Party at Persephone’s

My cousin and I have so much fun. I’m enchanted by her potions and powders, her power in combining them so precisely that all of her elixirs are exponentially more than the sum of their parts. It delights her that I can produce any flower, herb, or plant for her, on the spot.

The deadbeat dads are our favorites, clinging to their feeble mortal pretenses as if we can’t see through them. Just last night, when Hermes brought the list of the souls Charon would next ferry across the Styxx, I sent him for Circe.

They arrived before dawn broke and spread her rosy fingers in the sky to greet Helios.

“Is Odysseus here?” These are always the first words to spill over Circe’s lips to my ears. She never got over him.

“In Elysium, with Penelope,” my answer never changes, hasn’t for a couple of thousand years, but Circe and Calypso never stop asking after him.

“Come to the courtyard—there’s something you must see.” I grabbed the sleeve of Circe’s gown, dragging her through the palace.

“Kore, slow down.”

“What did you call me? I don’t answer to that here. Only in the overworld. But you know that.”

The color rose in Circe’s face.

“What does Mother want now?” The harvest was well past, and I was finally back where I belong, where no one dares to call me girl.

“She wants flowers for the winter festival and suggested that perhaps—“

“No. I will not come up to bring flowers to the winter festival.” I didn’t care how petulant I sounded. That’s what you get if you call me girl. “She has poinsettias and winter cactus. Ask her how she would like it if Hades were to demand that I return to bring flowers here in the summer.”

“Perhaps I’ll ask our uncle to speak with her.”Circe wasn’t easily intimidated, but Demeter and Hera unnerved her.

I burst into laughter at the thought of my mother and Poseidon in the same room anywhere but Olympus. Circe’s level gaze quieted me. “Olympus?”

Circe’s chestnut locks caught the light in glimmers as she nodded.

“Do we have to go?” I hated Olympus, only made the journey when forced.

“No, but your husband does.” Hermes interjected, “your mother insisted.” He hovered in the air between Circe and me, turning his head back and forth to observe our faces, like a mortal at a tennis match.

I collapsed on my chaise lounge. Mother was always trying to interfere in my marriage. It’s not my fault that she never fancied anyone before Zeus claimed her and it was too late. And, no, I will not call him father, dad, daddy, papa, or any of that. He was never a father to me—too busy raping mortal women to be concerned with his divine daughter. Forget the thunderbolts—Zeus is the god of deadbeat dads, the divine role model for abandoning children. But back to my mother—she doesn’t understand passion, only duty.

One of the nymphs, I don’t bother with their names, slinked into my chamber, approaching Hermes. Circe winked at me and opened the clasp on her emerald ring, gently exhaling across the open chamber on her finger and the nymph became a crone, her countenance wrinkled like a linen pillowcase. She caught her reflection in my bathing pool and hastened from my chamber. All of the nymphs are devious liars and temptresses. I learned that the hard way and give them no quarter.

“Does Zeus know Circe is here?” I stared my brother down to let him know I was in no mood for any of his semantics.

“Not unless I tell him, Kore,” Hermes flippantly replied.

I called my vines.

After Circe freed Hermes, I wheeled around and faced him again. “That’s nothing compared to what I will do if you tell Zeus Circe is here.”

“Why would I trouble Father with that?” Hermes pisses me off sometimes with his obsequiousness to Zeus. I heard him emphasize Father, like he’s going to shame me into respecting a rapist. I have more respect for Ares than Zeus. And I have no respect for Ares the Oaf. My brother knows this.

“Enough!” Circe’s eyes blazed emerald flames at both of us. “Hermes, you must fetch our uncle to Olympus.”

Hermes landed softly on his feet. “Why and how would I do that?” He pulled a laurel leaf from his hair and chewed on it.

“Because he will come through Santorini and the islands if left on his own. Remember last time?”

The mortals called it a hurricane, but Posiedon is much more than a storm.

“I see your point. Athena will be most contrary if he arrives that way, and that would be counterproductive.” My brother has a way of knowing everything.

