Amethyst’s Musings: Catching Up

Alas, this obviously is not the Hades chapter. That’s on my flash drive with my beta reader’s notes, awaiting a final edit. In the meantime I thought I’d catch you up on what’s going on with the site and the series.

Due to health issues, I haven’t been able to do nearly as much writing this fall as I thought I would. So the release of Volume 2 is being pushed back to spring 2012. I will post the Hades chapter, but that’ll be the last of the bonus content. After it’s posted, this site will go on complete hiatus while I finish drafting Volume 2. I’m about a third of the way into Volume 2 right now.

I’ve gotten some questions about fan art. I’d be happy to post it on the site if people wants to submit it. Email fan art or anything else to me at amethyst[dot]marie[dot]writes[at]gmail[dot]com.

And now for an announcement I’m very excited to make…


The first volume of Thalia’s Musings, A Snag in the Tapestry, is coming to Kindle and Nook stores in summer 2012!

May whatever holidays you’re celebrating this season be happy. See you in the spring. 🙂

– Amethyst



Calliope spent some time in Hades with Mom and her sons. She came home before anyone outside the family could miss her. Our sisters didn’t ask questions, but Clio, the official historian of the Pantheon, always knows when a divine baby is born. She showed me her record of the Corybantes’ birth in her most secure archive, the one only she can access. Under “Parents,” she had entered:

Apollo and Thalia

Apollo and Calliope?

Zeus and Calliope?

I looked at her and said nothing. She looked back at me and locked the archive. We never brought it up again.

It was a mercifully quiet summer. Epione went home after the wedding, Aglaea and Hephaestus took a season-long honeymoon, Psyche kept Eros out of everyone’s hair, Zeus and Hera went back to overlooking us, and it was an off year for the Pythian Games. Then came the Autumnal Equinox, and it was time for Persephone to return to Hades. Demeter marks Persephone’s departure with far less pomp and circumstance than her arrival, when she marks it at all. That year, she held a small picnic on the slopes of Parnassus. My sisters were all there, as were Apollo, Artemis, Athena, Eros, and Psyche.

As the sun was beginning to set and the day, the party, and Persephone’s visit were coming to a close, Apollo sat down next to me under a very small shade tree I’d claimed. He was unusually eager to tell me about a vision he’d just had. “Was it a vision of you bringing me a cool goblet of pomegranate juice?” I smiled with hope, trying not to laugh at the almost childlike enthusiasm in his eyes.

“No, silly creature,” he laughed, “but you were in it.”

“I was in a goblet of pomegranate juice?”

“That’s an intriguing idea, one I’ll have to revisit in the future. But again, no. In this particular vision, you, Aglaea, and a third woman were dancing by the Springs of Helicon. I was playing the kithara for you.”

“Who was the third woman?” I asked. I didn’t go into questions like, Was she prettier than me? What were we wearing? What kind of dance were we doing? Was the interloper dancing better than me? Could she sing? Was she funny?

“You called her Euphrosyne,” he said.

“Never heard of her. Pretty name, though.”

“Pretty girl, too. Thick brown coils of hair that could keep an ironmonger in business for eternity. She had a shy, sort of awkward smile, but there was still this indefinable air of grace about her. Her most striking feature by far, though, was that she had Hera’s eyes.”

“Oh my goodness!” I felt my face involuntarily spreading into a grin. “You think?”

“I don’t think; I know,” he grinned back. “She called Aglaea ‘Mom’.”

“I always kind of wondered whether Hephaestus could have children or not,” I commented. “Of course, there is that whole Athens deal, but it’s a given that none of Aphrodite’s are his.”

“We’ve all wondered that. I wouldn’t count him out, though,” Apollo said dryly. “When the dance was over, I told Aglaea to start taking it easy since she had a baby on the way. She retorted that she’d handled the last four pregnancies just fine, thank you very much.”

“Did you see any of the other kids? Are they boys or girls? I hope they’re girls.”

“I didn’t see them, and yes, that’s just what this family needs, more girls,” he gave me a playful shove. I decided to simply enjoy the moment and not give him grief about the fact that he’d called us a family.

Our attention was drawn to Aphrodite’s appearing, which I’m sure was her intent. She strode forth in grandeur to Persephone and presented her with a handsome wooden box. “I couldn’t let you leave without giving you a farewell present,” she sweetly offered. “It’s the most wonderful surprise. But you have to promise that you won’t open it until you get back to Hades,” she sang.

“Sure, whatever,” Persephone took the box. She immediately produced a knife and started working on the lock. “Crossed my fingers.”

“No, no, no, wait, don’t do that, you’ll – well, it’s yours now anyway,” Aphrodite protested as the lid sprang open. “No givsies backsies.”

Persephone alternated a dumbfounded glare between the box and Aphrodite. “This is a baby,” she eventually managed to stammer the obvious.

“That’s what I thought, too,” Aphrodite confirmed.

“Is there a particular reason you’re trying to pawn your latest bastard off on me?”

“He’s not mine!” Aphrodite felt most affronted by this aspersion. “Honestly! Have I looked pregnant this year? Anyone? I thought not. No, one of my priestesses died in childbirth, and since I’m pretty sure the brat is a demigod, I didn’t want to leave him at the temple at the mercy of those ignorant mortals.”

“Fascinating little tale,” said Persephone. “Irrelevant, though, since it doesn’t answer the question of why you’re giving him to me.”

“Because you’re leaving,” said Aphrodite. “I can’t stand babies. If he leaves with you, I’ll probably never see him again. Please, just give it a chance. I never wanted a baby until Hephaestus talked me into keeping Eros, and the little guy really grew on me after awhile. He turned out to be quite endearing after he started walking, talking, flying, and feeding himself.”

“Love you too, Mom,” Eros waved.

“Oh, well you know Hades and I just love anything cute and cuddly,” Persephone grumbled. “Look at this thing. He’s like a living sunbeam. No, he’s worse than a sunbeam. He’s practically a damn prism.”

“Did you…?” I suspiciously eyed Apollo.

“Are you kidding? I have standards,” he said in noble indignation.

“You also have a terminal lack of sense when it comes to hot mortals.”

“Whatever you think, even I have the sense to stay away from Aphrodite’s priestesses.”

“It wasn’t Apollo,” said Erato. “I knew the priestess, Smyrna. I don’t think they ever met.”

“We didn’t,” Apollo confirmed.

“Smyrna was a minor princess before she entered Aphrodite’s service,” said Clio. “If the father’s who I think it he is, he’s a minor nature god, one of Selene and Endymion’s sons. They have so many, even I have a hard time remembering which is which.”

“Isn’t he just the cutest little thing,” Psyche was cooing into the box. “Yes, he is. Who’s a cute little thing? Eros, you think maybe we could take him if Persephone doesn’t want him?”

“No,” Eros quickly replied. “It’s, I mean, he was a gift to Persephone. You don’t ask a goddess to give up a gift. Besides, we can always make our own. When we’re ready. In a few years. Or decades. Or something.”

She gave him a meaningful look. “We’ll talk later.”

“No, really, I wouldn’t mind,” Persephone encouraged. “We could start a new custom. ‘Re-gifting’, we’ll call it.”

“We could take him,” Athena suggested.

“Who is we?” Artemis frowned.

“You and I.”

“Fantastic idea,” said Artemis. “That ought to take care of those two or three people who still believe we’re not a couple.”

“Good point; hadn’t thought of that,” Athena sighed.

“Parnassus seems like a good place to raise a kid,” Persephone observed. This was met by a cacophony of disapproval from all ten of us, especially Apollo, Calliope, and me. We’d already had enough baby drama to last an age or two.

“Honey, if I were you, I’d take advantage of this,” Demeter advised. “After all, in all these centuries, you and Hades haven’t been able to-”

“MOM!” Persephone groaned.

“I’m just saying, it’s a little embarrassing for a fertility goddess.”

“Not that it’s your or any of these people’s business, but we haven’t been trying. In fact, we’ve been deliberately avoiding it. Because we don’t want any damn kids. We hate kids. Kids, us, not happening. And even if I didn’t completely detest the idea,” she added, “which I do, what kind of place is Hades to raise a child?”

“I think I remember someone warning you that that might be an issue someday if you ran off and married the Lord of the Underworld,” Demeter lifted her eyes in thought. “Oh, that’s right, it was your stupid mother.”

“Persephone,” said Calliope, “we grew up in Hades, and we didn’t turn out so bad. And we didn’t even have a house. We just had a pomegranate tree on the shore of a magic lake. Your son would have a whole palace. I know parenthood isn’t for everyone, and I understand if it truly isn’t something you want. But if raising a child in the Underworld is all you’re worried about, I’m just letting you know that it’s not really anything to worry about. Now, Hades’ temper on the other hand,” she laughed.

“Screw Hades’ temper,” Persephone resolved. “He’s all bark and no bite, unless I want it otherwise. We’re taking the kid, and Hades’ll just have to get used to the idea. Which he will, because contrary to certain mothers’ opinions, he doesn’t completely suck as a husband.”

“Congratulations, dear. May your son’s choices in love bring you as much joy as yours have brought me,” was Demeter’s generous blessing.

“‘The adopted son of Persephone and Hades,'” Clio made the official record on her scroll. “Do you have a name for him, or are you going to wait and pick one out with dear old dad?”

Persephone laughed a dark, sardonic laugh that we knew meant all was well. “If I leave it up to Hades, he’ll be stuck with ‘Whatever’ or ‘That Kid’.” She gazed thoughtfully upon her farewell gift.

“Adonis is a nice name, don’t you think?”

~ Click here to purchase this volume for Kindle or NOOK ~

1.15 Fateful Secrets

By the time the wedding came around, we were very grateful for Hera’s dismissal, because Calliope was indeed showing. She looked like a mortal woman entering her third trimester. Out of necessity, we confirmed to the rest of the Muses that she was pregnant. They swore secrecy and didn’t ask any more questions. Aglaea didn’t ask questions, either, when Hera told her that Calliope, Apollo, and I wouldn’t be attending the wedding.

Hephaestus did. He wanted to persuade Hera to change her mind, but Aglaea managed to convince him that it was for the best. It was good that, with all the preparations for the next day’s twilight journey, the three of us didn’t have the time or energy to think about how much we would miss getting to see this wedding, and how much we wished we could tell Aglaea and Hephaestus why it couldn’t be helped.

Well, Apollo and I were making preparations. Calliope was in a deep, restful, potion-enhanced sleep. “I’m still worried about the lighting,” said Apollo as he checklisted his supplies for the thousandth time, packing and repacking them in waterproof bags and boxes. Being one of the Twelve, he could just teleport ahead with the supplies, but he didn’t want to leave Calliope at any point in the journey. “I’ve got plenty of candles and torches, but my sunlight orbs are the safest option, and they won’t work in Hades.”

“What happens when you smile in Hades?” was my not remotely serious suggestion.

“Nothing remarkable,” he replied, but the slight smile he was giving at that moment made me wonder.

“You packed plenty of potions to keep her calm and to numb the pain?” I surveyed, even though I knew the answer was the same as it had been half an hour ago.

“Right here.”

“And you have things for anything that might go wrong with the babies?”

“Anything we’ve thought of. Get some sleep. We’ll need you at optimum power for the journey.”

“Are you going to bed?” I asked him.

“I want to go over a few more things first,” he said.

“Well, then, I’m not going to bed either, and you can’t make me.”

He stopped what he was doing, picked me up, and cradled me in his arms. “We’ll see about that,” he smiled. He sat down in the corner of a cushiony chaise lounge, laid me down with my head in his lap, and put a blanket and an arm over me. Surely even you mortals understand that all of this was happening because I wanted it to. “We’re staying here until you fall asleep,” he stated.

“Can I sing myself to sleep?” I asked.

“If you must.”

I softly sang a few bars of an enchanted lullaby. As soon as I was satisfied with his lack of response and the rhythm of his breathing, I slipped out of his arms and onto the floor, still singing. As I finished the song, I laid him out on the chaise, put a pillow under his head, and covered him with the blanket. “Sweet dreams,” I quietly wished him as I removed his laurel wreath and set it on a small table next to the chaise. I tiptoed out of the room and into my own bed. It was late, and I needed to be at optimum power for the journey.

I slept a lot longer than I had planned to, but all three of us woke up in time to give Aglaea our love and blessings before she left to prepare for the wedding. She hadn’t put on jewelry or makeup yet, and her hair was still loose, but she was wearing the stunning red gown that my sisters and I had designed for her. Although red is a more ostentatious color than she normally likes to wear, she’d happily made an exception for the time-honored wedding tradition. Apollo had tears in his eyes when he saw her. I figured it would be embarrassing for him to be the only one crying, so I let a few tears roll down my cheeks out of pity. Pesky things wouldn’t dry up after she left, so I kept my mask on.

“How soon can we leave?” Calliope asked once we were sure we were alone.

“Stop pacing,” I urged her. She was making herself more agitated, and she was pacing right where I wanted to pace.

“Give it a few more hours,” said Apollo.

“How much could the babies possibly grow in just a few hours?” she argued.

“They’ve grown since last night,” he pointed out.

“Well, can’t we just get to Lake Mnemosyne and let them grow there?” she continued to pace with increasing fervor. “As long as I’m here, Zeus can find them, and Hera can find me. I wouldn’t put it past either one of them to reach up and rip the babies out with their bare hands.”

“If Hera hasn’t figured it out yet, she’s not going to figure it out in the next four hours,” I reasoned. “Apollo, do you see anything?”

“Nothing,” he said. “I haven’t been able to see any visions about these children, but I’d take that as a good sign. My visions don’t extend to Hades.”

“I hope that’s all it means,” Calliope fretted.

“They can’t die,” he reminded her. “You know they can’t. Whatever happens today, your children will be alive, and you will be alive.”

“That’s not always a comforting thought,” she sighed.

“I know.” Apollo took her hand and led her to her throne. “If you insist on pacing, you might as well be swimming. You wait here, Thalia and I will get the supplies, and we’ll get going.”

“Well, this is a nice surprise,” Mom rejoiced between a full round of hugs and kisses. “Calliope, I had no idea you were expecting again! Is it Ares’? As long has he has no hand in raising it, a child by you and him could turn out beautifully. Look at the Amazons.”

“Mom, it’s…it’s not Ares.”

We told her the whole story. “Oh, my baby,” Mom held Calliope. “I am so, so sorry. I can’t believe he did this to you after he…The best revenge I can think of is ensuring that he never knows about your children. If he does find out, so much the better. Let him suffer the knowledge that he has seven fine children with my beautiful daughter, and they’re forever beyond his reach. I’ll keep them here and bring them up as my priests or priestesses, whichever the case may be. You can see them as much or as little as you’d like. Either way, they’ll remember that you’re their mother and you gave them up because you love them.”

Calliope couldn’t speak. She just stayed in Mom’s arms for awhile and cried into her shoulder. After what seemed like both seconds and days, she wiped her eyes and said, “Let’s get this over with.”

Apollo and I unpacked the supplies and set up a field clinic. As I was sorting the scalpels for him, I was blindsided by a realization. Do you know the difference between a thought and a realization? It’s the difference between a cool, clinical description of a medical procedure and a cold, steel blade slicing through your sister’s abdomen so her seven babies can be cut out of her uterus. I’d never watched a surgery, and I’d assisted exactly one birth in my life. I resolved that I’d stay focused on the end of the story and do my best to overlook the middle, but resolution can only go so far. Stories are full of people who find that, in extreme situations, they’re capable of so much more than they imagined they were. Real life is full of people who find that they’re capable of so much less.

“Apollo, did we bring any wine?” I barely moved my lips to ask as I stood with my arms limp at my side.

“Why would I do that? A surgeon can’t drink on the job.”

“You do this sober?”

“This is no time to be funny. Hand me the numbing potion. Oh, damn it; Aglaea!”

“Thalia,” I reminded him.

“Aglaea’s summoning me,” he clarified. “She’s at the Museum, and she seems pretty mad. Go. Make something up. Just get rid of her.”

I swam to the Springs of Helicon and teleported to the Parnassus Museum as quickly as possible. I couldn’t have Aglaea going back to Olympus and telling people the three of us were missing. She was still at the Museum, in the middle of Apollo’s storeroom. Her face was painted, her hair was coiffed and decorated, and she was covered in jewels. While she looked absolutely breathtaking, anyone who knew her could recognize that she was the canvas, not the artist. “I summoned Apollo,” she scowled in indignation. “Why are you here?”

“Why are you here?” I threw back the question. “You’re getting married in…I actually have no idea what time it is.”

“The wedding’s in half an hour,” she said, the very personification of impatience. “Apollo and Calliope are at Lake Mnemosyne, aren’t they?”


“Why are you soaking wet?”

“Because it’s good luck for the bride to see a drenched Muse before the wedding.”

“Hermes,” Aglaea summoned. The Wingfooted Wonder appeared in the store room. “Give this to Hephaestus. It should make his leg stop hurting,” she handed him a jar of salve. “It always hurts more when he’s stressed. Tell him there’s been an emergency, I might be a little late, and I can’t tell him why, so please don’t ask; and I love him and I can’t wait to be married to him; and if he starts to worry about me, to remember what I told him at the end of our first date. And, Hermes, if you alter that message or obscure its meaning in any way, shape, or form, I will cut off whatever part of your body strikes my fancy and feed it to the Hydra. Got it?”

“Never have I understood an order with such absolute clarity,” he blinked. He left to carry out her wishes.

