The Deep End of the Sea (15 page)

But Persephone merely laughs, her own cheeks red from her husband’s good-natured chastising. So instead, she points out the sights for me, telling me which stores she likes to frequent, which directions the other gods live, and of businesses I ought to check out when I decide it’s time to explore Olympus. “I’d love to take you myself, darling,” she says, squeezing my arm, “but I will completely understand if you feel you need to escape us and get out on your own.”

I go to protest, but Hades chuckles. “I’m sure Hermes may have his own ideas about taking her out exploring, Peri.”

There I go, blushing again.

“Well, that is up to you, of course.” Stars above, her smile could sway the worst grouch in the world back towards joy. “Personally, I would find him a boring tour guide of Olympus, as would my husband here.” She blows him a kiss, and he rolls his eyes again despite his indulgent grin. “Do not think you have to humor any of us when you go out exploring. You are free to do so whenever you wish, with whomever you wish. But my offer stands.”

She seems so sincere. Persephone and Hades, they’ve been nothing but generous with me this week. So these words of hers, with her arm linked in mine, inspires an overwhelming rush of contentment and gratitude to flow through me, tempering the adrenaline. “I must thank you two for everything you’ve done for me. You’ve certainly had no reason to do so, not with all of my faults and actions in the past, but know it is much appreciated. I will always treasure your kindness.”

Neither god says anything for a long moment. But then Hades says, voice rough with an emotion I can’t pinpoint, “The pleasure is ours.”

Persephone kisses my cheek. “We love having you here.”

The rest of the drive, they kindly yet purposely chat together about issues going on in the Underworld, leaving me to do exactly what I want to do: watch the things that have only ever been two dimensional to me bloom into 3-D.

The moment we step into the restaurant, claustrophobia creeps into my bones. It’s crowded in here; despite the cool air piping through vents above us, there’s still an oppressive heat which leaves my palms sweating. It doesn’t help that everyone stops and stares when they notice us. I try to tell myself it’s because Hades and Persephone are celebrities in this town, but there’s no denying Tele and Kore’s earlier words are replaying in my mind.

Plus, it’s my name murmuring in soft whispers weighted down by the contrasting airflows in the room. They know who I am. They know what I’ve done.

No one would dare call me outright for it, not in the presence of these two gods, but I do not think it my imagination that scorn and fear mingles in these murmured gossipings. Part of me wishes I were back at the villa, where, even as I wonder if people are paid to be kind, a safety net stretches out below me at all times. Here, though, surrounded by burning stares and freezing words, the width of the rope holding the net together turns thin and gossamer.

Making eye contact with anyone outside of my immediate party is out of the question. Any time I do so by accident, my head swims. It sounds ridiculous, but there are far too many souls in here. I force my eyes on safe things: smoothing wrinkles out of the soft pink silk I’m wearing; Persephone’s mouth, perfectly sculpted as if it were on a marble bust, as she describes just how much she adores Hephaestus; the tiny yet charming constellation of freckles across the bridge of her nose; and Hades’ occasional rubbing of his newly grown, dark goatee, like he’s contemplating shaving it off because an itch might plague him in this heat. Even as we’re led into a grand room filled with chandeliers and white cloth covered tables, where forks and knives clatter against china and laughter mixes with wine and glass, I choose to focus on the clean line of crisp, black jacket the maître d' in front of me wears, and of how his back is straight and elegant as if he grew up with a book on his head and punishment for pages ever touching the ground.

It isn’t until we reach our table, front and center of a wall of windows overlooking bright city lights illuminating navy and black sights, that I allow my eyes to meet another pair so vibrantly blue that it would be impossible
not
to ogle them outright.

“Finally!” the owner exclaims, rising up out of her seat so gracefully she just might be floating. Which, with her ethereal beauty, I would not put past her. “We thought you three would never get here.”