“Hmmm, if I’m going all that way, perhaps another cousin could join you? The journey with our uncle,” he leveled his golden gaze on Circe, “would be more . . . palatable if Calypso were to accompany us, and you know I can’t take her to Olympus. I’ll not witness another of her catfights with Aphrodite.”

Circe’s eyes met mine and our words reached Hermes in stereo: “The power of three.” We nodded in unison, and I could see the wheels turning in Circe’s mind, relishing in the conjuring she could accomplish with Calypso here.

“Have the nymphs prepare your courtyard. When Hermes arrives with Uncle Poseidon and Calypso, Poseidon will give us a spring and river, which will need to flow beneath your pomegranate tree. You may need to bring a willow to protect it from getting too much water.” Circe pushed my chamber door open into my courtyard.

I love my courtyard. My bath gives way to it, Posiedon gifted me a small hot spring for it after my wedding, and the entrance through my bath is like a Brazilian rainforest, lush with ferns, coffee, orchids, banana trees, mahogany, bougainvillea, and passion flowers before it gives way to the meadow, which resembles Amen Corner in the mortal world. The azaleas, dogwood, golden bells, and camellias are nestled among tall pines and giant magnolias, only instead of a little yellow flag, a magnificent pomegranate tree is the centerpiece of my garden.

“Circe, you know how I feel about the nymphs. Hermes, find my husband and have him command the nymphs to follow Circe’s instructions to the letter or suffer her wrath combined with mine.” I followed my cousin into the garden. “No more than two nymphs in my garden at any time.”

Circe nodded and turned to Hermes, “Tell Hades to send the two most treacherous first,” She turned back to me. “We shall make examples of them. The others will be reluctant to join them in Tartarus for the duration of my stay,”

“No, Hermes, do not tell Hades that; he doesn’t know them the way I do. Tell him to ask for volunteers to tend my garden. Do not mention Circe or Calypso.” I knew that the ones most jealous of me would do anything to weave their poison into my pomegranates. Nymphs were not allowed in my garden, nor my chambers without explicit invitation. So, of course, they’re always trying to sneak in, wanting what doesn’t belong to them. They’re not allowed to address me beyond my title–they have not earned the right to have Persephone in their mouths, on their lips and tongues. I refuse to answer to Kore here. I blame Zeus for the wretched unname. Cassandra told me that he knew I was to be Persephone, but my mother convinced him to make me Kore, so that I could be a girl forever; that she believed a word, a common noun turned proper, could keep me from my rightful place. As if language can trap me.

I was not abducted. Cassandra told me what she knew, and unlike everyone else, I had the good sense to believe her. It baffles me that my divine mother, goddess of the harvest, for Christ’s sake, could expect me to bring the flowers without learning what truly brings them. Perhaps she thinks that all gods are like Zeus, only knowing how to take by force; she never understood that some gods, and even some mortal men, know how to treat a goddess. Zeus is not one of them. She chose to be chosen, like it’s some badge of honor, not realizing that a goddess has the power to choose. But I understand. My autumns and winters, my activity under the roots, is what feeds the flowers long before they bloom, while they look dead in the overworld, they are absorbing my fire and energy below. The earth itself always holds my heat, the magical layer between my worlds.

In truth, I have no winters, just eternal spring and summer; the heat and flowers are always with me, and the women who call themselves my daughters carry spring and summer everywhere they go as well.

Back to Kore—those who will only call me that do not visit here. My mother only came once, to my wedding, but when she refused to call me Persephone, I refused to answer. Here, though she’s my mother, she is my subordinate. As is Zeus. And all of the rest, except my Hades, who is my equal. So they don’t visit; their pride is the source of their sorrow. Their desire to limit me only limits them.Every living plant, every mortal soul must obey me: it’s not a choice; it is a law, like gravity, motion, and inertia. It isn’t wise to resist me.

I suppose you want to know what really happened, so I will tell you. Forget that foolishness about the earth cracking open and Hades erupting from it in his chariot to steal me away—my mom and Zeus love that version, and they fed it to the poets, who, having never met me, believed every duplicitous word.