“Now,” said Aglaea, “we’re going to teleport to the Helicon Museum, and you’re going to take me to Lake Mnemosyne.”

“No, you’re going to get yourself to Olympus and get your damn wedding over with,” I argued.

“Take me, or I tell Hera that you lied to her.”

“You wouldn’t do that. You care too much about Calliope.”

“Which is why I’m going back to Lake Mnemosyne with you,” Aglaea protested. “I can see what’s missing from this storeroom. I know what Apollo’s doing, and I know I can do it better. Medicine is only one of Apollo’s specialties. It’s my whole life. The only ones in my family who can do an Asclepian better than I can are Dad and Panacea. They’re not fully divine, and thanks to Hera, I am. You’re a citizen of Hades by birth. Once you invite me, there’s no risk in me going there. And you are going to invite me.”

“Thalia, I told you to get rid of her!” Apollo protested as Aglaea emerged from the lake, her wedding gown soaked through, makeup streaming down her face, loosened hair plastered to her head and back, and bracelets clanking down her arm.

“You weren’t seriously going to perform an Asclepian without a proper assistant, were you?” Aglaea chastened as she shoved her jewelry off her body and into a box. “Someone hand me a towel. Wait, what am I saying?” Upon remembering that she was a beauty goddess now, Aglaea snapped her fingers a few times in succession. By the time she was done, her dress looked like it had been wrung out to dry, her face was devoid of makeup, her hair was severely pulled up out of her way in a style that would make Artemis proud, and the one sandal she was wearing was still soaked. I didn’t dare laugh at the spectacle, or question the loss of the other sandal.

“I’m not alone,” Apollo defended while all this was going on. “I brought Thalia.”

“What was she going to do? Write a quirky screwball comedy about a group of physicians? If you want someone to assist with surgery, bring a damn surgeon. Hey, Calliope,” Aglaea instantly went from commanding to comforting. “Everything is going to be fine. You want to know if you’re having sons or daughters?”

“Surprise me,” Calliope said with a nervous smile. Mom was kneeling by the cot and holding Calliope’s hand.

“I’m Mnemosyne. You must be Aglaea,” she said calmly. “I’ve heard a lot about you. I hope your powers as a goddess of healing meet, even exceed, your powers as a goddess of beauty. Thalia, sweetheart, come sit by me and your sister.”

“Yeah, do that,” Aglaea agreed. “Is this all the lighting we have?” she frowned at the ring of candles.

“In case you were under a different impression, this is Hades,” Apollo sympathized with her dissatisfaction. “Sunlight isn’t allowed here.”

“But there is some natural light,” Aglaea pondered. “I wonder…” She reached for the box with her jewelry and pulled out Hephaestus’ wedding ring. The moonstone shone more brilliantly in the darkness of the Underworld than it ever had in Zeus’ kingdom. Aglaea gently breathed on the stone and, like the flame of a candle, it burned even brighter, until Aglaea appeared to be holding a star in her hand. “Mnemosyne, are you telekinetic?” she asked. Without a word, Mom levitated the ring out of Aglaea’s hand and positioned it at just the right spot over Calliope’s body. “Thanks,” said Aglaea. “If you could just hold it there until we’re done, that’d be great.”

“What can I do?” I asked.

“You know what you can do,” Apollo looked me straight in the eye. “I believe you can do it.”

As I sat next to Mom, I heard her voice in my head. She hadn’t spoken to me telepathically since I was a little girl. So you are learning, she said. She sounded concerned, resigned. My Thalia, my blossom; as you begin to remember the powers I’ve given you, don’t be afraid, but do please be very, very careful.

Remember? I repeated. What do you mean, remember?

I’ve said too much already, Mom shook her head. Right now, just focus your energy on the end of this story.

That I could do. Focusing on the surgery, not so much. I learned something about myself that day. Some people are not made to watch other people get carved up. I am one of those people.

The surgery went well, and the babies were just fine. Boys, all seven of them, each half the size of a full-term baby. They were all identical, and they all looked like Calliope – who, as she so appropriately thanked the Fates, looks like me. As Mom and I bathed the newborns one by one, we put a pomegranate seed in each of their mouths. Eating that one seed was enough to make them citizens of Hades, out of Zeus’ reach as long as they stayed in the Underworld. One by one we set the babies in the lake, and one by one they swam to the murky depths. My sisters and I had started out the same way. We knew the boys would be fine, and that we could summon them back to the shore to say goodbye before we left.

Aglaea sewed Calliope’s incision shut and applied a few drops from a tincture. “Apollo can take the stitches out when they’re ready,” she said. “Mom has a salve that’ll get rid of the scar. No one will ever have to know you had the Asclepian.”

“I wonder what time it is,” said Apollo. “I can never tell when I’m in Hades.”

“Probably late enough that hundreds of bored, restless, hungry gods want my head on a pike,” Aglaea laughed. “I’m almost scared to go back. Hera’s going to-”

“Be furious with both of us,” finished Hephaestus, who had suddenly appeared in our midst, holding Aglaea’s missing sandal.

Aglaea ran to him and threw her arms around him. “You got my message,” she said in relief as soon as she was done kissing him.

“Took me long enough,” he laughed. He kissed her again. “I was so worried,” he said. “I was afraid you were getting cold feet. For a moment I even wondered if you were off having one last fling. That’s when I realized that I was being a complete idiot. I thought about your message, about what you said at the end of our first date. It was ‘Let’s meet here again,’ right?”

“Right, at Helicon,” she grinned.

“Ohhhhh,” Apollo and I said together. So that was how Aglaea had kept her word not to go to Olympus when she was staying with us.

“I saw your sandal by the Springs, and it was easy to figure from there,” Hephaestus continued, “especially combined with the fact that two Muses were missing. Good thing Thalia never revoked her standing invitation. By the way, you want this back?” he offered the sandal. “I can dip it in the lake first if you want it to match the other one.”

Aglaea laughed as she took the sandal and smacked him with it. The sandal on her foot wasn’t as dripping wet as it had been when she’d first emerged from the lake, but it was still pretty damp, and the rest of her attire was still in the haphazard state she’d snapped it into pre-surgery. Hephaestus, on the other hand, was looking finer than I’d ever seen him, his first wedding not excepted. His groom’s chiton, like Aglaea’s gown, was the traditional scarlet, edged in gold to match the circlet he wore on his head. And his hair! Apparently he had decided to acknowledge the existence of styling products just this once. His cane was new. Its solid aesthetics and polished mahogany composition added to his characteristically rugged yet unexpectedly elegant overall appearance.

“I totally forgot that you could just teleport into Hades since you’re one of the Twelve,” Aglaea blissfully scolded as she dropped her sandal and awkwardly shoved her foot into it. “Don’t you know no one’s allowed to look better than the bride on her wedding day?”

He ran a hand through her hair, taking a few pins out. “Don’t you know that’s not possible?” She made a face at him as she snapped her fingers, sweeping her hair into the charming, unassuming updo she’d worn at Persephone’s feast. “It was cute the other way, but this works, too,” Hephaestus judged.

“Hera’s going to hate it,” Aglaea sighed. “I almost wish we didn’t have to go back. I don’t care about all that pageantry and stuff. I just want to say I want you and hear you say you want me and be married. We could do it here, like this, for all I care.”

“I know, so could I, but you know we can’t- no, actually, we could do that,” he said with sudden comprehension.

“We could!” she exclaimed in kind. “You want to do that? I would do that.”

“Let’s do that.”

“Oh, a clandestine wedding in the Underworld!” Calliope rose to her feet in rapture. “May I summon Hades for you? Please? I’d love to be a part of this.”

“Sure,” Aglaea consented.

“Oh, hi, Calliope,” Hephaestus finally noticed her. “Why were you lying on that cot?”

“Not important. Hades, Lord of the Underworld, we beseech your presence,” she cried with her face turned toward her upstretched hands.

Seeing Hades always makes me feel a bit nostalgic. He looked the same as ever that day. Once you get past the individual trappings, Hades’ face and figure bear a strong resemblance to Zeus’. However, both kings’ appearances are so influenced by their personalities that it’s hard to see the similarities. With his long, straight, black hair, his long, black robes, his iron crown, and his stand-offish demeanor, it’s easy to see how Persephone saw a soul mate in Hades from the moment they met.

“Muses,” Hades growled. “Always the drama queens. What do you want?”

“He’s always a little grouchy when his wife’s away,” Mom apologized.

“We want you to marry us,” said Aglaea.

“You I know,” he pointed to Hephaestus. To Aglaea, he said, “You I don’t.”

“I’m Aglaea, daughter of Asclepius and Epione, goddess of-”

“A name, I just need a name. Aglaea, do you consent to be given to this man?” he spoke the words Asclepius would have spoken if he had been there.

“I do.”

“Hephaestus, do you consent to be given this woman?” he asked in place of Hera.

“I do.”

“Then as guardian of this realm,” he said, speaking again in place of Asclepius, “I give her to you, that together you may create a home and a family with honor. Rings; let me see some rings and then I’m out of here.”

Hephaestus took Aglaea’s ring out of his pocket and put it on her left ring finger. She grabbed his ring from its place over the operating table and gave it to him.

“Alright, the rest you can do yourselves,” Hades proclaimed before he unceremoniously disappeared.

“We could do without this part if you want,” Hephaestus hesitated.

“Come on, baby,” Aglaea enticed as she held her wrists together and fluttered her fingers. “A wedding in Hades wouldn’t be complete without it.”

“Remember, it was your idea,” Hephaestus disclaimed.

“It was also Persephone’s. Get on with it,” Aglaea challenged.

With a strong, gentle hand that could forge a golden chain as thin as a spider’s web as well as an iron spear, Hephaestus grasped Aglaea’s wrists. She laughed as he held them over her head and proclaimed, “I have taken this woman. She is my own, and none can take her from me.” He led his captive bride into the lake until they were deep enough that he didn’t need to lean on his cane. Then he picked her up and carried her until they were out of sight.

Calliope put her arm around me and, with a contented sigh, declared, “That was truly epic.”

“What’s going to be epic is when Hera finds out she was cheated out a wedding,” I snorted a laugh. “Maybe we should stay down here for awhile.”

“I was actually going to suggest that,” said Apollo. “I don’t want Calliope to swim yet.”

“I think I can,” said Calliope. “Look.” She parted the wrap in her dress and showed Apollo her incision. It was completely knit together.

“Are you sure?” he cautioned. “You’ve been through a lot today. We understand if you want to rest.”

“I want to get back to my own room and my own house,” said Calliope. “Just give me a moment to say goodbye to my babies.” She made a silent summons.

Seven fully grown, bearded men strode up from the lake, moving in unison in a perfect V formation. They bowed to Calliope and addressed her with one voice.

“Mother,” they greeted her. “We are the Corybantes, created by Zeus to be his priests and keep vigil at his altar. We thank you for giving us instead to the service of Mnemosyne, for we find our father unworthy of our devotion.”

“Please, don’t,” Calliope begged. “If he were to discover you saying such a thing, he would curse you beyond your imagination.”

“As the sons of a Muse, there is nothing beyond our imagination,” they replied. “Our words will not reach his ears here. We renounce Zeus utterly. We cannot call ‘Father’ the god who murdered our brother.”

“No!” Mom shouted.

“I understand,” said Apollo. “Zeus has too often been neglectful and harsh with his sons, god or demigod. But I remain devoted to him so that, as one of the Twelve, I can influence his realm and thus his followers.”

“Not our brother by Zeus,” they corrected. “Orpheus, the firstborn of our mother, Calliope.”

“You’re mistaken,” said Calliope. “Orpheus was killed by Dionysus’ Maenads because he would serve only Apollo, Dionysus’ chief rival.”

“Zeus executed Orpheus for discovering a great secret of his,” her sons told her. “Our brother was going to share this secret with the gods and mortals. Zeus killed him with a lightning bolt, and afterward tore his body to pieces so that his death would appear to be the work of the frenzied Maenads.”

“How can you know that?” Calliope asked in a low, stunned voice.

“As your mother does, we share the memories of the dead,” they answered her. “The last memory of our brother Orpheus is of the Cyclops pinning him to the earth as Zeus hurls a deadly thunderbolt into his heart.”

Calliope slowly turned her face toward Mom, her wrath growing with every degree of rotation. “You knew,” she smoldered. “How could you keep something like this from me? How could you let me believe a lie about the death of my only son?”

“For the same reason you gave up your children to Hades,” Mom calmly defended. “I wanted to protect you. Obviously, Zeus framed Dionysus to cover up the execution and, more importantly, Orpheus’ ‘crime’. It made sense. If either gods or mortals knew the truth, they would want to know what secret Orpheus discovered. Even they,” she indicated her newborn minions, “have the sense not to tell you what the secret was. And besides, I was worried about what you would have done.”

“What do you think I would have done?” Calliope demanded. “Do you think I would have stolen Apollo’s bow and quiver and gone after the Cyclops? Led an army, stormed Olympus, and bound Zeus like he bound the Titans? I’m a poet, Mom! I didn’t do anything to Dionysus, and anyone could take that prissy little bitch. All I did when Orpheus died was host a grand funeral, erect a monument, read a poem about his epic adventures in which Dionysus sounded really bad, and lock myself in my quarters and cry for a few decades,” she choked. “I know what I am. Except for a brief, incredibly ill-advised affair with Ares, I’ve never tried to be anything more.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Mom considered. “Maybe I should have told you. But, sweetheart, please understand that I was just doing what I believed was best for you at the time. That’s all a parent can do.”

Calliope and Mom held each other in silence for awhile. “Mom,” Calliope said at last, “can I stay here for a few days?”

“As many as you need to,” Mom said.

“We’d better get back to Parnassus before someone misses us,” said Apollo.

“And I’ve got to give Hera some well-crafted lie before she tells the whole pantheon I’m pregnant,” I remembered. “Um, catch you later, guys,” I waved to my surreal gaggle of nephews. “Have a great life.”

“If it be the will of Calliope,” the Corybantes said to me, “we will name you as our mother to all who inquire after our parentage.”

“It is,” said Calliope.

“And you, Apollo,” they said to him, “with your blessing, we claim you as the father of our souls. You are our mother’s guardian, and though never her lover, you are beloved of her.”

“As a friend,” Calliope added, her voice slightly muffled by Mom’s hair. “A handsome male friend.”

“I would be honored,” said Apollo. “And I would be honored if your mother were to pursue me as a lover, but if she did, I would have to concede that my love for her is that of a brother for a sister. Which is a shame, considering she’s one of the few goddesses who isn’t.”

“Neither is Thalia your sister,” they observed.

“We really should be going,” Apollo decided.

“We should,” I agreed.

We got to Helicon, teleported home, and cleaned up. We met in the throne room, and I summoned Hermes. “What’s up with the wedding?” I asked him.

“You missed all the excitement,” he gleefully informed us. “Well, maybe not all of it. There’s a double reception going on, and I’m betting it’ll last at least a week.”

“Double reception? Okay then, can you give Hera a message for me? Tell her, ‘Story’s over; I lost them. A party would cheer me up. Can I please be re-invited?’ You got it?”

“As good as done.” He returned almost as soon as he’d left. “She said to come on over and to bring a date if you want,” he relayed.

“Will you be my date?” I asked Apollo.

“Because I don’t know who else a poor desperate goddess could get on such short notice, yes.”

“I knew I could count on you to have no plans.”

A double reception, you ask? Here’s how it went down. By the time the wedding had been stalled for about an hour, Zeus and Hera got into a huge fight. Zeus said Hera’s son couldn’t get a woman to stick with him, Hera said at least her son could stick to one woman at a time, Zeus said it looked like zero women to him, yada yada yada. Finally, Zeus threatened to call the whole event off, and Hera protested that she wasn’t going to let a perfectly good wedding go to waste, so somebody had better get freakin’ married. Though no one knows if Hera meant it or not, Helios and Rhoda actually volunteered. My sisters were very grateful that Aglaea and Hephaestus had unequivocally vetoed personalized song lyrics.

Well, just as Helios and Rhoda’s ceremony was coming to an end, Hephaestus and Aglaea got back to Olympus. By the time they’d reached Helicon, they were overwhelmed with guilt about having gotten married without either of their families present. So they cleaned themselves up, took off their wedding rings, summoned Hera, explained that Aglaea had been called away on a medical emergency, and, to Hera’s great delight, got married all over again.

Aglaea was still made up by Hera and accessorized by Aphrodite, but since she’d already had a ceremony done her way, she didn’t really mind. Besides, she was glad to have Asclepius do the father’s part in the ceremony. He was a little more into it than Hades. And this time, when Hephaestus took possession of his captive bride, her sisters got in a tug of war with him (each of them making off with a bracelet), and when he abducted Aglaea in a chariot at the end of the ceremony, her valiant brothers pursued them as Eros fought them off with a volley of arrows. They were quickly distracted from their noble errand by two random women and one random man in attendance.

Naturally, when I got to the reception, Hera wanted to speak with me right away. The story I gave her was that Calliope and I had taken advantage of the time off and paid our mom a visit, and Apollo had come with me so we could tell Mom about her impending grandchildren together. Unfortunately, while we were there, I lost the babies. Hera pointed out rather astutely that the child of a god and a goddess can’t die, even in a miscarriage. I explained that, kids being kids, as soon as they started crawling around, they were picking things up and eating them. She understood. The babies were citizens of Hades, and that was that. I also told her that Calliope decided she wanted to stay at Mnemosyne and catch up with Mom for awhile. Hera was charmed by the thought of a nice goddess so attached to her mother. So, apparently we were in the clear. Nothing left to do but join the party.

