of the Twelve, but as keeper of the humans, he was entitled to join these council meetings, even if he rarely did so.
Hades had no interest in hearing the blustering arguments of Zeus or Apollo.
And he had his own ways of influencing mortal affairs.
Besides, Hades knew that none of the other gods actually wanted him there. What kind of party would it be if the Lord of the Dead showed up to kill the vibe?
The thing was, he’d never asked for this role.
Zeus had assigned it to him when he’d divided the world among the first three gods, giving himself the heavens and skies, Poseidon the waters, Hades the mortals.
Which meant that Hades had the most complicated, volatile job of the three of them, and also the hardest.
He was the god of death, yes, but of mortality more broadly. The humans in all their messy glory were his to manage.
“I doubt Ares will come to Olympus,” Hermes mused in reply to Hades’s question. “He’s kept his distance for the past three years. Why would he get tangled up in his family again now?”
Because Hades wanted him tangled up in it. It was high time that Ares rejoined the other gods, and with the mortal woman in tow.
“Are we finished here?” Hermes asked. “My debts are clear?”
“Yes, you’re free to go.” Hades bent over a pad of paper, already thinking of all he must do before Olympus. Hermes stood, pushing back his chair, and started briskly toward the door.
“Give it back, Hermes,” Hades said absently, his pen still scribbling.
Hermes froze. “How did you…”
“Lucky guess.”
Resentfully, Hermes marched back over to the desk and tugged a bottle of red wine from beneath his shirt—how had he even slipped it in there? The wine fridge was on the other side of the room, built into the lacquered bookshelves and disguised with a painted panel.
Hermes stared mournfully at the bottle of wine, a 1982 Petrus, before handing it back to Hades. “Your wine collection might be your only redeeming quality.”
Hades barked out a surprised laugh. If nothing else, Hermes had balls. “You know what, keep it. Consider it an offer of friendship.”
Hermes stared at him warily, not touching the Bordeaux. “What do you mean, ‘friendship’?”
“I’m hoping you’ll consider meeting like this again. Sharing what you know, about Ares and the other Olympians.”
“I don’t—”
“I would compensate you, of course,” Hades cut in. “The better the information, the higher the reward.”
Hermes hesitated for a long moment. Then his hand darted out as he grabbed the wine. “Fine.”
Hades nodded. “You’ll start by reporting to me at Olympus.”
“Olympus?” Hermes repeated, not bothering to hide his shock. “You’ll be there?”
“I will.”
When it became clear that Hades wouldn’t elaborate, Hermes shrugged and headed for the door. Hades waited until it had shut behind him before allowing himself a small, pleased smile.
To think that after all this time, he would attend the gods’ annual meeting at Olympus again. He was surprised to find that he was looking forward to it.
For so long he’d been alone, set apart from the other gods because of who he was: the Dread God, the Lord of the Underworld, the Iron King. He had wealth, and he had power, but not enough of either to do the one thing he truly wanted. To challenge Zeus.
But maybe, at last, he could find a way to do so.