The last time I saw Aphrodite, she was sitting next to Hermes in the Assembly Room. Apparently, one can never get used to her stunning visage; she steals my breath away just as surely in this moment as she did in that. Blonde hair so fair in nearly glows streams down around a heart-shaped face no other in existence could rival. But I think it’s her smile that is the most beautiful thing about her—perhaps a bit too wide for her delicate face, it somehow manages to illuminate her appearance until it dazes you.

“Yes, well, this place is a zoo.” Persephone says, stepping forward into Aphrodite’s outstretched arms for a quick hug and a pair of air kisses. “I feared we would either be trampled in the lobby or die of starvation from the lengthy wait.”

Wind chime laughter floats around the Goddess of Love as she pulls away from her friend. Hades says wryly, “We were out there for all of five minutes, Peri. A person can hardly starve in five minutes.”

“He lies,” Persephone says. Her lips purse together, as if she’s holding her mirth in. “It was at least ten minutes. One can surely pass out from hunger in ten minutes.”

“We will have to ensure that the waiter comes back immediately, lest anybody passes out and causes a scene tonight. Only the stars above know how that would look in the rag Angelia puts out,” another voice says, and it’s then I notice a short, plain man, slightly stooped and standing next to Aphrodite. He’s got shaggy brown hair the exact color of dirt, a beard and bushy eyebrows to match, and eyes the color of molten steel.

Aphrodite giggles again and presses a hand lovingly against his ruddy cheek before bending down to kiss him. “Angelia adores you. The day she allows her reporters to say a bad thing about you is the day Olympus falls.”

“I am not the one starving nor in danger of swooning,” the man says. And then his eyes, equally piercing as the goddess’ standing next to him, laser in on me. “Please forgive us our lack of propriety. I know I can speak for the both of us that we are extraordinarily pleased to have you join us for dinner tonight.”

My skin heats up ever further, only this time, I cannot blame the crowds around me. Aphrodite disentangles herself from the man and, without warning, steps around Persephone and envelopes me into a hug that smells like a thousand rosebushes in full bloom during a warm Greek summer day. Startled, my arms flail about me, unsure whether I ought to fold them around her slender body or stay respectfully by my side.

She does not seem to notice as she presses real kisses against both of my cheeks before withdrawing back into her space. “You are absolutely adorable. Isn’t she, honey? Is she not the most exquisite girl you have ever seen? Oh, I am dying in envy over your hair. Divine. Simply divine. Honey, what do you think?” She turns to the man next to her, who must be nearly a foot shorter than her statuesque frame even when she doesn’t wear heels. “Could I get away with this shade? I don’t know if I could pull it off like she can, but damn if I don’t want to run out and dye my hair right this very minute.”

“You will do nothing of the sort. Stop freaking the poor girl out, Dite,” he says. I like his grin—it’s heavily lopsided, bordering on goofy. Then he steps forward and holds out his hand. “She’s been so looking forward to meeting you that apparently she’s lost her manners and forgotten to introduce us. My name is Hephaestus; this is my wife Aphrodite.”

I stare down at the hand proffered, so large for his size and somewhat stained. A god, offering to shake my hand? Have I been wrong about their kind all of these years, despite the examples Hermes showed me time and time again? When my skin meets his, and his sturdy fingers curl around mine for the brief moment our hands claps, my gut twists in shame.

I’ve thought them all worse than the monster I was accused of being. Heartless, fickle beings who loved to torment mortals on the turn of a dime. Maybe I’ve judged them all without getting to know them first, just as surely as history as judged me.

This is all so surreal.

“Oh, Medusa, forgive us,” Persephone quickly says, her hand protectively going to my lower back. “I should have immediately made introductions. See? I’m close to swooning. Please tell me that is a basket of bread on the table.”

Hades rolls his eyes again but winks as he realizes I notice his playful exasperation. He holds out my seat for me; I scramble for something appropriate to say. “I’m honored to dine with you tonight,” I tell them as Persephone gently angles me toward the chair next to Aphrodite. She chooses the one on my left; before he goes to his seat, Hades drops a loving kiss on top of his wife’s head.