But neither I nor Apollo felt like it. Besides the exhaustion from the nonstop worrying and plotting of the last couple of weeks, the day’s work had left us drained of our powers and in desperate need of recharging. We stole away to Artemis’ quarters for some peace and quiet. We knew she’d understand, and that she’d probably be doing the same thing if, darn it, she didn’t have to work tonight. I crashed on her bed, which was very deliberately narrow enough for only one person. Apollo took a couch, which was bigger than the bed.

“I didn’t get a chance to say this earlier,” I told Apollo, “but I’m sorry you had to hear all that.”

“Hear what?” he asked.

“You know, about Orpheus,” I said. “It must have brought up bad memories. Some graphic narrative, huh? Those guys are their mother’s sons, alright.”

“Yeah.” He laughed a little. “It’s kind of funny, isn’t it?” he contemplated. “The idea of you and me being their parents.”

“See, that there is why I’m the comedian. Me, not you.”

“I wonder what our children would be like.”

“According to Psyche, Aglaea is the child you and I should have had but never did,” I recounted. “Of course, this is the girl who calls me Eros’ big sister figure, so I wouldn’t put too much stock in her assessment.”

At that, Apollo laughed like I knew he’d been needing to laugh for weeks. Exhaustion is even better than alcohol for enhancing the brain’s ability to find things funny. “Are you a little disappointed that she married Hephaestus?” he asked when he could breathe again.

“Get over it,” I threw a pillow at him. “I haven’t felt that way about Hephaestus in ages. I’m not even sure how much I felt that way when we were dating. I mean, I thought I did at the time, but who really knows what they’re doing the first time around?”

“You talked about him enough.”

“Because you made it too much fun.”



“The story we heard tonight?”


“Promise me you won’t try to discover the secret.”

“Why?” I became alert. “Do you know what it is?”

“No, but that’s exactly what I’m talking about. You don’t mind not knowing something until you think someone doesn’t want you to know it.”

“No, I don’t. I mean, yes I do. I mean – the opposite of whatever you just said is what I mean. The thing you said is wrong.”

“Just promise me, please. You know how you felt today when you looked at my instruments and realized that you can’t handle assisting a surgery?”

“I’ll never forget it.” So he had noticed that. I’d been hoping he hadn’t.

“When I figured out what Zeus did to Calliope, I realized that I can’t handle losing any of you.” He paused. “I love you.” My throat swelled shut for the full second between this apparent admission and the hasty disclaimer that followed. “I – I mean, I love all of you. All nine of you. Your sisters feel as much like family to me as Artemis does, which is more than I can say for any of my real half-sisters.”

“And what about me?”

“I can’t lose you,” he repeated. “Please, promise me you won’t try to discover the secret.”

“I don’t want any trouble with Zeus,” I told him, “and I can’t lose you either. That’s all I can tell you.” Truth be told, I was getting the uncomfortable feeling that Apollo was right. I’d been so focused on the “Zeus murdered our baby” part of the story that I hadn’t even thought about Orpheus’ secret. However, now that Apollo was asking me to promise not to try to discover it, I couldn’t quite bring myself to make that promise. His response did surprise me a little. I’d thought he’d have been more focused on the execution part of the story, too. “Apollo?”


“You’re just like me. And you’re about to say ‘No need to be insulting’,” I informed him.

“So now you’re a prophecy goddess, too?” he teased.

“You think I’m dying to discover the secret because you are.”

“But I have enough sense not to defy Zeus.”

“Something you learned by defying Zeus. I’ve never done anything of the sort.”

“And what exactly did you do today?”

“Thought outside the box,” I replied in brazen bliss. “You know what, we should get home before Artemis comes to bed in the morning and finds us asleep in her room.”

“She won’t care,” he said. “She’ll just sleep in Athena’s quarters. She does it all the time.”

“Okay,” I dropped my arm off the side of the bed. Apollo got up, shoved my arm onto the bed, and pulled the covers over me. He smoothed the hair off my face and looked at me for a moment as though trying to make a decision. Apparently he made it.

“Sweet dreams,” he tenderly taunted. I pummeled him with my remaining pillow, and then rolled over and fell right to sleep.

Another dreamland visit to the Fates. I’ll bet you didn’t see that coming.

“So, how did I do?” I asked them.

“We remain unsure,” said Lachesis. “The Corybantes were our will to begin with.”

“Do you want to be on record as saying that what Zeus did to my sister was your will?” I warned.

“It was our will that she and Zeus create offspring together,” said Clotho, spinning out seven identical threads. “Zeus could have gone anywhere in search of a woman. We sent him to the Museum at Helicon. Any of the Muses, indeed, any woman from the feast could have met him at Helicon that night. We chose the Muse Calliope. Do not complicate the issue.”

“Well, my will was for the well-being of my sister and her children, something you obviously didn’t care about in the least,” I seethed. “All kinds of things could have gone wrong with the babies, with the operation,” I said. “None of them did. Zeus never checked up on Calliope to see whether she was pregnant or made any attempt to take the babies, which he usually does when he impregnates a particularly gifted goddess. And Hera! Hera always finds out, but she didn’t this time.”

“That may have been your influence,” Lachesis conceded with some reluctance.

“On the other hand,” Atropos offered, “what of Calliope receiving news of Orpheus’ death? Hardly the ‘happily ever after’ you attempted to conjure. It is, however, perfectly in keeping with Calliope’s domain.”

“So my power doesn’t cancel another Muse’s,” I accepted. “I didn’t think it would. It makes more sense that our powers would enhance each other’s, anyway. Our mother created us so that our strongest powers work in tandem. But forget about my sisters’ powers; wasn’t the real issue whether I could influence yours? In fact,” I theorized, “maybe Calliope influenced you choosing her to bear the Corybantes in the first place. She’s been wanting to have an adventure of her own, and this experience certainly qualifies. This was her story. And before you say her role was too passive to truly be a protagonist, that plot to have an Asclepian in Hades and deliver the babies to that kingdom? That was all her idea.”

“Perhaps we should test your sister as well, then,” Lachesis pondered.

“No,” I quickly protested. The Muse of Comedy deliberately challenging the Fates was one thing. The Muse of Epic Poetry doing so was a terrifying prospect.

“Very well,” Clotho sighed. “We shall restrict our trials to you for the time being. We see now that we must eliminate your sisters from the trials as well as the love gods. This will take some doing. The nine of you are so closely intertwined,” she fingered a thick, colorful cord.

“That’ll be a challenge, alright,” I agreed.  “Wait, you’re going to pick the subject? That’s not fair!”

“We can see the full picture,” said Atropos. “We alone can ensure that the subject is not under the influence of another Muse or a love god.”

“Okay, first of all, I think I have a pretty good idea of who the Muses are influencing. Second, a person outside the influence of either love or art ought to be pretty easy to spot. That sounds like the very definition of needing laughter and a happy ending. Third, if you tell me who to focus my hypothetical powers on, then you, the Fates, are predestining that person for a happy ending, which makes my contribution moot, which would give you more opportunities to toy with me and interrupt my sleep.”

“She is shrewd,” Clotho observed. “As to your second point,” she addressed me, “do you truly believe you would recognize such a one?”

“Yeah, I think I could.”

“Very well,” said Atropos. “When you do, you may speak to us about her.”

“Maybe I will, maybe I won’t,” I breezed.

They stood and surrounded me, holding their hands together like rails on a fence. In one icy, menacing voice, they stated, “We believe you will.”

1.14 Lucky Number Seven

When Zeus and Hera defeated the Titans and took command over their subjects, both divine and mortal, they instituted a lot of rules for the mortals to live by. This made sense, their divine brethren agreed. Mortals are weak and foolish. It takes plenty of regulating just to keep them from destroying themselves.

One of these rules was to give parents a certain amount of authority over their children for as long as the parents lived. The rest of the gods agreed to this. The more guidance in those pathetic humans’ lives, the better. Besides, mortal parents usually died pretty early into their children’s adulthood anyway, so no big.

But then Zeus and Hera decreed that it would be hypocritical for the gods not to follow the very rules they had established. Divine parents were given the same tenure of authority over their children as mortal parents. Since just about every god in existence at the time was a creation of the banished Titans, there was little opposition. For all that generation knew, their future children could end up being as unpredictable and rebellious as, um, THEY had been.

Then there was the question of what to do in the case of absent or unknown parents. Zeus made it simple. He was the default guardian for every remotely questionable case, like Aphrodite’s. My sisters and I were the first such case. It was determined that Mom was our guardian as long as we were in Hades, but when we were in Zeus’ kingdom, where no parent of ours had citizenship, Zeus was. Mom was pretty upset about that at first, but it turned out that Zeus left us alone for the most part. He’d call us to court when he wanted to be entertained or something, but overall, we just weren’t that important to him. It wasn’t worth the effort to exert that much control over us.

Though Calliope’s never outright said so, I think the main reason she never married Oegrus is that she didn’t want to get Zeus involved. Mom could have acted as her guardian if they had been married in Hades, but then the groom wouldn’t have been able to leave. They were married in all but name until his inevitable death.

Then there was Demeter. She created a child without a father, and she was a full-time resident of Zeus’ kingdom. There was no way for Zeus to get around it. Persephone was all hers. She had every legal right to forbid Persephone to marry the god of her choosing, namely Hades. That is, until Hades helped Persephone fake her own abduction and played the kingdom borders card as soon as they were home free. If Mom couldn’t be our guardian in Zeus’ kingdom, Demeter had no authority over Persephone in Hades’ kingdom. The only one who had to grant permission for Persephone to marry Hades was…Hades. Thus Persephone, the first of our generation to get married, set the precedent for the husband becoming the wife’s new guardian upon marriage. I suspect that’s another reason Calliope and Oegrus never married. Can you imagine, a goddess legally subject to a mortal?

The Year of the Virgin Mothers, Hera was the last to conceive and the last to give birth. The mother-as-guardian precedent was firmly in place. Hephaestus was Hera’s alone to do with what she pleased, even if what she pleased was throwing him off a cliff. I suppose it could have been argued that he was Poseidon’s while he was being raised by a naiad, but no one ever argued over Hephaestus.

And that, boys and girls, is why a centuries-old god enthroned among the Twelve couldn’t get married without his mom’s permission.

Apparently he couldn’t get married without his mom’s micromanagement, either. I was beginning to regret ever having introduced Hera to the joys of the stage. In the weeks before the wedding, she was summoning us practically every day to go over some addition, rewrite, or restaging of the music for either the ceremony or the subsequent feast.

This would have been bearable, possibly even entertaining, if it weren’t for the fact that being around Hera was making Calliope a nervous wreck. None of our sisters could figure out why Calliope had a near constant shudder, why she jumped every time Hera called on her, or why she was throwing up before every practice. Muses never get stage fright. Stage adrenaline rush or stage euphoria, maybe, but never stage fright. I reminded her that the best way to avoid arousing Hera’s suspicion would be to relax and act normal. As they always do, those words just made things worse.

One day when Aglaea came by rehearsal, she was so concerned about Calliope’s behavior that she offered to give her a checkup. Calliope agreed. Aglaea had been setting up a clinic on Olympus so she could have her practice there once she moved in. It wasn’t completely finished, but she decided to let Calliope be her first patient. Calliope asked me to stick around for the exam.

“I want to check your blood for poisons,” said Aglaea, pricking Calliope’s finger and squeezing a few drops of blood into a tiny divining chalice barely larger than a thimble. “You’ve seemed a little off since Aphrodite’s feast. Someone could have spiked your drink or something.”

“I think it’s just nerves,” said Calliope, surely at least as worried as I was that someone had made a connection to the night of the feast. “I’ve been going nonstop getting ready for the wedding.”

“I hear you there,” Aglaea replied with a grim laugh as she shook the chalice and gazed into it. “Having Hera looking over your shoulder all the time can’t be helping.”

“Why would you say that?” Calliope snapped.

“You’re right, I shouldn’t talk about my future mother-in-law that way, but I can’t help it. She’s been driving me insane with all this wedding stuff. The other day I was asking Hephaestus if it was always going to be like this. He said, ‘No, I’m sure as soon as I’m finished getting married, she’ll go back to forgetting I’m even here.’ We keep telling each other, let’s just get through the wedding.


Oh is not a word you want to hear from your physician when she’s analyzing your blood. You especially don’t want the word to be accompanied by a bemused, perplexed countenance.

“‘Oh’, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with her, if she goes home and takes it easy she’ll be fine?” I said unhopefully.

“More or less,” said Aglaea. She addressed Calliope. “You were right about the nerves, but the main issue is that you’re approximately two weeks pregnant. Do you want to know if they’re boys or girls?”

We were silent for several seconds before Calliope said, “They?”

“Septuplets,” Aglaea replied. “You two don’t seem happy about this. Is there something I should know?”

“You can’t tell anyone, not even Hephaestus,” Calliope told her.

“No, never. All of this is confidential,” Aglaea promised. “But people are going to figure it out sooner or later. If you don’t mind me asking, are you and Ares back together?”

“I can’t believe I actually wish that were true,” she lamented. “Just don’t tell anyone. Anyone.”

“This doesn’t leave the room,” Aglaea assured her. “And if you need any help, please let me know. You know what? If you’re in trouble or something, you really should talk to Artemis.”

“NO!” Calliope and I said together.

“Okay, no Artemis. Guys, you’re scaring me.”

“You have no idea,” I said. I offered Calliope a steadying arm and started to open the door for her. The door opened without my aid. Through it walked Hera.

“Aglaea, darling, there you are. I wanted to talk to you about the bunting for the tables. I don’t think the colors you picked are going to work at all.”

“I thought for sure I said I was fine with eliminating it altogether,” said Aglaea.

“No, I don’t remember that. I only remember you saying you wanted blue and silver. You know what? I think we should eliminate it. Oh, hello, what are you girls doing here?”

“I wasn’t feeling well, so I came in for a checkup,” I said before Calliope had time to panic. “See? My blood. Aglaea says I’m fine. I just need to get home and rest. Calliope’s walking me home. Let’s walk home, Calliope.”

Hera picked up the chalice before Aglaea could stop her. “You’re pregnant,” she remarked.

“I didn’t know you could read a physician’s chalice,” I said conversationally.

“I don’t know much about medicine, but I am a prophecy goddess,” she reminded me. “Apollo based this invention on my divining chalice. In fact, I think I can…there. What a surprise,” she laughed with relieved sarcasm. “Apollo’s the father.”

“Even I can’t tell that,” Aglaea argued.

“I can see them together,” Hera showed her.

“I don’t see what you’re seeing,” said Aglaea.

“The picture’s very small,” said Hera. The chalice was only a centimeter in diameter. “But that’s definitely Apollo. Don’t worry, Thalia, the blanket’s hiding everything. All I see is your hair and your back.”

“I would really rather you weren’t seeing any of it,” I protested.

“Of course,” Hera said, handing the chalice to Aglaea. “I’m sorry to invade your privacy like that, but I had to be sure. You see, my husband was absent from Ares’ feast just long enough to make me worry, and since you obviously aren’t far enough along to be showing, I had to know.” Yeah, that totally excused picking up the freaking chalice in the first place. “Everything’s fine, though. It was unmistakably Apollo, and I could see that you two were nowhere near the forest where Ares’ feast was held.” Hera kissed my cheeks. “Congratulations, dear. You’ll be a fine mother. I’m just sorry you’ll have to share the little ones with Apollo.”

“They could do worse,” I thanked her. “My Lady, I just have one thing to ask of you: Please, please don’t say anything about this to anyone until after the wedding. This is Aglaea’s moment in center stage. We shouldn’t let anything distract the Pantheon from the celebration of this marriage, don’t you agree?”

“Absolutely,” Hera granted, “but the wedding is a week and a half away. With divine septuplets, you might just make the announcement yourself whether you want to or not.”

“I don’t know whether to thank you or strangle you,” said Calliope once we’d reached the safety of my room. “What possessed you to say that?”

“The knowledge that you’re my sister and you would have done the same for me.”

“We’d better tell Apollo and the others before they hear it from someone else,” she resolved. “Thank the Fates that my hair and bare back apparently resemble yours in the moonlight. Who knows, maybe Zeus thought I was you at first and that’s why he disguised as Apollo.”

“No, Zeus thinks Apollo’s sleeping with all of us, or at least that he should be,” I disagreed. “I doubt he knew or cared which one of us he’d end up with.”

“I keep playing the whole thing over in my head, but I honestly don’t know if he initiated things or if I did,” she fretted. “I want to believe it was all him, but I just don’t know.”

“You didn’t know it was Zeus,” I reminded her.

“That’s the point. Apollo’s my friend, and you – there are other considerations. I can’t know that I wouldn’t have done it if it really had been Apollo, and I hate that. I hate it so much.”

“Believe me, I’ve played it over in my head plenty of times, too, and I keep coming back to this conclusion: Zeus wasn’t acting like the real Apollo, so you weren’t responding the way you would have to the real Apollo. I’m sure he was manipulating you the whole time. It was not your fault, okay?” Yeah. I hated it, too.

I also hated telling Apollo that, within a month, the entire Pantheon would believe I was carrying his children. “Good,” was his wholly unexpected reaction.

“Excuse me?” I frowned.