I was in conversation with Daphne, always intrigued by her frozen freedom. She always delighted in my company, my presence stirring her sap, xylem and phloem making her more alive. She bestowed leaves of her laurel to me, and I wove them to my hair. It felt right, but Mother didn’t like it, didn’t like me talking to Daphne, preferring that I spend my leisure time with Artemis. Whenever we had to go Olympus, she would dump me with Hestia and Hera, who hate me for existing, divine proof of Zeus’s wandering lust for everyone but Hera. Hestia hates Prometheus, hates anyone with fire that subordinates her hearth embers.

Mother always gave strict instruction that Hera and Hestia were to keep me away from Hecate and Athena, her dangerous kin who could spark the fires in me. Perhaps she’s always known that I will be the one to burn it all down. How did gentle Demeter bring Hera to heel? Easy, she suggested that I would need a true sibling to chaperone me if she found Hera or Hestia too indulgent, like that would ever happen. Hera stays up there, too. She doesn’t even like the mortal world, just wants tell Hestia how to tend her hearth fires and gaze at her cooking coals. If she weren’t such a jealous monster about her husband, she would bore me to tears, and, honestly, even that jealous streak is so saturated in mortal immaturity that it fails to truly hold my interest.

Mother’s fascination with innocence is one side of the coin that so many mortals emulate. The other side is fear of knowledge and experience—just look at how they corrupted Eve’s story to make her a villain instead of the pioneering hero she is. One of the first things I will do while I have full control down here is close Asphodel and review the cases there, beginning at the beginning, with Adam and Eve.

I practically had to push Hermes off the side of a cliff to send him for Poseidon and Calypso, as he was having much fun starting rumors among the nymphs to pit them against each other. My brother knows how to win back my good favor.

Circe left my quarters so I could have a proper farewell with my husband. Presumably, she spent those hours with Hecate, unless she went all the way to Elysium for a glimpse of Odysseus’s thighs and shoulders.

Hades and I languished in our bed, bodies and limbs entwined as we enjoyed our afterglow during our pillow talk. We shared a pomegranate and some raspberries from my garden while we indulged ourselves in each other’s divine bodies. I may have convinced him to join me in my bath before allowing him to prepare for his journey.

Circe helped me choose the flora for my bath; her knowledge of essence is far superior to anyone in the underworld, on earth, or Olympus. Homer hinted at her knowledge when he corrupted the tale of Odysseus’s return to Ithaca. Oh, he was true enough to Odysseus, and he gave Penelope fairer treatment than Helen, but that’s another story for another day. Circe can also draw the true essence from anything, if she chooses. She and Hecate are my faithful companions when they’re here, seeing to it that my apothecary and bath have everything I may need.

I bathed my husband in cypress and cedar, helichrysum and lavender, sandalwood, vetiver, and bergamot while sage and laurel, frankincense and myrrh perfumed the air around us.

My bath is the most heavenly space in existence, all of the elements brought together in one setting. Hephaestus and Hades saw to that—Hephaestus forged the gold, silver, copper, and platinum used to set the stones Hades chose for me. The lapis, sodalite, turquoise, and blue agates are my favorite, and they are so beautiful in their raw state, ribbons of ore running here and there so a piece of lapis is highlighted by pyrite and quartz, giving my bath depth and luminosity that do not exist in the mortal world. The Mediterranean and Caribbean Seas are shabby imitations at best. Poseidon himself is jealous of it. And here he comes now.

“Persephone, my queen,” Poseidon greeted me properly, kneeling and kissing my ring. “Calypso will be along shortly. Hermes is entertaining her now.”

Hades emerged from his private chambers (we all need a space of our own). “Brother, good of you to come. The time on Olympus will seem shorter by virtue of your company.”

Oh, dear gods. When the Titans start with the obsequious flattery, you can rest assured that bad things are coming.

I cut my eyes at my husband and interrupted before his words fertilized my garden. “Poseidon, Circe has some requests for my garden for the work she will do with me. Perhaps you would enjoy a bath after your journey through the air?”