Aphrodite sinks down in her chair just as gracefully as she’d floated out of it. Her hand immediately goes to my arm, clutching me like I’ve seen countless girlfriends do in chick flicks over the years. “My brother ... I could just kill him. Kill him! He’s lucky he’s not here right now or I might just leap across this table and strangle him. I’ve begged him for ages to meet you, you know.
Ages
. But he’d give me this line of bull with his whole,” she drops her voice to a much lower approximation of what I assume she thinks Hermes’ sounds like, “
’She needs space, Dite. You come on way too strong; you’ll scare the crap out of her.’
” Her voice returns to normal. “Can you believe that? Because you and I ... I just know it. We’ll get along like sisters. I feel it in my bones. Honey!” She turns to Hephaestus, seated on her right. “Didn’t I tell you? From the first moment I saw her in the Assembly hall, I knew. No wonder Hermes is—”

The table rattles as she jerks back, wincing before flushing bright red and bursting into giggles again. As she leans down and rubs her leg, her husband gives her a pointed yet exasperated look I can’t quite decipher. A choking sound comes from Persephone, along with an unlady-like snort. Hades busies himself with the wine menu the maître d' handed over before leaving us alone.

Did I miss something other than a goddess attempting to break the record set for fastest speaker alive?

She mercifully lets my arm go and adds, more slowly, “Yes, um, well ... that is a lovely dress. Just lovely.”

Puzzled, and admittedly more than a bit overwhelmed by her boisterous personality, I thank her. Like he knows I need some time to adjust to all this newness, Hades switches the subject by asking if it would behoove everyone to have a bottle of wine brought to the table or if individual drinks would be preferred. Several amusing minutes of good-natured arguing follow, during which I am content to merely watch the interactions between these gods and goddesses. Just as I was when I first observed Hades and Persephone together, I’m surprised by the relationship between Aphrodite and Hephaestus. Either she’s an excellent actress or the Goddess of Love is genuinely head-over-heels in love with her quiet yet wry husband. They touch each other almost as much as my hosts do, little touches such as holding hands and kissing knuckles, constant ones that keep them connected.

Not that we ever do such things together, but these actions leave me irrationally missing Hermes something fierce.

Once the wine is selected—Persephone wins out, claiming I need to experience ambrosia or what was the point of us coming to this particular place anyway—the conversation turns toward work matters, which relieves me. I’m not pushed into talking about myself or put on the spot at any moment; then again, I am not ignored, either. The muscles bunching in my shoulders gradually relax (I have a sneaky suspicion I have the ambrosia to partially thank for that), and for the first time since walking into the restaurant, I don’t yearn to be holed up in my room back at the villa.

Is this what it’s like, the proverbial going out to hang with one’s friends that television shows glorify? Because if it is, I think I might very well learn to like it, despite desperately wishing Hermes were here. As comfortable as I have become with Persephone and Hades, and as charming and welcoming as Aphrodite (who has demanded I call her Dite, because that’s what her good friends do and we are clearly already good friends, don’t I know it?) and Hephaestus are, I miss him. Wonder what he’s doing, where he is—is it nighttime there? Is he wining and dining with whomever his father has sent him to see? An image of him sitting at a table much like this, in a similar restaurant fills my mind: him, dressed in a sophisticated black suit with a charcoal gray shirt, unbuttoned without a tie, talking to some beautiful woman. She giggles in a really annoying way that people probably find appealing and finds every excuse to lightly run her perfectly manicured nails across his arm.

It makes me sick to my stomach, which oddly prompts me to drink my second glass of ambrosia so freshly refilled in three long swallows.

I’ve never really thought about what he does when he goes out on errands for his father. I know from listening to Persephone and Hades talk that he often works in Zeus’ stead, wrangling deals and negotiating terms with other pantheons in the heavens. They’ve often remarked about how good he is during business meetings, how he’s more capable than most to close difficult deals and placate even Zeus’ toughest opponents. It’d all been a very nebulous concept to me, one that, despite my affections for him, had never peaked my interest simply because I hadn’t thought it my concern. But now ... now I want to know.