“If Hera’s convinced I’m the father, Zeus won’t claim guardianship,” he explained. “I’ll be able to protect them. I doubt Zeus will connect ‘our’ pregnancy to his tryst with Calliope anyway. He’ll probably just tell me it’s about time, or something equally disgusting.

“Unfortunately,” he said to Calliope, “it won’t be long before it’s obvious that you’re pregnant and Thalia isn’t. Both of you can just lay low until the babies are born.”

“Actually,” said Calliope, “I’ve come up with a plan for the babies to be born before anyone finds out, and we’ll need you to make it work. We have until the wedding.”

As I’ve mentioned before, Asclepius’ mother, Coronis, was Apollo’s first love. She was a mortal princess. I never understood what Apollo saw in her other than, you know, what he saw in her. Anyway, while she was pregnant with Asclepius, Apollo found out she was cheating on him with the common mortal man whore she’d supposedly left for him. It’s a trick women of social standing use to avoid undesirable pregnancies – wait ’til after you’re pregnant by the preferred father to have an affair. Aphrodite tried this in reverse for the first century or two of her marriage, but when Hephaestus started marking eight months ahead on a calendar every time she propositioned him, she decided the jig was up.

Apollo told Artemis about Coronis’ infidelity. He didn’t ask her to kill Coronis, but when she threatened to, he didn’t stop her. He was overcome with regret about a minute too late. Artemis had already shot Coronis dead and thrown the body on a funeral pyre. Apollo’s efforts to bring Coronis back to life failed, but he was able to remove the baby in time to save it. He took the baby to a forest far away from both Olympus and the human cities and raised him with the help of Chiron, leader of the Centaurs.

Chiron taught Asclepius everything he knew about science and medicine, just as he’d taught Apollo before him. It was Chiron’s teaching that made Apollo a god of medicine. Their combined teaching, not to mention raw talent, made Asclepius The God of Medicine. One could say that Chiron saved Asclepius’ life. Based on his teaching, Apollo had invented a procedure for surgically removing an infant from its mother’s body.

If the baby is mortal, and the point is for the baby to live, the surgery can only be done very close to when the mother would have given birth anyway. Theoretically, if both parents are gods, the babies are immortal and therefore capable of surviving outside their mother as soon as they’re conceived. Theoretically. Apollo had never performed the surgery on a goddess before. Calliope’s plan was be the first. Apollo wanted to let the babies grow as long as possible, so we set the date for the night before the wedding.

We knew that, once the babies were released into the world, someone might still figure out that they were the children of Zeus and Calliope. Zeus would want them for his collection, possibly the reason he seduced a Muse in the first place. Hera would pour out her full wrath on at least Calliope, if not on all nine of us. She might even implicate Apollo somehow and target his demigod descendants. None of these were acceptable risks. That’s why the babies would be delivered by Lake Mnemosyne. We knew Mom would let them stay there. All they had to do was eat one bite of food grown in Hades, and they’d be citizens of that kingdom under Hades’ jurisdiction. Mom’s pomegranate tree would take care of that. Zeus would have no authority over the babies. And if worse came to worse, they could join the Inner Circle of the Mysteries, and no one could touch them.

Lying awake in my bed that night, I thought of all the things that could still go wrong. Someone could find out the truth in the week and a half before our plan was implemented. Apollo could make a mistake in the surgery. It had been decades since he’d done this kind of procedure, and a poorly-lit lakeshore isn’t an ideal medical facility. I knew the babies couldn’t die, but Hephaestus was living proof that permanent injury or disfiguration was a definite possibility. What if it was too soon for the babies to be born? What if they never grew, or if they grew wrong, or…something?

What if they were born without mouths? How could they eat the food of Hades if they didn’t have mouths? Or throats? Or stomachs? Nothing can be taken for granted with divine offspring, physically or spiritually. In planned pregnancies, a parent can will certain traits into a child, but even then, things don’t always turn out the way the parent anticipated.

Hera willed that Hephaestus would be a better man than Ares. He is, in every way but as a physical specimen. She also willed him to be unlike Zeus. That happened, and not necessarily in a good way. Zeus is all about gaining power. Hephaestus will accept power if you force it on him, but he’s not very good at claiming it when he deserves it. He never takes credit for accomplishments that were only made possible by his weapons and other inventions. Zeus is possessive to a fault. In spite of the fact that Zeus is an absolute slut, pity any other man who stares at Hera too long. Hephaestus hardly ever called Aphrodite out on her infidelity. On the rare occasions that he did, i.e. the Net Incident, it tended to be awfully passive-aggressive. I’m pretty sure the opposite of passive-aggressive is throwing huge freaking lightning bolts at whoever ticked you off.

Zeus’ creation of Athena was so much closer to conjuring than conception that Athena accurately claims to have no biological parents. Surely that method would give Zeus absolute control, right? His daughter would be perfect in every way, to his glory and Hera’s shame. That idea failed in so many ways.

First of all, do you know what happens when an artist is obsessed with a particular subject during a project, even negatively obsessed? Maybe especially negatively obsessed? That subject ends up being quite prominent in the finished work. Athena is more like Hera than any of Hera’s own daughters are. The strut, the attitude, the hair; it’s like Athena is a living statue for which Hera was the model. Also, through his intent to create a goddess who would be the wisest and most powerful of all his children, Zeus created one who was wiser than her “father” and who knew it from the second she came to life. As to whether she’s more powerful, thanks to her wisdom, we’ll probably never know.

No matter how much parents try to mold their children, I pondered, so much is still left up to the Fates.

The Fates.

I didn’t ask them to summon me. I hoped they wouldn’t. It had worked with Echo. Me and Apollo together, the God of Healing and the Goddess of Happy Endings. But what about Calliope? Plenty of epics ended in triumph for the hero, but nearly always a bittersweet triumph. So much personal loss for so little gain.

I went to her bed. Apollo had given her a sleeping potion mixed with a nightmare suppressant. I knew I wouldn’t wake her. With one hand on her head and the other on her womb, I silently proclaimed, Calliope, my sister goddess, known to many as the most beautiful, powerful, and wise of the Nine Muses. I claim an equal part in this story. Epics need comic relief. Heroes deserve happy endings. By all the power I have, that is my blessing to you and your children. You’ll be safe. You’ll be whole. All of you, I swore, will live happily ever after.

The next morning before breakfast, Aglaea came to our room and said she wanted to talk to us alone. “I altered the records to show Thalia as my patient yesterday,” she said. “I officially recorded that she is carrying Apollo’s children. The last part is true as far as I know, but I saw the way you two reacted to Hera yesterday, and I’m not stupid. I can be if you need me to be, but I just wanted to let you know that I’m not.”

“We need you to be,” Calliope said with stoic simplicity.

“If the occasion should arise, I can be blind and memory deficient, too.”

“Then you’re all set to live on Olympus, aren’t you?” I laughed dryly.

“I am all set to go on my honeymoon and spend an entire summer away from Olympus,” she laughed with me.

“Just the summer?” I teased.

“Hephaestus can’t be spared any longer than that. Besides, we’re really looking forward to setting up house together. Our quarters look incredible. I can’t wait to have you guys over. Hestia, unlike some goddesses I could mention, has been fantastic to work with. When I look at our home, I see us. When I look at our wedding plans, I see…”

“I know,” Calliope smiled in sympathy. It was good to see even that much of a smile from her. “Maybe you can convince her to stand at center stage flanked by peacocks while you and Hephaestus say your vows behind a screen.”

“Wedding peacocks,” I murmured in a faraway voice as my mind wandered to the realm of glorious possibilities.

“Speaking of which, don’t forget, Hera wants you guys on Olympus right after breakfast. See you.”

We ate a quick breakfast and carried out Hera’s orders. Calliope was the calmest she’d been since the night of the feast. I hoped my sisters wouldn’t ask why Hera kept giving me sentimental smiles and random hugs. While reviewing the staging of a chorale interlude, Hera called me aside to speak privately. “I hate to be the one to tell you this, dear, but you’re already starting to show.”

“I am?” My dress was getting burned the second I got back to the Museum.

“Yes. They’ll just get bigger and more obvious every day. I don’t think you should be in the wedding.”

“That’s fine, I guess,” I accepted. It was torture for a Muse to be denied the opportunity to perform, but I’d do it for Calliope. “Is there any particular place you’d like me to sit during the ceremony?”

“In your own house,” Hera clarified.

“What, you mean not come to the wedding at all?”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

“But I’ve really been looking forward to this wedding,” I objected as reverently as possible. “Aglaea’s my goddaughter, and Hephaestus is one of my best friends.” I bit my tongue before I could add, I’ve known him longer than you have, Mommy Dearest!

“Which is exactly why you won’t want to draw attention to yourself,” she maintained. “A wedding is all about the couple being joined in matrimony and the goddess who made their union possible.” Oh, the irony. “In fact, I don’t think you ought to come to any more practices. Go home, lie down, have a cup of tea, take the whole day off. Not for yourself, but for your children.” Huh. Was that how it worked? I could get into this motherhood thing. It was rather unfair that I would have all that time off when it should be Calliope. Even for a goddess, performing in a wedding hours after a major surgery was kind of extreme. If only there was some way to – hey!

“But I’ll be lonely spending all that time by myself,” I said with a sad little sigh.  “Can one of my sisters stay home with me? That way you’ll have seven Muses, and that’s a luckier number than eight.”

“You’re absolutely right,” Hera ruled.

“Calliope,” I called before Hera could pick a companion for me, “I need you to take me home.”

Apollo was pleased with this new development. Calliope was safe in the event that she did start showing before the operation. Besides, with both of us conveniently excused from the wedding, he could wait another day to remove the babies. Getting Apollo excused was easy enough. We just had to convince Hera that he wasn’t worthy of the honor of performing at her son’s wedding, having knocked up a Muse and all. There was no need to reschedule with Mom since we had never scheduled a visit in the first place. We knew we were welcome to just show up, so that’s what we were planning to do. The least information given to the fewest people, the better. Everything was in place. Well, almost everything. One task remained before me.

I burned that damn dress.

1.13 The Beach, The Moonlight, and The Mourning After

My estimate regarding the length of Aphrodite and Ares’ breakup was roughly correct. Ares did come up with a gift after all: a pre-wedding feast for men only (entertainment excepted) held in Dionysus’ forest. The thought that Hephaestus might not want to hang out and do guy stuff with the man his ex-wife left him for was beyond Ares’ comprehension.

Likewise, Aphrodite was still utterly oblivious to any discomfort Aglaea might feel about being gal pals with the sex goddess who used to be married to her fiancé. She decided to borrow Ares’ genius plan and throw a women-only feast for Aglaea on the same night. Hera, Hestia, and Demeter thought it sounded too juvenile, but Artemis and Athena accepted once they found out my sisters and I would be there, as did Persephone and Psyche. All five of Aglaea’s sisters were coming, too. Aphrodite promised there would be two satyrs for every girl.

Apollo, meanwhile, had accepted the invitation to Ares’ feast. “Someone has to be the voice of moderation,” he resigned.

“Without a doubt,” I agreed. “Did you hear Ares booked the Maenads for entertainment? I imagine you’ll have no choice but to try to convert them from their sad, sad life of maniacal excess in the thralls of Dionysus.”

“Such is my lot,” he lamented with a grave shake of his head. “I’m a victim of my own compassion. Really, though, I’ll mostly be there to make sure I don’t need to kill Hephaestus.”

“He can’t be killed,” I reminded him.

“I could devise a suitable alternative if need be. Speaking of which, you’ll look out for Artemis and my granddaughters, won’t you?”

“Artemis has a body count a mile long,” I dismissed. “And she already promised the girls that she’ll teleport any of them away from the feast any time they want. My sisters and I will make sure they won’t be missed.”

“Why can’t the girls teleport themselves?” he asked.

“Didn’t you know? The party’s not going to be at a sacred place. It’ll be on the beach down from the Helicon Museum – a short walk for goddesses, so no need to offer us a lift.”

“A beach party hosted by Aphrodite,” he reiterated. “You want to trade invitations?”

“Not a chance. I am not missing this,” I said. “Amphitrite and Rhoda are going to bring lots of mermaids and naiads. I bet we’ll get to do some underwater dancing. And saltwater is murder on my clothes…”

“Rhoda’s coming?”

“As far as I know,” I said. “I don’t see why she shouldn’t.” Rhoda is the adopted daughter of Poseidon, King of the Oceans, and Amphitrite, his queen. She is the biological daughter of Poseidon and Aphrodite. Everybody knows, nobody mentions it; although Amphitrite doesn’t care anyway. Poseidon isn’t much better than Zeus in the fidelity department, but Amphitrite is nothing like Hera. In her eyes, her husband can do no wrong. That’s what makes me believe the speculation that she and Aphrodite are sisters, even more than the fact that they look a lot alike and they both appeared in the sea out of nowhere.

What, your mortal brain doesn’t see the connection? It’s like this: Amphitrite is every bit as annoying as Aphrodite, but in the opposite way. Apollo would say they represent an excess and a deficiency of the Golden Mean. Aphrodite has no concept of devotion as a part of love. Amphitrite is wayyyy too devoted to her husband for her own good.

Which may or may not be Aphrodite’s fault. I didn’t know Amphitrite before she married Poseidon, so I can’t say. But I know the story. One day, Poseidon saw Amphitrite riding the waves on the back of one of her pet dolphins, a sacred animal she shares with Aphrodite. He knew then and there that this was the goddess he wanted as his queen. Clue Time with Thalia: Informing a girl of your intention to marry her the first time you see her is a good way to scare her off, especially if you carry a huge trident. Amphitrite was so freaked out by his aggressive advances that she swam away and hid in the depths of the sea. Another segment of Clue Time: Hiding in the depths of the sea is a great plan if you’re not hiding from a sea god!

It didn’t take Poseidon long to figure out where Amphitrite was. However, considering the (true) rumors that she not only wanted nothing to do with him but was on the verge of taking Hestia’s vow, he thought a different approach might be a good idea. So he enlisted Aphrodite to court Amphitrite on his behalf. She was only too happy to take the job, since celibacy is a mortal sin in her eyes. As you may have noticed, even completely unintentional dry spells get on her nerves. Anyway, she sent one of her own dolphins to hunt down Amphitrite and bring her to Poseidon’s palace.

Like I said, I wasn’t there, so I can’t say with absolute certainty that Aphrodite’s dolphin was carrying a love spell. However, Aphrodite had told Poseidon that she wouldn’t help him marry Amphitrite against her will, but that she was certain it would be Amphitrite’s will to marry Poseidon. And it was. Amphitrite came back completely enamored with the god who had once repulsed her. They couldn’t get married soon enough to suit her. And their honeymoon…thankfully, I’m not privy to the details, but many, many ships were lost at sea that year.

If Amphitrite was indeed under a love spell, it must have been an unbelievably powerful one, because it’s never worn off in all these centuries. If anything, it’s gotten worse. I guess it doesn’t matter as long as she’s happy, which she does seem to be. Still, the whole thing has always felt un-right.

Actually, before Amphitrite came along, Poseidon had an ongoing on-again, off-again thing with Demeter. There are rumors that he still does, but Demeter emphatically denies them. She was pretty ticked off about the whole wedding thing, though. She’d thought Poseidon was as categorically opposed to marriage as she was. That year wasn’t any better for farmers than it was for sailors. Crops kept mysteriously rejecting water.

Where was I going with all of this? Oh, right, Aphrodite’s beachfest. My sisters, Aglaea’s sisters, and I got to the beach just as the sun was setting. Aphrodite had insisted on bringing Aglaea herself, so they were already there. So were Amphitrite, Rhoda, and a bunch of mermaids who were having a giggly water fight in a tide pool. There were also a number of naiads who were trying to drag some dramatically reluctant satyrs into the surf. If the purpose of the show of reluctance was to increase the naiads’ determination, and I do believe it was, it was working rather well.

A long driftwood table was loaded down with food and wine. Tide-washed logs and giant shells for seating were strewn about seemingly at random, but, to a trained eye, in an artful composition. A bonfire at near center still left plenty of open sand for dancing. Terpsichore was the first to point out the only glaring omission.

“Where’s the band?” she pertly demanded. “We can’t dance without music.”

“Silly, that’s why you’re here!” Aphrodite laughed. “You brought your instruments, didn’t you?” she motioned toward a strip of sand that looked perfect for a bandstand.

She was answered with a cacophony of “What?” “You cannot be serious.” “Are you out of your mind?” “Nobody told me; did you know?” “Don’t we ever get to just hang out at party?”

Calliope managed to raise her voice above the din. “Aphrodite, you never told us you wanted us to provide entertainment. We don’t have our instruments, and we don’t have anything prepared.”

“No problem,” said Aphrodite. She clapped her hands. Instruments for all of us appeared on the bandstand. Aglaea shook her head in apology while mouthing I had no idea. “And you girls are the best. I know you can improvise just fine. Of course, we can’t keep all of you on the bandstand all night.” Before we could breathe in relief, Aphrodite continued, “Terpsichore, you’ll be dance mistress as soon as the satyrs’ performance is done; Melpomene and Thalia, some of our guests – well, most of our guests – don’t have my stamina, so you’ll be entertaining the stragglers with stories. Oh, and Urania, you can tell fortunes.”

“Yay,” Urania deadpanned. As we got in place for the band, she muttered, “The stars foretell that a strong hand will collide with the upside of your empty golden head.”