Poseidon was out of his traveling garments and into my bath before I finished speaking. I know how water amplifies sound, so I know better than to think I have privacy when he’s submerged in my bath. His presence energizes the water, which benefits my work, so I allow him to linger as he pleases when he visits.

Calypso looked a little flushed when she sauntered through my chambers to my garden. “Did Odysseus ask for me? Is that why Hermes brought me?”

I told you, Calypso and Circe never got over him, even though he was never really theirs. This would be useful after the contingent bound for Zeus’s tacky castle on Olympus departed. It’s never wise to let Hermes in on too much.

“Circe and I asked for you, but I’ve been so busy in Asphodel that I haven’t had time to visit Elysium. Perhaps you and Circe can manage that for me while Hades is away.” That perked her up even more.

I fought to contain my excitement. I knew how angry Hades would be about the solution I came up with to solve the problem he created in Asphodel by being too lenient and sending people who belong in the upper levels of Tartarus there instead. Don’t believe the rumors you’ve heard about what it’s like down here; it’s all a pack of lies fabricated by my mother and Zeus to make the mortals think life is better up there. Preposterous. If it weren’t for the summer suitors who entertain me up there, I wouldn’t go–don’t forget, my divine mother and father broke a universal law to bring me back; eating the pomegranate seeds was supposed to seal me into this paradise, but no, since my birth, my mother cannot bring the harvest if I do not bring the flowers. She used to do both, but I took that power from her when I was born, just as Athena took all of Zeus’s intelligence and cunning when she leapt out of his head, fully formed. I imagine Zeus must have really been something in his day, but now . . . all he does is rape mortal women and throw his thunderbolts around, oblivious to the fact that his real power, the power of his mind is now Athena’s. If he knew, he would probably eat her to try to regain it. His stupidity is a curse with a blessing embedded in it.

Hecate entered with Circe, and I greeted her with a hug. Spending time with Hecate is always a treat--Mother feared her more than Athena, to the degree that we did not meet until I came here (I traveled alone to reach my home; my husband did not abduct me). Hecate was the first person to address me by name, at our first meeting. She said, "Queen Persephone, I've been patiently awaiting your arrival. How may I serve you?"

I didn't even know my name was Persephone until she said it, and I knew instantly that I was who she said I was, not some dumb girl. I felt power develop in me the first time I heard my name; prior to Hecate's respectful greeting, I could only make the plants grow and bloom; I did not know the power of the vines yet. Hecate helped me with that.

I'm always delighted to have Hecate join me. The four of us were lounging in my sitting room, Circe fiddling with some tea roses, doing god knows what by fondling them, other than ignoring Calypso. They realize that if Odysseus were ever to leave Penelope (and that will never happen; their love is truer than any I've heard tell of), they would be rivals for his attention. My money is on Circe when the catfight happens. Calypso isn't clever enough to defeat Circe at anything except getting a tan.

“Cousin,” Calypso spoke first, “have you seen him?”

Circe turned slowly toward Calypso, lifting her eyes more slowly still. “No, I have not had leisure time since arriving ahead of you and our uncle. Hecate has required my assistance.” Circe’s lips curved slightly upward. It was not a smile.

Hecate strode between my cousins, taking each of their wrists in her hands, then raising all of their arms to the heavens. She released their wrists and spun slowly in a graceful pirouette. Then she spoke: “It simply will not do, goddesses fighting over a mortal man–a spoken for mortal man. The two of you will stop this foolishness, or I’ll use your own magic on you when you’re at your worst.”

Calypso appeared unshaken by Hecate’s gentle threat, but Circe was visibly rattled. “There will be no need,” she began, “Queen Persephone has plans that will keep us occupied in the Judgment Hall until Hades returns to the palace.”

Hecate arched an eyebrow in my direction, but I shook my head and glared at Circe. “Has Hermes departed for Olympus with them yet?” It would be most unlike Hermes to depart without an embrace from Calypso and his favorite nymphs.

And then the gods were in my chamber: my husband, my brother, and my uncle. Hermes and Calypso whispered sweet nothings in each other’s ears while Hecate and Circe escorted Poseidon to my garden to instruct him of our needs. My husband took me in his arms, and I rested my head on his shoulder.