“Hey, cool it with the blonde jokes!” Aglaea chided. “I’m really sorry about this, guys. Somehow I’ll make sure you aren’t working all night. If it makes you feel any better, guess who set up the tables and chairs.”

Athena, Artemis, Psyche, and Persephone showed up not long after the satyrs’ choreographed dance started. The satyrs were a fair mix of the half-man-half-goat type and the man-with-a-horse-tail type. Persephone’s countenance bespoke the lameness of the party, but she forced herself to watch the satyrs’ dance anyway. Psyche watched her watch them.

Athena was dressed outstandingly as always. Her royal blue gown perfectly matched the plumes in her sparkling bronze helmet. Artemis wore her hair down in unadorned golden waves. Once again, she’d borrowed a dress chiton from Apollo. She looked like she wanted to shove one of her own arrows through her temples. Once Terpsichore took over as dance mistress, Athena bribed a few naiads to help drag Artemis onto the floor. To humor Athena, Artemis stood in place for about half a song before she strode back to her seat.

I was glad to see that Aglaea did seem to be enjoying herself. She was mostly dancing with the naiads, leaving the satyrs for her contented hostess.

“Sure you don’t want one of mine?” Persephone called to her. By all appearances, she was bored stiff by the dancing and the three satyrs dancing with her, but then again, no one was holding a dagger to her head.

“I’m an almost married woman!” Aglaea objected.

“Oh, yeah, I remember those days,” Persephone smirked. “Give it a couple centuries. A few dances at a beach party won’t mean a thing to either of you.”

After the dancing had gone on for awhile, I noticed Psyche and Artemis sitting quietly on the sidelines. Artemis was holding a clay goblet upside down over her upturned face, ascertaining that no more wine would drip from the vessel. I motioned to Melpomene that now would be a good time for a break. “This party isn’t your style?” Mel asked as we both took a seat next to them. A serving satyr instantly showed up with goblets of wine for her and me. It was very good wine.

“It would be more fun if Eros were here,” Psyche said wistfully. “Aphrodite wouldn’t let me bring him. She said there was a strict ‘no husbands allowed’ policy on the guest list. No one here can sky dance,” she lamented.

“I don’t know why Athena likes this kind of thing,” Artemis slightly slurred, crushing her goblet into the sand, having come to terms with the fact that it was completely dry. “Does this seem fitting for the Goddess of Wisdom to you? Look at that shameless naiad dancing with her. If she jumps one more time, the top of her dress is going to- and there it goes. If that were one of my nymphs, every satyr in this place would be dead right now.”

“Athena’s fixing the girl’s dress,” I pointed out.

“Yeah, and she’s laughing,” Artemis observed.

“Why don’t you cut in?” Psyche suggested. “If Eros were here, I wouldn’t give these beach bunnies a chance to get near him.”

“What are you implying?” Artemis glared.

“That you and Athena have a very special relationship that is entirely chaste and not at all like the one I have with my husband?” Psyche offered a hasty disclaimer.

“Okay, then.”

“How long have you two known each other?” Psyche asked.

“All her life and most of mine,” Artemis replied, a little more relaxed now as she continued to watch Athena, who was now safely dancing with Terpsichore. “In fact, in the beginning, I was a little younger than her. Older than you, but a younger woman than I am now.”

“It must have been hard growing up on Olympus without your mother,” Psyche said, wisely keeping her eyes on the bonfire and not on Artemis.

“It wasn’t great,” said Artemis, “but Apollo and I had each other.” She laughed to herself. “And then there was Hestia. She would have adopted us if she could have, and Apollo would have let her.”

“Oh, can I tell this story?” I begged with clasped hands. “Please? Please? Please? Please?”

“No, this is my story,” Mel claimed. “It is definitely a tragedy.”

“Nobody dies or gets turned into anything,” I argued.

“This is the tale of unrequited love between a heartbroken youth and the woman who nobly clung to her sworn maidenhead in the face of his tender advances,” Melpomene protested.

“If it’s so tragic,” I posed, “why are you snickering?”

“There’s not much of a story,” said Artemis, “and you guys didn’t even know us yet. Apollo had an enormous crush on Hestia. That’s all.”

“No it’s not,” I said. “He asked her to marry him. He was a little younger than Eros at the time.”

“We’re talking about Hestia the Olympian? The hearth goddess?” Psyche laughed. “Is that why she has an altar in his first temple?”

“The very same. He had it put there to impress her,” said Artemis.

“That was when he proposed to her,” said Melpomene.

“She let him down easy,” said Artemis. “I don’t know what he was thinking. He knew she’d taken a vow of chastity, and she’d already turned down Poseidon.” I silently reasoned that a woman turning down Poseidon and going for Apollo wasn’t entirely inconceivable, but I hadn’t had nearly enough wine to consider that thought worth sharing.

“This story explains so much about Apollo,” said Psyche.  “Obviously he was attracted to Hestia because he missed his mother. Hestia has a very maternal presence. And then there’s the whole fear of abandonment issue with your mother. People like to prove themselves right, even if they hate what they’re right about.”

“Read your history,” said Artemis. “Our mother didn’t abandon us. We gave ourselves up to protect her.”

“Exactly,” Psyche explained. “It’s a parent’s job to protect a child, not vice versa. For both of you, your whole relationship with your mother has been about serving and protecting her. I’m sure she didn’t ask it of you, but circumstances called, and you answered. And either way, you lost her. Apollo’s internalized the idea that all relationships are destined to end with the loss of his partner. He’s turned it into a self-fulfilling prophecy by only getting involved with mortals and demis, with the aforementioned exception of proposing to a virgin goddess, the ultimate unattainable. You know, that’s probably why he and Thalia never got together.”

“What, you think I’m too attainable? And who says us getting together or not was ever an issue?” I scoffed.

“Oh, please, it’s obvious,” Psyche waved me off. “Besides the way you two interact with each other, look at the way you are with Aglaea. She’s like the daughter the two of you should have had, but never did.”

“Okay, that’s not weird at all, considering she’s marrying my first boyfriend.”

“You were involved with Hephaestus? I never knew that.”

“No reason you should,” said Artemis. “Everyone’s forgotten about that except for Apollo. You know he told me he was afraid they’d get back together after the divorce?”

“And now Apollo will never make a move on you since he’s your guardian,” Psyche contemplated. “He’s made sure you’ll always be a part of his life, yet he’s created a line between you that he can’t allow himself to cross.”

“Isn’t it beautiful?” said Melpomene, her eyes misting over as mine rolled.

“He wants you close but not too close,” Psyche continued. “Close enough to protect you, but not close enough to be a danger to you.”

“That sounds like my stupid brother,” Artemis laughed. “He thinks all their deaths are his fault. Nothing can convince him that most of those lying, cheating bitches had it coming.”

“Daphne didn’t,” said Melpomene, causing me to wonder if she’d had more to drink than I realized.

Artemis lowered her head and motioned for us to listen. “Of course she didn’t,” she whispered. “I teleported Daphne away and put a laurel tree in her place all in the blink of an eye. I asked her for her side of the story; decided she hadn’t meant any harm and that something really was wrong with Apollo. She’s in my retinue now. Loves the job.”

“Eros told me about that,” Psyche admitted. “Apollo was so depressed after serving his sentence, and Eros thought making him fall in love would be the best way to cheer him up. He didn’t consider that a girl might not want Apollo, and the tree thing happened before he could shoot her. Then he thought Apollo being in love with a tree was funny, so he didn’t disenchant him. He really meant well. He always does.”

“All of us archers do,” Artemis commented, suddenly fitting an arrow to her bow. Alcohol does nothing to impair Artemis’ reflexes. All it does is make her a bit more defensive than usual. Before we could react, she shot the arrow at a satyr who was hitting on Athena. Athena caught the arrow in her hand and tossed it back into Artemis’ quiver, all without so much as turning her eyes. She smacked the satyr upside the head and came to sit with us.

“I had it under control,” she told Artemis.

“I was just looking out for you,” Artemis replied.

Athena held Artemis’ hand and stroked her fingers. “I’m the goddess of battle strategy. I think I can handle one idiotic satyr,” she half-teased.

“And I’m the goddess of virgins,” Artemis said.

Athena squeezed her hand. “I know,” she said softly. “Not for one second do I ever forget that.” She put her arm around Artemis’ shoulder. “It’s just dancing,” she soothed. “It doesn’t mean anything more to me than a chance to show off my beautiful, graceful, glorious self. You might like it if you gave it half a chance.”

“I don’t like showing myself off,” Artemis said, letting her head fall on Athena’s shoulder. Psyche’s lips parted, but Athena’s glance killed her words before they could leave her mouth. Even though I knew her silence was best for all concerned, I couldn’t help wondering what Psyche had been planning to say.

“That’s fine,” Athena squeezed Artemis’ hand, “but I do, and I need you to relax and let me do it. Come on, I can’t have any fun if I feel like you aren’t having any fun because you’re too busy hovering over me. You,” she called to a nearby serving satyr, “can you bring us a goblet of wine?”

“Make that two,” I added.

“Three,” said Mel.

Before Psyche could order a fourth, a golden arrow flew over her head and landed in front of her feet. She spun around and ran to a nearby boulder. I followed. “Eros!” she quietly exclaimed, finding him hidden behind the rock.

“Come on, baby,” he said, “you want to ditch this crowd and have our own party on Helicon? You can hear the music all the way from the Museum.”

“That sounds perfect,” she beamed.

“Hey, before you take off, how’s Ares’ bash going?” I asked.

“Dad drank himself into a coma right away, which doesn’t take much,” said Eros. “I think he knew that was the only way he was getting out of there. Dionysus strapped him to the back of a donkey and sent him up the hill to Olympus. It was pretty funny. I flew after him to make sure he got home okay, and then I came to pick up my lovely little butterfly here.”

“And the rest of the guests?” I hesitated.

“Oh, yeah, Apollo. When I left, they’d started a betting pool on how many drinks it would take for him to make out with Dionysus. I wanted to bet that Zeus would win the pool no matter how wrong he is, but Hermes wouldn’t go there. Kiss-up.”

“I never said Apollo specifically, but thank you so much for that mental image.” Gag. “You didn’t use any of your inventions to influence the outcome, did you?”

“Of course not!” Eros protested, thoroughly insulted at this affront to his guileless innocence. “They just have some really good wine. Come on, cutie bug, I sneaked a keg to the Museum.”

“What are we waiting for?” Psyche flew up behind him and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Go,” I told them. “Be sweet and revolting somewhere else. But not my old room!” I added.

“Why?” said Eros as he flew after his wife. “Afraid it’ll turn to dust if it sees some action?”

Before I could give a crushing response, Euterpe showed up and tugged on my dress. “Hey, Aglaea got a bunch of satyrs to take over the music so we can party,” she enticed. “Let’s go.”

There’s nothing like waking up on a beach with a mixture of sand and drool plastered to one side of your face. I wondered if Helios had made the sun extra bright as his revenge for not being able to drink much and having to leave for work right after Ares’ feast. As the blinding light brought Rhoda to the land of the living, she pulled an arrow out of her arm. “I think I’m in love with Helios,” she drawled.

“Really? When did you meet him?” asked Clio.

“I haven’t.”

“Give me that arrow so I can shoot your boyfriend out of the sky,” Persephone groaned, pulling her robe over her head. “Damn, I miss Hades.”

“No husband talk!” Aphrodite ordered as she struggled to dislodge herself from the half dozen or so satyrs who were sleeping around her.

“I meant my kingdom, bitch. And I’ll talk about my husband if I want to.”

“I should be getting back to mine,” Amphitrite dragged herself to the shoreline. “He misses me when I’m away. I hope the mermaids haven’t let him get too lonely. Rhoda, let’s go.”

“No, I’m trying to get Helios to wave back at me,” Rhoda waved an uncoordinated arm in the general direction of the sun.

“You can sober him when you’re summon,” Amphitrite promised as she led Rhoda into the tide. All of us who were awake covered our ears as Amphitrite clapped for her dolphin-powered chariot. The clapping and the dolphins’ farewell shrieks woke the Twerps.

“What a beautiful sunrise!” Terpsichore proclaimed in a clear, delighted voice as she stretched her dainty arms. I wanted her dead.

“Who didn’t last through the night?” Euterpe inquired in kind, looking around for the answer. “Aglaea and her sisters are gone, so are Artemis, Athena, and Psyche; Calliope, Polyhymnia, and Urania, big surprise; I think we have more naiads than we did at last count; Mel, you’re still here?”

“I knew this night would end in tragedy,” was Melpomene’s lethargic reply. “I had to bear witness.”

“We’d better get to Helicon before Apollo starts freaking out,” said Terpsichore.

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” I said. “I’ll bet he’s at least as hammered as we are.” But my own bed and my own bathtub did sound nice, so I joined my sisters.

As soon as we got to the Springs of Helicon, we teleported to our throne room at Parnassus and immediately went our separate ways. The Twerps went to check on Urania and Polyhymnia. Calliope was staying in my room since Aglaea and Epione were staying in hers, so I’d see to her soon enough. First I wanted to check on Apollo. Hearing voices inside his room, I stopped at his door to listen.

“You have to tell Thalia what happened last night,” Calliope was saying.

“Why?” said Apollo. “You think she’s run out of reasons to mock me for eternity?”

“I doubt she’ll find it all that funny. As far as I’m concerned, it was nothing more than a drunken mistake of epic proportions, but I’m not sure how she’ll take it. I think it’s best that she hear it from you.”

“Nothing I love more than morning-after damage control. You’ll come with me for moral support, won’t you?”

“Naturally. I’d just tell her myself, but…I really think it needs to be you.”

I heard them coming to the door. I skittered down the hall and acted like I was just now approaching as the door opened. “Thalia,” said Apollo. “We were just looking for you.”

“Hey; just wanted to make sure you got home from Ares’ party okay. And there’s Calliope! Glad you made it home safe, too.”

“Thalia,” Calliope said gravely, “there’s something we need to tell you. Come sit down,” she invited me inside the room.

“It’s really not that big of a deal,” said Apollo as he closed the door.

“Not that big of a deal?” Calliope repeated in disbelief. Apparently she thought it was that big of a deal.

“It’s just very, very embarrassing, and I wanted to tell you the truth before you heard it from someone else, especially someone else who might embellish the facts a bit. Last night I decided that avoiding excess can in itself be taken to excess, so I completely let loose at Ares’ feast. Ares, Hermes, Dionysus, and I got in a drinking contest. I don’t recall exactly how this happened, the details are quite hazy, but…several witnesses have confirmed that my traumatic memories of making out with Dionysus aren’t a nightmare. All we did was kiss, I swear. I wish I could ask you not to tell anyone, but Hermes saw it, so that ship has sailed.”

“Excuse me for a moment,” I said solemnly. I picked up a throw pillow, stuffed it against my face, and had a long, muffled cackle. “I’m good,” I put it down.

“Is that all you were going to tell her?” Calliope prompted.

“Oh, no, was there something else?” Apollo despaired.

“You cannot mean that,” Calliope narrowed her eyes. “But you can’t be joking. Not about this.”

“That’s not what we were talking about?”


“Honestly, I don’t have the slightest idea what you mean,” Apollo protested.

Calliope deliberately looked away from him and toward me. I got a little nervous as she clasped my hands together. “Thalia,” she said, her countenance full of remorse, “I don’t know how to tell you this, and I wish more than anything that I didn’t have to, but…last night, after I’d had far too much to drink, I went up to Helicon to sleep it off. When I got to the old Museum, Apollo was in the throne room.” Apollo’s countenance was as blank as a fresh tablet. “He invited me to share a blanket he’d brought, and we were reminiscing and Ares-bashing, and one thing led to another, and…Thalia, even I, the Goddess of Eloquence, am at a loss for the words to fully convey the guilt I feel. I think I can speak for both Apollo and myself when I say that we never would have slept together if we weren’t under the influence.”

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t feel anything. Everything before me, around me, and inside me turned to nothingness. “Calliope?” Apollo slowly entreated, my mind barely registering the sound or recognizing the speaker. “I don’t remember any of that.”

“That much is obvious,” she turned her head further away from him.

“Hear me out. I believe you, but I’m fairly sure that wasn’t me.”

“I suppose it’s possible that I could have been mistaken. We only live in the same house and share a friendship that spans centuries!”

“No, I think someone tricked you,” Apollo protested. “A shapeshifter or something. My memories of last night are awfully hazy, but I can swear I was never at Helicon. I stayed awake all night – who knows what the Maenads might have done to me if I’d fallen asleep, not to mention any of my brothers – and then I teleported straight here a little before sunrise. In fact, I left the same time as Helios. You can ask him.”

“Nothing like a bunch of drunkards’ memories for hard evidence,” Calliope retorted.

“Think about it!” he persisted. “Remember that time you walked in on Oegrus as he was getting in bed with, apparently, you?” I remembered that. It was decades afterward before our subsequent shun on Aphrodite was lifted. The graffiti in her temple never was traced back to us.

“Well, then, who do you think it could have been?” Calliope demanded.

“I don’t know, it might have been some obsessed fansatyr. It definitely wasn’t Ares, or Dionysus. I know they were at the feast all night. It couldn’t have been Ares’ sons. They aren’t that clever, and I don’t even know if they can shapeshift. I’m trying to think who else could – no. No, no, no, NO!” Apollo stood up and threw vase across the room, shattering it against the wall.

“What is it?” Calliope said, half concerned, half frightened. I was still too numb to react to anything.

“Zeus left early,” Apollo said in quiet rage. “This would be just like him. It makes perfect sense that he’d impersonate me. He knows I won’t call him out on it because I won’t risk incriminating you to Hera.”

“Oh, Fates,” Calliope trembled, her face nearly devoid of blood. “Oh, Fates. Oh, Fates.”

There is an unwritten rule among sisters that, when only two are present, both cannot have a breakdown at the same time. Calliope’s terror shook me back to the land of the living. “It’s alright,” I told her. “It’s not your fault. We don’t know for sure that it was Zeus, and if it was, we’ll do everything we can to make sure Hera never finds out.”

“She’ll find out,” Calliope strained for air. “She always finds out. You know what she’ll do to me.”

“No, we don’t,” I reminded her.

“That makes it worse!” she cried. I knew that.

“If that happens, you can hide at Lake Mnemosyne,” I told her. “Hera probably won’t look for you in Hades. And if worse comes to worst, you can join the Innermost Circle of the Mysteries, and Hera will never be able to touch you.”

“Neither will you. If I join the Innermost Circle, you’ll never see me again.”

“Then we’ll make sure the plan doesn’t go that far,” I determined. “And none of us will do anything stupid like try to avenge you and get himself banished to Tartarus in the process, right, Apollo? Right? Apollo?”

There was a long pause followed by a long sigh that sounded close to a growl. “Right.”

We questioned as many people as we could without arousing suspicion. The only possible conclusion was that it was, in fact, Zeus who had slept with Calliope. In any case, Calliope and I both believed it wasn’t Apollo. That he might have a drunken one night stand with a long-time platonic friend was remotely conceivable, but that he would lie about it and accuse another man after the fact wasn’t.

Still, for his own peace of mind, Apollo asked Helios to back up his account. Helios confirmed Apollo’s story. He also confirmed that Zeus had left early, but so had Hermes. And incidentally, Helios also let it slip that he and Rhoda were dating. Score one for Eros.

The thought that Hermes could have impersonated Apollo gave us short-lived hope. It sounded like just the kind of thing he’d do for laughs. Sadly, our investigation revealed an airtight alibi in the form of Urania. Urania was delighted with herself. She was the only one.

We never heard from Hera. Either she had given Zeus a free pass for the feast, or she didn’t suspect that he’d seduced one of us. We certainly weren’t going to press the issue. Apollo, Calliope, and I had kept the matter strictly between the three of us. For their own protection, we didn’t even tell our sisters. That included Artemis. Apollo knew that if Artemis found out Zeus had used her brother’s body for such an offense, she’d do something stupid and get herself banished to Tartarus. Nope, can’t tell those two are related.

Once we accepted that we weren’t in any imminent danger and acknowledged that we’d done everything we could, it was easy enough to shove the whole affair out of our minds. We had a wedding to prepare.

1.12 Merging Threads

The rest of the winter, or what passes for it in Delphi, was pretty uneventful. Then one day Hermes brought news that Persephone had come to visit Demeter. Demeter throws a huge banquet every year to celebrate her daughter’s return, and naturally, we’re always part of the entertainment. Polyhymnia writes an original song that we all sing in chorus (with Apollo as conductor since he became Governor of the Muses), and then we perform a dance to welcome the coming of spring. We always make amazing all-new spring pastel costumes. This year, I was wearing a rosy pink gown that perfectly complemented the sacred ivy and the five kinds of pink flowers that I’d woven into my hair.

Apollo was on stage. My sisters and I were waiting in the wings for our cue, which was taking awhile since Hera had appointed herself MC at this year’s gala. Thanks to her cameo at the Pythian Games, the Queen of the Gods had been bitten by the theater bug.

Terpsichore called me over to the spot from whence she was spying on the audience. “Oh, man, Thalia! Look, look, look! You have to see this! Look, by Hephaestus. Did you know about this? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Alright!” I grinned. “No, I so did not know he was going to bring a date. Good for him. Glad to see he’s putting himself out- oh, man, that’s Aglaea.”

“How cool is this?” Terpsichore bounced on her toes. “If she moves in with him, we’ll get to see her all the time! And she looks incredible. Simple; elegant; her. That pale blue is a nice color for her. I wonder if Aphrodite’s noticed they’re together. Look, there’s Aphrodite, between Ares and Hermes. You think she’s here with both of them?”

“It is possible. Dionysus is sitting pretty close, too,” I observed. “It’s weird, though; she really does seem like less of a slut now that she’s not technically cheating on anyone.” Ares had been her primary lover since the divorce, but neither of them made any pretense at monogamy.

“Ooh, there’s our cue!”

I filed onstage between Terpsichore and Urania. Aglaea smiled and subtly waved at me with one hand as she squeezed Hephaestus’ arm with the other. I promised myself that as soon as we could sit down and join the party, I was going to have a nice, long talk with my goddaughter.

Apollo apparently had the same idea. He also had the idea to teleport instead of pushing past a bunch of Muses; thus he got to the happy couple before I did. When I arrived, he was saying, “…and Orion. That was classic. He’s stuck in the sky, being chased by a giant scorpion for all eternity. Good times, good times.”

“I get it,” Hephaestus said with an impassive nod. “Bad things happen to beings who hurt, reject, harass, or otherwise threaten the women in your life.”

“So?” I amiably slipped my arm around Aglaea’s waist. “How long have you two been an item, and more importantly, why am I finding out about it here, now, like this?”

“Since I was staying with you guys, and because we didn’t want to tell anyone we were together until we were sure where it was going,” said Aglaea. “Also because theater gods are way too easy to distract.”

“Then you two are sure where this is going?” Apollo deduced. “I’d love to hear your conclusion.”

“We want to get married eventually,” said Hephaestus.

“We’ve already talked to Mom and Dad,” said Aglaea. “They weren’t crazy about the idea of me living on Olympus, but they like Hephaestus, and they think it’s great that I want to get married and start a family. As far as they’re concerned, we can become formally betrothed whenever we want.”

“Apparently your dad thought it was so great that he had to keep it from his own father,” Apollo murmured.

“We asked them to let us tell you ourselves when we were ready,” said Aglaea.

“Now, when you say ‘start a family’…” I glanced curiously at her midsection, wondering what else these cruel, cruel people had been keeping from me.

“I mean after we’re married,” she laughed, playfully slapping my face. “Come on, aren’t you guys just a little bit happy for us?”

“Just a little bit,” I conceded as I gave them each a rib-crushing hug.

Apollo clapped Hephaestus on the back. “You’re in one piece,” he smirked. “That should tell you something.”

“Coming from you, that’s the best congratulations I could hope for,” Hephaestus acknowledged.

“So,” said Apollo, “what’s holding up your betrothal?”

“The fact that it would involve talking to my parent,” Hephaestus sighed. “Believe me, I’ve tried, but since the divorce, she’s been acting like I don’t exist.”

“Hera and the Cold Shoulder of Death,” Apollo nodded. “I know it well.”

“She’s warming up a little. Yesterday I was trying to catch up with her in the hallway and she said, and I quote, ‘If I hear that goddessdamn cane clack one more time, I swear I’ll shove you off the mountain again.’ At least she spoke to me,” he said dryly.

“Can’t you go over her head?” I subtly nodded toward Zeus.

“Brilliant, Thalia,” said Apollo. “I suppose this could end up being the first time in history that Zeus giving Hera a direct order ended well for anyone involved.”

“What he said,” Hephaestus agreed.

“Does Aphrodite know about you guys?” I asked.

“If she’s observed us tonight, which is unlikely,” said Hephaestus.

Speak of the she-devil. “I never would have noticed you if it weren’t for this lovely creature who, beyond all reason, is apparently your date,” Aphrodite declared as she joined us. “Obviously one of mine. No, wait, I remember you from the Pythian Games!” she exclaimed in delight. “You’re that funny girl who sat next to me. We were never properly introduced. Are you one of mine? You could be.” I wasn’t sure, but I thought she meant it as a compliment.

“I’m Aglaea, daughter of Asclepius and Epione,” she confidently introduced herself. “And I’m not just his date, I’m his girlfriend. Practically his fiancée.”

Aphrodite giggled. “I hope you’re getting paid plenty to say that.” To Hephaestus, she added, “What is it with you and marriage, anyway? Even in your fantasies the girl is your future wife?”

“It’s my fantasy, too,” Aglaea persisted. “And my reality. I’m honestly planning to marry him.”

Aphrodite furrowed her brow. “Why?”

“Because I love him,” was Aglaea’s matter of fact answer.

“Huh,” Aphrodite pondered, her love goddess powers confirming the truth of Aglaea’s statement. “You really do. How odd. Do you not get out much or something? Never mind. Doesn’t matter. When you move to Olympus, look me up. I have plenty of open positions in my retinue. All those bitches quit when Hera started giving me the silent treatment. Stupid flaky nymphs.”

“Thanks, but I’m not sure I have the right resume for the job,” Aglaea smoothly apologized. “I’m a physician.”

“Perfect! Ares keeps breaking Hermes’ wings. I could use you on staff.”

“I’m not that kind of physician.”

“Whatever. Look me up anyway. You’re cute and funny and you’re going to be my best friend,” she declared. “Hey, I’m going to go mingle with those satyrs. You want to come?”

“No thanks, I’m good.”

“Suit yourself,” Aphrodite shrugged. She left as quickly as she’d come.

“I think that was the most bizarre conversation I’ve had in my life,” said Aglaea.

“Sure you don’t want to mingle with the satyrs?” Hephaestus laughed in his quiet way as he held her closer.

She kissed him. “I am exactly where I want to be.”

The next morning, I was awakened by a particularly urgent summons from Hera. I snapped myself into something presentable and rushed to answer her. Everyone had left the throne room except for Hera and Hephaestus. They were both sitting on their thrones, but Hera didn’t seem to be aware of her son’s presence. I couldn’t figure out why exactly my presence was needed.

“Thalia,” Hera said with a cloying menace in her tone, “my precious little clown. I seem to be immovably trapped in my throne. The funny thing is, this is not the first time this sort of thing has happened to me. The first was when I was at the Pythian Games and I sat in your throne. You wouldn’t know anything about this, would you, my pet?”

“I – I wouldn’t,” I blinked. “I truly would not. I can say with absolute honesty that I cannot think of a single reason why anyone in their right mind would do this to you deliberately,” I glared at Hephaestus.

“One possible reason,” said Hephaestus as he descended his throne and strode toward Hera’s, his cane deliberately and emphatically clacking against the marble floor all the way, “is that this is the only way one could think of to get her to sit down and listen.”

“I doubt you have anything to say that I would find worth listening to,” said Hera. “You’ve been nothing but a disgrace to me since the moment you were born.”

“I didn’t ask to be born,” he said. “That was entirely your choice. I didn’t ask to be a pawn in your ongoing conflict with your husband, either. In my entire life, have you ever once thought about what was good for me? What I wanted? What I needed? No, it’s always been about how I affected your status or how I made you look.”

“Oh, yes. When I gave you my consent to marry that harlot on a half shell, that was all about me.”

“Yeah, it was. You felt like you had to give me something to make up for the fact that you’d literally ignored my existence for the first years of my life. Once you’d done me that favor, as far as you were concerned, you never had to feel guilty again. Some favor. You and Zeus knew exactly what kind of marriage we’d have from the beginning. You knew I’d uphold your sacred institution, and you knew Aphrodite wouldn’t give a damn.”

“And you failed your role,” said Hera. “I believed you had the strength of character, the forbearance, the moral center, to keep that marriage together. I know better than anyone what an unenviable role that is, but you had what it took to fulfill it. I gave that to you. It was your choice to abandon it.”

“Yes, it was. And I can’t tell you how much I wish I’d never had to make it. It broke my heart to call the end of my marriage, because you did give me all of those things you just said. If you hadn’t, the divorce would have been as easy for me as it was for Aphrodite. Nothing changed for her, not really. Everything changed for me.

“And that, ultimately, is what I’ve been trying to talk to you about. I’ve fallen in love with an amazing goddess who, beyond all reason, as I’ve recently been reminded, is in love with me too. Not because of what I can do for her or how I can make her look, but because of the person I am. That’s what marriage is supposed to be like. And I want to marry her.”

Hera’s entire aura changed the moment she heard the magic word. “You want to get married?” she cried in rapture. “Why didn’t you just say so in the first place and skip all that pointless whining? Summon her at once, and let me out of this trap so I can embrace my daughter-in-law!”

“Sure, Mom; glad we had this talk. I feel like we understand each other so much better now,” he said as he tripped the release on the throne and deactivated the mechanism. Aglaea appeared before them.

“Oh, my darling!” Hera threw her arms around her and kissed her. “My blessings on you both. You and I must start planning the wedding immediately. We have to work quickly so that you can be married in my sacred month. You’ll make such a beautiful bride! What’s your name, my lovely?”

“Aglaea, daughter of Asclepius and Epione, granddaughter of Apollo, well, I guess you knew that part, you don’t need the whole genealogy, it’s – I – and that’s my godmother, but you didn’t really need to know that either, I suppose…”

“Everyone!” Hera summoned. As the Olympians appeared by their thrones one by one, I silently summoned my sisters, too, so they wouldn’t miss this. “Everyone, it is with great pride and greater pleasure that I announce the betrothal of Hephaestus, most beloved of my sons, to…”

“Aglaea,” the bewildered pair reminded her.

“Aglaea, daughter of – oh dear, you’re only a demigoddess. That won’t do at all. Allow me to grant you the first of my wedding gifts.” Hera took Aglaea’s hands and enveloped her in a blinding light, the same as she had done with Psyche. When the light had faded, she said, “You’re a full goddess now, immortal in every way. You can’t be killed, not even by one of us. The only thing that can stop you and my son from being together for eternity is yourselves.”

“I, too, would like to offer a gift,” Aphrodite proclaimed. We all held our breath as she approached Aglaea. I doubt anyone was worried that she’d be jealous of Hephaestus’ new bride, but it was entirely possible that she would feel some jealousy over Aglaea being Hera’s favorite for the moment. “There are six other goddesses of healing,” she said. “There’s only one goddess of beauty.” She kissed Aglaea on both cheeks. “Now there are two.”

“You don’t have t-”

“Oh, it’s alright,” Aphrodite assured her. She produced a full length mirror so Aglaea could behold herself in her new splendor. I wondered whether Aphrodite was aware that Aglaea looked exactly the same as before. “See? I didn’t make you as beautiful as me, just beautiful enough to be seen with me – which is going to be essential to our friendship. Now, I get final approval of your wedding dress. Can’t have my best friend looking shabby at her wedding. I’d make the gown myself, but, union rules and all that. I toil not, neither do I spin.”

“Quite right,” said Hera. “That task will go to my best seamstresses. You’ll be fitted later today. Oh, there’s so much I have to do. Demeter, Hestia come.” Hera and her girlfriends made a stately, dramatic exit.

“Better luck with this one,” Zeus granted, not bothering to descend his throne. He left, too. All the gods except Apollo and Hephaestus followed him.

“I’d better run; Ares and I were in the middle of something,” said Aphrodite. “You want to join us?” she offered Aglaea with generosity so pure and sweet as to bring a tear to one’s eye. “You can have him when I’m done.”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

“Well, you and I can get together later, then. We can…actually, I don’t know what people do for fun when they’re not having sex with each other. But we’ll figure out something, alright?” And then she was gone, too.

“Do I have to be her best friend?” Aglaea inquired of no one in particular.

“I won’t stop you,” said Hephaestus.

“Can I stop me?” Aglaea clarified.

He laughed. “She’ll believe what she wants no matter what you do. But don’t worry, I imagine she’ll get bored with the idea soon enough.”

“This may be our fault,” Artemis apologized. She and Athena had been hanging back, waiting for Aphrodite and Hera to leave before they offered their congratulations.

“Yeah,” said Athena. “Recently Aphrodite directed one too many virgin jokes at us, so we pointed out that she and Ares are perfect for each other since neither one of them has any friends.”

“You pointed out,” said Artemis. “But it is true.”

“Although I’ll give her more credit than Ares. She actually felt the need to do something about it,” Athena added.

“Do you give anyone less credit than Ares?” asked Artemis.

“I think that’s mathematically impossible,” Athena considered. “By the way, I’m going to weave you guys a tapestry. It’ll be ready by the wedding.”

“And I’m going to plant a cypress tree for you,” said Artemis, the thought of a gift obviously not having occurred to her until Athena had spoken up.

“Is it just a tree?” Aglaea said suspiciously.

Artemis’ eyes shifted back and forth. “Yes.”

“Artemis,” said Apollo.

“Okay, I’ll give you each a moonstone. Happy?”

“Very,” Hephaestus accepted. He’d always wanted to work with moonstones, but Artemis almost never gives them away on account of the fact that if she chipped off too many, there would be no more moon.

Just after Artemis and Athena left and before the Parnassus crowd could say our goodbyes, a trumpet blast pierced the air. We all turned our attention to a gap in the pillars through which Eros and Psyche were flying. They landed in the center of the room, Eros as flamboyantly as ever, Psyche daintily and modestly and yet still commanding at least as much attention as her bridegroom.

“We’re back!” Eros announced the obvious. “Anything good happen while we were gone?”

“And you did all this without me?” Eros said at the end of his dad’s story.