“You’ll not be too harsh in my absence?” It came into my ears as a request, not a command.

“No more than necessary. And I will do something about the overcrowding in Asphodel.” I drew back to gaze into his onyx eyes.

“No real estate is to be taken from Elysium. You understand that.” There was no question in these words.

“Of course not! I would not diminish Elysium, nor would I create a situation that would draw Circe and Calypso there” (although I would send them, of my own accord, when it suited my purposes). I smiled up at my love, lifted my hand to stroke his beard, so soft in my fingers.

When Calypso and Hecate returned with Poseidon, I murmured that Hermes would be blamed if the Olympians were kept waiting. As his chariot took the sky, I bid them farewell, then escorted Circe, Calypso, and Hecate back to my chambers, where I told them my plan to retry the cases in Asphodel, beginning at the beginning, with Adam and Eve.

When we entered the Hall of Judgment, the torches sprang to life, Hades’s and my thrones gleaming onyx, like his eyes. I took my place on my throne, carved obsidian, inlaid with rubies for pomegranates in the tree carved into the back. I glanced over my shoulder at the honeysuckle creeping up a nearby column, and it came to me, cushioning my back against the unforgiving material.

“I don’t think all three of you will fit in Hades’s chair with any dignity. Perhaps Hecate can join me for the first round of questioning while the two of you use your gifts as you see fit.” My cousins would behave or not; better for them to have it out sooner rather than later.

Before I could summon a nymph to bring Adam and Eve to reexamine their cases—I was not convinced that they should be treated as one entity, there was an incredible commotion in the courtyard, and my cousins and I moved toward it.

Good grief, every cousin, half-sister, and half-brother Zeus, Poseidon, Hera, Hestia, my mother, and my husband had ever brought into this world was in my courtyard, many for the first time. Most looked shocked, except for Hermes, Athena, and Ares, who looked divinely furious.

"Hermes? What is the meaning of this?" I strode purposefully toward my brother.

"What is the meaning of this? The meaning is that our divine father has banished everyone except his siblings from the council on Olympus!" Hermes fumed.

"I, for one, do not appreciate being shown to the door like some petulant child." Athena's anger, like everything else about her, was imposing and intimidating. No idea why she won't overthrow Zeus. “I can understand limiting the council to the Olympians, but banishing Olympians from Olympus? Unheard of. It may be time to do something about Zeus.”

I looked around at most of my family and started mentally placing them in quarters suited to them. Athena would be happy anywhere, but I knew how she loved the library, with its reading rooms, sleeping chambers, and absence of nymphs.

“I trust you will be pleased to occupy your usual quarters during your stay?” Technically, Athena is my half-sister, but even here, I could never consider her my peer, much less my subordinate.

“You remembered.” Athena graced me with one of her rare smiles, so luminous that it put Aphrodite in the shade.

Hmm, where to put Aphrodite and Hephaestus. Far away from Ares, that much was certain. Dionysius would also need to be far away from Ares, and it definitely wouldn’t do to have him too close to Aphrodite. Perhaps Apollo should occupy the central suite, forcing those seeking mischief to be interrupted by him. Not a bad idea.

“Perhaps someone should escort Aphrodite to her chambers,” Hecate whispered in my ear.

I turned my attention to Aphrodite and saw that she had everyone else’s attention, too. I turned back to Hecate with a plea in my eyes. She nodded and made her way over to Aphrodite, parting the crowd like a hot knife through butter. I gazed around at my family, then summoned the nymphs to act as valets. The most devious bared her teeth at me and offered to escort Ares to his mountain. I ignored her and sent another on the errand she attempted to choose for herself while I contemplated what she was truly after. Never take anything a nymph says at face value. And then an idea came to me.

I gave her my most terrible smile before sending her to Tartarus to check on Tantalus and Sisyphus and assist the Danaids until I called for her again.

This would take forever if I didn’t delegate. I separated Calypso and Circe from the rest of our family and beseeched them to begin instructing nymphs whom to escort where. Then I sent Dionysius and Hebe to prepare the grand hall for a feast and revelry.