“I wanted to tell you, of course, but I couldn’t summon you while you were on your honeymoon, and I had no idea when you’d be back,” Hephaestus apologized. “Even so, we were going to wait and announce our betrothal until I’d had a chance to talk to you, but my mother took over, and there was nothing we could do about it. You know how she is.”

“No, that stuff’s cool. I meant I can’t believe you got this far without my help!” he grinned. “And by the way, thanks a lot, this is just what I needed. Another woman in my life who’s way too hot to be my mom.” He kissed Aglaea on the cheek. “I hope you don’t mind if I call you Aglaea.”

“Of course,” she assured him. “You already have a mom.”

“You know,” Psyche presented with understated enthusiasm, “I’ve developed a theory that marriages would benefit from a series of joint soul-examination sessions during the betrothal period.”

“Sounds interesting,” said Aglaea. “We’re going to be pretty busy over the next couple months, but when we get back from our honeymoon, I’d love to hear more about your theories.”

“But you’ll already be married by then,” Psyche complained.

“It’s okay, sweetiekins,” Eros consoled her. “Now that I’m back on duty, it won’t be long before you’ll have more test subjects than you know what to do with.”

“You’re right,” she cheered up. “Eros has this incredible new invention. He developed it for us originally, but it was too good not to share.”

“It’s a torch that sets people’s hearts on fire!” he said. “Can I get a few Muses for a demonstration?”

“I think we’ll be heading back to the Museum now,” Apollo spoke accurately for all of us. “Good to have you back. We’ve just been beside ourselves with all the peace and quiet.”

Once again, Mount Olympus flew into a flurry of wedding preparations, and Mount Parnassus was flying right alongside it. Aglaea was staying with us, as was Epione. Aglaea, though the youngest of her parents’ children, was the first to be married, and Epione wanted to help with the wedding as much as she could. Her help mostly consisted in providing Aglaea and Hephaestus with another voice of reason and restraint throughout the wedding planning – not an easy task when you have a marriage goddess, two love gods, and nine muses involved.

Personally, I don’t quite see what weddings and restraint have to do with one another. What, you think I like weddings because they’re romantic? Please. A wedding, like any public ceremony, is a production, and that is irresistible to a theater goddess. However, neither Aglaea nor Hephaestus has ever been particularly theatrical. I’m sure if it were completely up to them, they would have just had a simple exchange of vows in front of the minimum number of witnesses needed to make it legal. Unfortunately, if you happen to be the son of Hera, it’s SO not completely up to you.

Clio’s wedding gift was to catalogue the wedding gifts. For starters, Artemis did indeed give a pair of marble-sized moonstones. Hephaestus used them to make the wedding rings. Artemis also promised to hunt the finest game in the forest for the wedding feast. Demeter, too, was contributing the best from her gardens and orchards; Dionysus, the best from his vineyards; and Hermes, the best from his herds. Hestia was helping Aglaea make over Hephaestus’ quarters, and unlike Hera, she was actually paying attention to what the recipients of her services wanted. Apollo, of course, was performing at the wedding along with us. Zeus told Clio to put down Hera’s gift of complete immortality as “from both of us.”

Athena fulfilled her promise and set to work on a tapestry immediately. We were all dying to see what she’d come up with. Sometimes she designs the tapestries herself, and sometimes she just puts herself in a trance and lets her fingers create what they will. As it turned out, I got the first and last look at the tapestry when I was summoned to her quarters one day.

“Look at this,” she directed, evidently most displeased with her final product.

“Aphrodite’s in it,” I said, commenting on the first thing I saw. Even in a tapestry, Aphrodite is the first thing anyone sees. “You can’t give them that.”

“So glad I summoned you. I might not have noticed. What else do you see?”

“Hey, that’s me! And those are – whoa.” Once I was able to take my eyes off Aphrodite, I could see the whole scene, which was set in the Fates’ Tower. In the center of the scene was a tapestry on a giant loom. Clotho sat at an angle with her spinning wheel. Atropos stood to the left of the tapestry, her shears poised in the air. Lachesis stood to the right, holding her measuring stick over the two figures kneeling before the tapestry: Aphrodite and me. Aphrodite was leaning on my shoulder with one arm, her chin resting on her hand. In one of my hands, I was holding a golden thread and a variegated thread. With the other hand, I was unraveling a brown thread and a seafoam green one that had been tightly woven together. Aphrodite held the loose end of the seafoam thread and was blissfully fraying it between her fingers. Clotho was taking the stray end of the brown thread and matching it against an emerald green thread, one that complemented it so much better than the seafoam.

“Aphrodite’s part is obvious,” said Athena. “She doesn’t let anyone forget that she has the power to influence the Fates, and we all remember her blessing on the Pythian Games. The gold and variegated threads are Eros and Psyche, and the brown and green threads are Hephaestus and Aglaea. But what I don’t understand is, what are you doing in this picture?”

Hephaestus and Aglaea. In the whirlwind of discovering their relationship, it had completely escaped my mind that they’d first met at the Pythian Games. It made so much sense. My blessing had worked after all, completely worked. Or had Aphrodite’s? Or had both of our blessings happened to coincide? Or was it more than a coincidence? Had both of our blessings worked because they had a similar purpose? Had Aphrodite and I actually had a successful collaboration?

“I think I’m making the Fates weave a happy ending.”

Athena agreed not to tell anyone what I’d shared with her. She knew as well as I did that the reason my sisters and I have always been relatively free from Zeus and Hera’s meddling is that we’ve never been considered all that powerful. We’re the Glee Club of the Gods, and that’s all we’ve ever aspired to be. Athena rolled up the tapestry and gave it to me to take home. I gave it to Apollo. He stowed it away along with Asclepius’ cure for death. My secret was safe. I went to bed that night feeling peaceful, content, and rather proud of myself.

I had it coming.

Once again, I found myself in the Fates’ Tower. “Perhaps this time you will remember the encounter beyond waking,” Clotho scowled from her spinning wheel.

“Don’t fault her; it was the drug,” Atropos ran the tip of her shears along my scalp.

“How am I doing, Lachesis?” I asked. “Grown any since my last birthday?”

“You have proven difficult to measure,” she replied, striking my heels with the tip of her rod. “As we have shown you in Athena’s tapestry, it could be argued that your blessing worked, but Aphrodite made her blessing first, and hers was likely the more powerful. It is possible that the outcome would have been the same whether you had made your blessing or not. If your blessing did add power to hers, it is still possible that yours did not have the power to succeed alone.”

Don’t say you want another test; don’t say you want another test, I chanted in my head.

“We will not,” said Atropos. Gulp.

“Not yet,” Clotho added. Double gulp. “Aphrodite revels in her newfound freedom. In her exhilaration, she bestows her blessings upon gods and mortals left and right, whether they seek these blessings or not. Eros returns from his honeymoon, eager to grant the joy he has found to all within his reach. It would be nearly impossible to target anyone without intersecting the will of either of the love gods.”

“But a happy ending doesn’t always have to mean finding true love, does it?” I argued. “Look at Aphrodite.”

“Aphrodite’s true love is herself,” said Lachesis. “That is what she now has, and as you have seen, she is happy with that.”

“But for want of a friend,” Clotho added. “And now she has claimed one.”

“Whether a happy ending requires true love is irrelevant,” Atropos ruled. “The fact is, the two are not mutually exclusive, and for our purposes, we cannot risk you accidentally working in tandem with the love gods again. But a time will come soon enough.”

“Yes,” said Lachesis. “The love gods are fickle creatures, both of them. Easily bored, quickly tiring of what they once embraced with utmost enthusiasm. Eros will, unlike his mother, be constant in his connubial love. That much he was given by Hephaestus. But when have you known him to be constant in anything else? Or Aphrodite to be constant in anything at all?”

“Annoyance? Oh, right, rhetorical question. Hey, are you saying Hephaestus really is Eros’ father?” I backtracked.

“Hephaestus is not his father in body,” said Clotho. “However, when he chose to raise the boy as his own, he became his father in soul.”

I couldn’t help asking. Who else could possibly give me an answer? “So, is it Ares or Hermes?”

“We fail to see why you need this knowledge,” said Lachesis.

“We have told you all that you need to know for what you call the present,” said Atropos. “When we have more to tell you, we know where to find you.”

Athena made a new tapestry overnight, this time while she was conscious. The new tapestry was an unbelievable rendition of the wedding rings. I think she’d seen them a total of one time. Who but Athena could get the threads in the moonstones to shine with real moonlight? I noticed that the border was laurel branches rather than roses, the more traditional flora for a wedding tapestry, but entirely inappropriate for this wedding since roses are sacred to Aphrodite. Same with doves. And swans. And pearls. Did I mention that the decor for this wedding was posing a bit of a challenge?

Anyway, Athena’s gift left Ares as the only Olympian who hadn’t offered a gift of any kind. When Hera broached the subject, it turned out that he wasn’t deliberately snubbing Hephaestus. The thought of giving a wedding gift just hadn’t crossed his mind, that’s all. Ares asked Hera if promising never to make a pass at the bride could count. She informed him that it could not, and also that she’d like very much to forget he was her son. Ares gave up on the whole gift thing.

Aphrodite was so outraged by this slight to her most bestest friend that she broke up with him, leaving Hermes to succeed him as her primary lover. I figured this arrangement would last a week tops, so I had to move quickly to implement a plan that had formed in my mind the instant I’d heard the news. As a refreshing deviation, this plan had nothing whatsoever to do with weddings, gifts, or Fates.

“Why did you summon me here?” Apollo asked in confusion.

“What do you see?” I asked from atop Pegasus, quite pleased with myself for having come up with this plan and eager to get on with it.

“Hermes’ pasture.”

“What do you see in it?” I persisted.

“Hermes’ cattle,” he said, still not getting it.

“You’d think a sun god would be a lot brighter. What do you not see in it?”

“A reason for being here, ever?”

“Or…drumroll…Hermes, who is with Aphrodite, who will be keeping him occupied for a long, long time.” I stuck my crook at him like a royal scepter. A light went on over his head.

“Tell me, O Great Thalia,” he mock bowed as he took the shepherd’s crook from me, “would it be good comedy for Hermes to return to this pasture and find every one of his cows missing?”

“It would indeed.”

1.11 Piper, Herdsman, Messenger, Thief

Late the next morning, I was in that barely-conscious, immobile state between waking and slumber when I heard voices in the room.

“I really didn’t think you’d have them ready this soon,” I heard Aglaea say. She was clearly impressed about whatever “them” were.

“I’ve had a lot of time on my hands,” I heard Hephaestus modestly reply. “My wife – my ex-wife – is gone, and my son’s away on his honeymoon, so…now, don’t get me wrong; the divorce really was for the best, and I’m happy for my son – I guess he had to grow up sometime – but it’s a lot to adjust to.”

“I understand,” said Aglaea. “It’s just nice to have family around. You’d think I’d enjoy getting a break from my huge, crazy family, but I miss them already.”

“Any kids?” he asked.

“Nope, no kids, no boyfriend. At the moment. It’s not like I’ve taken a vow of chastity or anyth – well, not to say I’m a party girl either, just saying, I don’t know what I’m saying, I probably shouldn’t be saying anything. I have this tendency to ramble on and on and on when I’m nervous, not that you make me nervous, you’re very…you don’t make me nervous,” she mercifully finished.

He chuckled. “I don’t mind your rambling.” After a minute, he said, “So, do the crutches look alright? You don’t need any alterations?”

“Everything looks perfect.” She paused. “Of course, they won’t try them out until this evening.”

“Maybe I should come over then?” he suggested. “That way I’ll be on hand if there’s any…well, I’ll be here. If you want. I don’t have to.”

“No, no, I’d love that,” she protested. “That’d be a big help. I’d love to see you again. I mean-”

“Okay, then. Summon me if you want me. I mean, if you want to.”

By the time I blinked my eyes open, Hephaestus was gone. Apollo opened his eyes at about the same time. “I was wondering when you guys would wake up,” Aglaea cheerfully greeted us. “Here, let me get you some water, and then I’ll bring you your breakfasts.”

“That’s a nice dress you’re wearing,” Apollo observed aloud as I drank my water.

“I had to change into something,” Aglaea defended. It was a nice dress. Almost too nice for the work she was doing. In fact, it struck me as more appropriate for lounging and mortal-harassing.

“Your hair looks really good, too,” I noted. “I like the flower.”

“It’s nothing,” she brushed me off. “I’m going to get you guys something to eat. Don’t try to get up.”

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” I asked Apollo as soon as she’d left.

“Bitch stole your favorite hunter green dress, not to be confused with your favorite dress in any other color, hue, or shade?” he replied. The degree of his concern, sympathy, and interest was quite evident.

“Leave the mockery to me. It doesn’t become you. And yes.”

Thanks to Aglaea’s skills, Apollo and I were feeling much better. There was hardly any pain, and we were both feeling too energetic to be lying in bed all day. Tragically, that was exactly what we needed to do if we wanted our bones to heal properly. Even with my sisters dropping in to entertain us every so often, the day was agonizingly dull. Apollo and I livened it up as much as possible by congenially sniping at each other until Aglaea threatened us with the sleeping potion again.

I was ecstatic when Aglaea said it was time to try out the crutches. She summoned Hephaestus before we got started. He watched in silence as she showed us, one at a time, how we were supposed to use them. The crutches’ collaborative design made their use nearly effortless. The magic properties soothed the pressure on the arms, and the customized designs put our bodies at just the right angle for optimum comfort, or at least optimum lack of discomfort. And the decorative etchings were indeed pretty to look at.

“I guess you don’t need me, then,” Hephaestus commented, observing that everything was obviously in working order.

“I hate for you to come all the way here for nothing, though,” said Aglaea. “Won’t you stay for dinner?”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to be a bother.”

“Well, of course you don’t have to if you’d rather not,” Aglaea replied, seeming a little disappointed. “I’m sure you have all kinds of work you need to get back to-”

“Oh, good grief,” I cut her off. She’s way too nice, he’s way too shy, and I don’t have that kind of patience. “You want him to stay, you want to stay; he’s staying.”

Apollo and I got a little stronger every day. Aglaea carefully supervised our activity level, including some torture protocol she’d invented called “physical therapy”. By the second week, we were strong enough that she felt comfortable leaving us for a few hours every day. We didn’t ask her where she went, though she did assure us that she wasn’t going to Olympus when she saw how much the idea worried us. Apollo hates his family being anywhere near Zeus and Hera’s court. I don’t blame him, especially in light of recent events. Besides, there was always the chance Zeus might take a liking to my beautiful and partly mortal goddaughter, or that he wouldn’t but Hera would think he did anyway, and we couldn’t have that.

One day during the third week, while we were resting from our physical therapy, Aglaea asked, “You guys are pretty close to Athena, right?”

“More or less,” I said. “She’s a little out of my social stratum, but I’d call her a friend, and I’d hope she’d call me one.”

“She’s probably the most important person in my twin sister’s life after me,” said Apollo.

“After you,” I said. “Yeah, we’ll go with that. Why do you ask?”

Aglaea seemed pretty uncomfortable. “If something happened between her and Hephaestus, would you know both sides of the story?”

We immediately knew what she was talking about.

“Ohhh, boy.”


“That was-”

“So messed up.”

“Just a really stupid mistake.”

“Biggest disaster EVAR.”

“Athens?” we said together.

“Yeah, Athens,” she replied with an anxious frown. “The last time I saw Hephaestus, I asked him about it. I needed to know what happened with that – there are all kinds of rumors, you know – and I thought asking him directly would be the right thing to do. But he wouldn’t talk about it, and he seemed really, really guilty. I can’t believe he would hurt a woman, but…he just acted so guilty, I didn’t know what to think. I figured you guys would know.”

“It’s a long story,” I said. “Have a seat.” She sat down on my bed, and Apollo began the narrative.

“This was after your dad was grown up and I was living on Olympus for awhile,” he said. “Athena was in the middle of a war campaign, and she needed a new suit of armor. Naturally, she went to Hephaestus.”

“He took her measurements, and they were figuring up the order,” I continued. “You have to understand that when Athena is winning a war against Ares, everything in the world is good and beautiful and she absolutely loves everyone in this good and beautiful world. So anyway, she was going on and on to Hephaestus about how much she appreciated all the work he was doing for her, praising his craftsmanship, and so on and so forth. He replied, ‘It’s a labor of love’. He gets pretty flustered when people, especially female people, compliment him. So much so that he told Athena they could work out the payment when she picked up the armor the next day. She kissed him on the cheek and said, ‘Thanks, love ya.'”

“What Thalia left out is that Hermes came in to pick up a new hat while this was going on,” said Apollo. “Hermes is not one to pass up a potential prank.”

“Or a crack pairing,” I added. “He had figured out years before that Athena wasn’t attracted to men, but he also knew Hephaestus’ legendary clue deficiency in regard to women.”

“So, anyway, back to the story that I was telling because I was actually on Olympus when it happened,” Apollo took back the reins. “As the Fates would have it, the next day Athena was held up at the battlefield. She told Hermes to let Hephaestus know she was running late and wouldn’t be there until after dark. Hermes passed on the message – and took the liberty of slightly amending it.”

“If you call saying she wanted to pay him for the suit of armor by making hot, crazy, blacksmith-on-war-goddess love on his workbench ‘slightly amending’,” I interjected.

“That’s a bit of a paraphrase,” said Apollo. “Hermes’ exact message was, ‘I know we both have our vows to honor, but we might want to find a way around them someday. Would that be worth the price? Just you and me, no rules, no definitions. That workbench would be perfect.’ Remember, Hermes can’t lie in his messages, so Athena had to have really said all of those things at some point. I’ve never been able to figure out the original context, but I suppose it’s none of my business.”

“So he was already married?” Aglaea winced.

“Yes,” I said, not seeing the point in sugar-coating the incident. “Though, as far as I know, that was the only time he considered an affair.”

“I doubt he’d have considered it then, either,” said Apollo, “if he hadn’t been led to believe that Athena was propositioning him, while Aphrodite hadn’t spent one night at home in the past month.”

“He still hadn’t made up his mind when Athena came to pick up the armor,” I got Apollo back on track.

“She tried it on to check the fit,” said Apollo. “Once that was done, she told Hephaestus, ‘Help me out of this, and then we’ll talk about my payment’. So, he helped her out of her armor-”

“She was wearing a tunic under it,” I pointed out. “He helped her out of her armor and then decided to test the waters. He kissed her on the lips – probably the only man to do that to Athena ever. She pulled away, unfortunately in the direction of the aforementioned workbench, and laughed, ‘That’s not what I came here for. Let’s get down to business.’ He was on top of her in a second.”

“While I was on my way to the shop to pick up an order of arrows, I could hear her screaming, ‘No, stop, what is wrong with you?!'” said Apollo. “I ran to see if she needed help. I heard Hephaestus stammer, ‘So…what, are we role playing, or…?’ That was followed by a loud clang and a louder crash. When I got to the door, Athena was standing up holding her shield, looking ready to kill him or herself, and Hephaestus was on the ground holding another shield over his groin, looking like he wished the former were possible. He kept saying, ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know!’ over and over. Athena was shouting, ‘What part of ‘NO’ didn’t you understand? The consonant, the vowel, or the shield bash to the kidneys?’ He said, ‘Why didn’t you tell me you changed your mind when you first came in?’ She said, ‘What do you mean, changed my mind?’ He said, ‘Well, Hermes told me you said you wanted to-‘ What in Tartarus are you talking about? Hermes can’t just make up a message!’

“Quickly, Hephaestus recited Hermes’ message. Athena’s fury simmered to a quiet rage. ‘That was from four different private conversations. The only part that had anything to do with you was the workbench. I wanted to borrow it to work on a new weaving loom, you idiot. You know, all this time I thought you were one of the few men here who understood me. I can’t believe you honestly thought I would want to have sex with you.’ She paused for a moment to collect her thoughts. ‘Actually, I can,’ she shook her head. ‘You probably believe Hermes didn’t knock up your wife again, too.’

“Judging by Hephaestus’ resulting expression, I would say he had. Athena took her things and began a dramatic exit, murmuring oaths and epithets all the way. I didn’t blame her for being angry and shaken up, and I wanted more than anything to let her leave with what little dignity she could salvage. However, not knowing who she’d run across between there and her quarters, I took upon myself the unfortunate and exceedingly uncomfortable task of pointing out that she had something on her leg.

“Mortified into silence, she stalked back through the shop to the window. I was afraid she was going to jump until she picked up a knife. Hephaestus held his shield a little closer. She set her leg on the window sill and poised the knife over it. I didn’t dare make a move to stop her, for fear that she’d either hurt herself or me. Finally, to our relief, she just scraped her leg clean with the blade and hurled the knife out the window.”

“The knife landed in the ground, and a city sprang up,” I said. “Hephaestus was so humiliated by the whole ignominy that he didn’t want to claim it, so Athena said she would since she was the one who threw the knife. That’s how she came to be the official patron of Athens, and why it’s named after her. But they still have a temple to Hephaestus there, since he is technically the father of the city.” I can never say that with a straight face. Never.

“Does Athena hold a grudge?” Aglaea asked in bewildered concern.

“Are my eyes and tongue still in my head?” Apollo pointed out.

“Are Hephaestus’ man parts still intact?” I snickered.

“I guess you’re right,” she relaxed. “And I can definitely see why he didn’t want to talk about it.”

“Yeah, we never mention it around either of them,” I said.

“What about Hermes?” asked Aglaea. “It was all his fault. Didn’t anyone exact divine vengeance on him or anything?”

I was quiet, waiting for Apollo to answer or not. “Artemis killed his mortal lover,” he said, unperturbed and without hesitation. “Chione. Shot her clean through,” he snapped his fingers. “Artemis had had it out for Chione anyway. It turned out that when she left me for Hermes, she’d already been sleeping with him for months and ‘our’ twins were, in fact, his. She’d also claimed that Artemis was still a virgin because no man could possibly want her. In hindsight, I think the woman might have had a death wish.” Yep, I could tell that memory was no big deal to him. Nothing darkens the sun god. Uh huh.

“Um…wow,” said Aglaea. “You know what, thinking about things like that isn’t going to make it any easier for you to heal. Why don’t you tell me another story? How about the time you pawned God of Herding off on Hermes? I always loved it when Dad told me that one, but I’ve hardly ever heard about it from you.”

“Alright,” he accepted. This used to be one of Apollo’s favorite stories. How do you think Asclepius knew it so well? “The story starts a few years before Aphrodite came on the scene, not that she matters to this story aside from being the Eleventh Olympian,” he began. “By this time, Artemis and I were seated among the Olympians as well. In addition to being an archery goddess, Artemis had already established herself as the Goddess of Virgins, Pregnant Women, Hunting, and Animal Protection. She can be a little confused about herself.

“I realized that if I was going to keep up with my sister, I’d have to expand my resume. So far, I only had God of Archery, Science, and Theater. I’d claimed God of Theater hoping it would take me away from Olympus, and because I love the performing arts, of course, but there wasn’t much to do with that one since the Muses basically had it covered.”

“Not that he didn’t try,” I added. “He hung around the Helicon Museum every chance he got. Pesky little guy. Always underfoot. Constantly telling us how we could improve things that needed no improvement.”

“That should give you an idea of how unpleasant the atmosphere was at the Royal Court. I preferred to spend my time with a group of closed-minded, obstinate know-it-alls who couldn’t appreciate a little innovation and guidance. Recognizing that I wasn’t wanted, I took the opening for God of Herding, distasteful as it sounded.”

“You also wanted something more manly on your resume,” I reminded him. “Ares had plenty to say about you being the God of Theater. He had even more fun with that than with God of Science.”

“But there was no escape from the Muses,” Apollo ignored my contribution. “And did you forget God of Archery?” he quickly interjected. “Anyway, when I applied for the Herding job, I had completely forgotten that Thalia is a pastoral goddess.”

“Of all the luck,” Aglaea raised an eyebrow.

“She thought the job sounded just ‘AWE-some!'”

“I do not say that word like that,” I disclaimed.

“So practically every time Calliope let her off Helicon, Thalia would hang around my pastures. Pesky little thing. Always underfoot. Thought she knew everything about the craft.”

“I knew more than you did, which wasn’t setting the bar all that high,” I recalled.

“I was good at herding, I just hated it,” he defended.

“If by ‘was good,’ you mean ‘really sucked’,” I clarified. “Which brings us to Hermes.”

“The thing with Hermes didn’t happen until I’d had the job for years, thank you very much,” he protested. “And if you recall, it was completely your fault.”

“I do not recall that at all.”

“You were telling me this long, long story that you seemed to think was exceptionally entertaining, but evidently was so dull that it put me to sleep.”

“Could have been the story; could have been how very comfortable you were with your drowsy golden head in my lap,” I suggested.

“Could have been. Your lap was rather soft and ample. As you know, Aglaea, when your godmother is composing or performing, she is incapable of observing anything beyond the creation in her own mind. A herd of Pegasi could fly past the window and she wouldn’t notice. So it shouldn’t have surprised me when I woke up and found that every one of my cows was missing.”

“Again he blames me, but he didn’t notice this until after I’d gone home for the night,” I pointed out.

“So she didn’t even have to help me look for them. I checked for hoof prints, but the only ones I found led toward the middle of the pasture, where the cattle obviously were not. Then I spotted what appeared to be a small child’s sandal prints, also leading toward the middle of the pasture. None of it made sense. I could believe a thief would walk backward to disguise his trail, but how would he get the cattle to do the same? Having no other options, though, I decided to follow the trail in reverse.

“By morning, the trail had led to a dead end. I’d reached a part of the mountain slope that was so rocky, there was no way to leave prints at all. I didn’t know what I was going to do. I couldn’t go back to Zeus and tell him I’d lost all my cattle. I reasoned that he’d probably forgive me, but he also would probably fire me. I’d have to go back to working on Olympus unless I could think of another offsite job. I didn’t like hunting any more than I liked herding, and besides, Artemis already thought I was copying her by becoming an archery god. Which I wasn’t. We both came up with the idea at the same time.

“And then it happened: I had my first prophetic vision. I could see myself at the mouth of a cave talking to a little boy I’d never met before. He wore a garish traveler’s hat that was much too big for him, and he had dove-like wings growing out of his ankles. He was saying, ‘Oh, those? Those are my cows. Yours didn’t have legs like that, did they?’

“When the vision was over, I teleported to the cave I’d seen. My cattle were right there in a pen. They looked unharmed except that their legs were on backward. I also saw two tanned cow hides. I called inside the cave to see if anyone was there. A matronly, somewhat addled nymph came out to meet me. Her name was Maia. I asked her if she lived alone. She said it was only her and her son. I asked to meet her son. She said he was having his nap.

“We heard a dramatic, charming, childish yawn from inside the cave. I looked in and saw a small child bundled up on a small pallet. He crawled out from under the covers, found his hat, and toddled over to his mother. I thought he looked a little too big to be toddling. ‘Why is the big man here, Mommy?’ he asked right before he stuck his thumb in his mouth. I knelt down so that I was eye level with him.

“‘I’m here because I’m missing a herd of cattle. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?’

“‘No,’ he shook his curly head.

“I picked him up and carried him around to the pen. ‘You don’t know how those cows got in that pen?’ I asked him. He flew out of my arms and stood on the ground.

“‘Oh, those? Those are my cows. Yours didn’t have legs like that, did they?’

“‘It was the strangest thing,’ said his mother. ‘I woke up this morning and there they were. When my baby saw it, he said, ‘It’s a gift from a god!’ Isn’t that the most precious thing you’ve ever heard?’

“‘You’ve got a real jewel there,’ I told her. ‘The thing is, I’ve lost a herd of cattle, and I’m pretty sure this is it.’

“‘Are you suggesting I stole them?’ Maia asked indignantly. ‘You try running after a winged baby all day and see how much energy you have to steal a herd of cattle when you could be sleeping.’ The winged baby nodded his assent.

“‘Actually, I’m suggesting he stole them.'”

“‘He was with me all night!’ she protested.

“But you just said you were asleep all night,’ I reminded her.

“‘Look, young man, if you insist on slandering my son, I’m going to call his father.’

“Being young and stupid at the time, I replied, ‘Do it.’

“In a second, Zeus was standing in our midst. He complained, ‘Your son again?’ Poor man, being asked to do something about his own child. ‘Make it quick. If you keep me too long, I can’t be held responsible for my psychotic wife’s reaction.’

“‘On second thought,’ I said, ‘you’re not really needed here at all, My Lord. You can just go on back to Olympus. I’ve got it all under control. Really. We’re fine. Perfectly fine.’

“You know how it is with kids. You turn around, and the next thing you know, your baby is a teenager. In the time it had taken us to have this conversation, Hermes had grown three feet and his voice had changed. ‘Hey, Pops,’ he waved. ‘I guess you smelled the sacrifice?’ he indicated the two cow hides.

“‘Not unless it was at one of my designated altars,’ was his impatient reply.

“‘Damn. I knew I left out something. It was such a perfect sacrifice, too. I cut two cows into twelve equal portions, one for each of the Twelve Olympians.’

“‘There are eleven Olympians, ignoramus,’ I corrected him. ‘Aphrodite was named the eleventh when she married Hephaestus. Poseidon and Hades don’t count since they have their own kingdoms.’

“‘Oh, I wasn’t counting either of those guys. The twelfth was to me.’ He doffed his hat, which was still too big for his head, and bowed – not like a man bows to superiors, but like an actor bows to his enthralled audience. ‘Hermes, Son of Zeus, God of Travelers, Thieves, and Music.’

“Suddenly, I realized how I could keep from losing face in front of my father and get rid of that stupid job. ‘God of Music, huh?’ I said. ‘Show us.’

“He produced an instrument he’d just invented. ‘I call it…drumroll…The Lyre!…in honor of myself, the God of Liars.’ He strummed a few bars on it.

“‘That’s pretty cool,’ I told him. ‘What’ll you take for it?’

“‘How about your walking stick?’ he said with perfect innocence.

“‘It’s not a walking stick!’ I protested. ‘This is a sacred herding staff given to me by our father, Zeus, King of Olympus!’

“‘Dude, take it or leave it.’

“‘Fine,’ I handed it over with a great show of reluctance. That was the day I truly earned my place as a theater god.

“‘You know,’ Hermes wheedled, ‘this staff is pretty useless if I don’t have anything to herd with it.’

“‘What else do you have?’ I challenged. He showed me another invention of his – the shepherd’s pipe. It was crude and rustic, but it had a lot of potential. ‘I’d trade an entire herd of cattle AND a herd of sheep for that!’ I admired.

“‘Done,’ he handed it over. ‘HA!’ he triumphed. ‘Who’s the God of Herding now, bitch?’

“‘Damn! You win. I’m stuck with God of Music. Oh, and by the way, Your Majesty, I’m also the God of Prophecy now.’

“And so I was. I got my own temple in Delphi, my own house on Mount Parnassus, and my pick of the most beautiful Delphine mortals and nymphs to be my Oracles. Hermes did get a throne on Olympus, and to make sure he was never bored enough to get into too much trouble – as if – Zeus appointed him Messenger of the Gods. However, knowing Hermes’ love of trickery, Zeus made him swear an oath that he wouldn’t make up any of his messages. Zeus also made me swear that I’d be a good brother to Hermes and not fight with him anymore. It’s an oath I’ve always kept, though only the Fates know how.

“The end.”

“Bravo!” Aglaea clapped.

“Hey, that’s not the end,” I protested.

“My story, my ending,” Apollo ruled.

“Yeah, but you left out the part where you came to the Museum to tell us your big news.”

“I’ve never heard this part,” said Aglaea.

“While my sisters were taking a break from their shameless fawning to help Polyhymnia with a song she was composing for the occasion, Apollo offered me the shepherd’s pipe and said, ‘Here; I already have an idea for an improvement, but I know you like lame things, so…’ I said, ‘Take that back.’ He said, ‘Okay, I will,’ and he took the pipe back. Years later he presented it as a gift to Hermes’ firstborn. That’s why today the instrument is more commonly known as the Pipes of Pan, or the Pan flute. Pan made me one. I can make some awesome music on it, and it’s not lame at all.”

“It’s not lame because I modified it for you,” said Apollo.

“It’s not lame because I’m goooood,” I said, producing the instrument. “Listen.” I played the first few bars of a playful, peaceful melody. Not to be outdone, Apollo produced his kithara and played along. He started singing the melody, and Aglaea joined in on the harmony. She does have an excellent voice. It’s a shame she never devoted more effort to the arts.

When we were done with the song, she took our instruments away. “You two need to get some rest now,” she ordered. “I probably shouldn’t have let you play those instruments yet.” She pulled a dark screen across the window. “I’ll come back in a couple hours with your dinner. Summon me if you need anything.”

A few weeks later, Aglaea informed us that we were well enough to go back to our normal routine. She’d stay one more night with us. Although Apollo and I were more than ready to get back to our usual activities, all ten of us were awfully sad to see Aglaea go. We’d gotten so used to having her as part of our household.

But getting used to something isn’t the same as not wanting it to change. I thought of this as I was lying in bed trying to fall asleep, realizing that this would be my last night with Apollo. I’d gotten used to it. Gotten used to him. That didn’t mean I wished things weren’t going back to normal. I couldn’t wait to be back in my own room. I knew I’d fall asleep easier when I couldn’t hear him tossing and turning, trying to get into the one and only precise position in which he could sleep. And it would be such a relief to wake up and not hear him breathing. It’s a very distracting sound.

I was startled out of my reverie as I felt an unexpected touch on my left arm, which had been dangling off the side of the bed. I relaxed and let Apollo raise my arm and push it onto the bed alongside me. “That’s been driving me crazy,” he said. “And I don’t know why you do it. You never fall asleep with your arm dangling. You always pick it up right before you roll over onto your side and curl into fetal position with your back toward me. It’s annoying.”

“You sleep with your mouth open,” I said. “You don’t snore, it’s just wide open. Sometimes I’m not sure whether I want to close it or drop a bug in it,” I softly laughed.

“Maybe you’ve dreamed of it,” he said. “You laugh in your sleep.”

In blissful obstinacy, I dropped my arm back off the side of the bed. I felt Apollo reach for it again. I grabbed his fingers and wrapped mine around them. We stayed like that for awhile; our clasped hands weighing down our arms like a pendant on a cord. I pondered whether, if this were a scene in a play, it would work for the woman to kiss the man’s hand before she let it go, rolled over, and went to sleep. Maybe she’d say something revoltingly sweet like Goodnight, Sunshine even though she’d never given him a nickname before, at least not a flattering one. It could be kind of funny.

I squeezed Apollo’s hand. He squeezed mine back. We let go and turned away from each other. No. It wouldn’t work at all.