February Thaw, Page 2

  Glad she'd worn her wellies, and beginning to realize why Persephone didn't want the dog up on the couch, or on anything else that couldn't be hosed down immediately afterwards, Demeter gave all three heads a final scratch and started toward the Asphodel Fields. Winter or not, she didn't intend staying in the Underworld for too long. Cerberus bounded along beside her for half a dozen steps then the wind shifted and he took off downstream, howling, snarling, and barking furiously.

  Pulling her jacket more closely around her, she hurried along the path toward Erebus trying to ignore the grey and boring landscape and the incessant twittering of the undistinguished dead. Although a few of those who'd known her in life waved a limp hand in greeting, most ignored her.

  Most.

  "Greetings rich-haired Demeter, awful goddess, lady of the golden sword and glorious fruits."

  "Hello, Orion." The ghost standing on the path before her, the son of Poseidon and the gorgon Euryale, had been the handsomest man alive until he'd taken up with Artemis and run afoul of an over-protective Apollo. As she'd often thought it unfair the way the Olympian powers fell, Demeter smiled kindly on her nephew. "Still hunting the shadow deer?" She nodded toward his bow.

  "The hunt is all I have." He paused and then continued ponderously, "The Queen is gone early from Erebus."

  "Yes, she is, isn't she."

  "She has returned to your hearth?"

  "Oh, yes." My cold hearth, the goddess added silently. And I still don't believe gas fireplaces give off unhealthy fumes.

  Orion nodded. "Good. I am glad she is safe. Do you now descend to see the Lord Hades, your brother?"

  "Not exactly," Demeter told him tightly. "I descend to see the Lord Hades, my son-in-law."

  The hero's eyes widened and his Adam's apple bobbed in the muscular column of his throat. "Oh," he said, and stepped off the path. "Look, uh, don't let me get in your way, Aunt Demi." He faded back toward the trees. "And, uh, if there's anything I can do, don't hesitate to call."

  Picking up her pace again, Demeter rolled her eyes. Honestly; men. Even dead ones. And Hera wonders why I never married.

  *

  There were gardens down the middle of the wide avenue that lead to the palace. In spite of the inarguable presence of the pomegranates, Demeter hadn't expected that. If they'd been in place during the wedding, she hadn't noticed them, but then as mother of the bride, not to mention sister of the groom, she'd had other things on her mind.

  All the flowers were black – except for one corpse-lavender rose she was fairly certain she'd seen in the upper world – and the beds had been edged in giant uncut diamonds. She could see her daughter's taste in the design. Persephone had always loved order. A closer look and she realized the flowers desperately needed dead-heading and everything wanted water. Sighing deeply, Demeter reached under the lip of a black marble fountain and turned on the irrigation system.

  "This is her garden," said a gardener, who'd been standing so quietly she hadn't noticed him. "His Majesty said we weren't to foul it with our touch."

  "Hades said that?"

  "Yes ma'am."

  Demeter smiled. This might be easier than she'd thought.

  *

  The palace was a mess.

  Demeter had no idea how it could have gotten so bad in only eight days. Then she remembered how it had gotten at her house in those same eight days and tried to be less critical, although it wasn't easy.

  The servants, drawn from the ranks of the dead, huddled confused and insubstantial in corners. She could feel them watching her hopefully as she passed. Well, with any luck, their ordeal and hers would soon be over.

  She found the King of the Dead in a small room he used for a den, slumped in a chair, mournfully eating peanut butter straight from the jar. His clothes were wrinkled, he didn't smell very good, and it looked like he hadn't shaved in about three days.

  He looked up when Demeter came in, too far gone in misery to be surprised. "Have you come for her things?"

  "I've come for an explanation."

  His gesture took in the drifts of potato chip bags in the immediate area as well as the chaos in the rest of the palace. "She's left me, Demi."

  "I know that, you idiot. Where did you think she'd gone?"

  "To you?"

  "That's right. To me." She kicked a pizza box out of her way. "And do you know what happens up above when Persephone comes home to me?"

  "The upper world is not my concern." If he'd intended to sound regal, he didn't quite make it past petulant.

  "This time it is, because it's spring up there." Demeter's voice grew sharper as she put both fists on the back of the couch and leaned toward her son-in-law. "And it's not supposed to be spring for another two months! I want to know what happened and I want to know right now!"

  A single tear rolled down alongside Hades' aquiline nose. "She's left me, Demi."

  Even the most gentle goddess had a line that shouldn't be crossed.

  When the dust settled, He Who Has Many Names picked himself up off the floor and lowered himself gently back into his chair. "You blasted me," he said, shaking his head in disbelief, slightly singed black hair falling over his eyes. "In my realm. In my palace. In my den."

  "That's right. And I'm going to do it again if I don't start getting some answers that make sense."

  Scratching at the stubble on his chin, Hades sighed. "We had a fight," he said in a small voice.

  "What about, and don't say pomegranates because I know that much."

  "But it was about pomegranates, Demi. I had the tree cut down."

  Demeter took a deep breath and counted to ten. "What tree?"

  "The pomegranate tree." When she made it clear she needed more information and what the consequences would be if she didn't get it, he went on. "You remember back when I was courting Persephone..."

  The goddess snorted.

  A patch of colour stained the son of Chronos' pale cheeks. "Yeah, well, do you remember how Zeus said she didn't have to stay with me if she hadn't eaten anything?"

  "I remember."

  Hades took a hint from her tapping fingers and began to speak faster. "Well, as it turned out she'd eaten those seven pomegranate seeds. Anyway, we worked all that out years ago and I thought we were happy, but in the midst of a small disagreement about saturated fats, one of the servants put a bowl of pomegranates on the table. She said I was trying to run roughshod over her feelings just like before and I said I wasn't, then, to prove it, I had the gardeners cut down the tree."

  Demeter stared silently down at him. "The tree that bore the fruit Persephone ate from to become your bride?" she asked when she finally found her voice.

  "Well, yeah, but..."

  "You putz! For her that tree was a symbol of your union and you got miffed and cut it down to prove a point."

  "I didn't want her to be reminded of less happy times," Hades protested indignantly.

  "Did you tell her that? Of course not," she went on before he had a chance to answer. "No wonder she thinks you don't love her anymore. That you regret marrying her."

  "How can she think that?" He started to pace, kicking accumulated flotsam out of his way with every step. "Persephone is the only bright light in my world. While she's here with me, she rules over all. Without her, I dwell in darkness. I adore her. I always have and I always will." Face twisted in anguish, he turned toward the goddess. "You've got to talk to her, Demi. You've got to."

  "Oh no," Demeter shook her finger at him. "I'm not the one who has to talk to her. You go up top right now and you tell all this to my daughter."

  Hades stopped pacing so suddenly Demeter thought at first he'd walked through some spilled chip dip and glued his feet to the floor. "I can't."

  "You what?"

  "I can't go up top. It goes on too far." Glancing up at the ceiling, he looked beyond it to the arcing dome of rock that covered the Underworld. "There's no roof."

  "Don't start making excuses, Host of Many, Brain of Pea," Demeter snarled. "You went up there to get her originally."

  "That was a long time ago."

  "So?"

  "I've got agoraphobia."

  "So stay out of the marketplace. Or don't you want her back?"

  "I want her back more than anything!"

  Not more than I want to get rid of her. "Then get off your skinny butt and do something about it. And speaking of getting off your butt, why is this place such a pig sty? You've got servants."

  "Persephone always dealt with them. I don't know what to say."

  "She's with me half the year." Which was quite long enough. "You can't possibly live like this for all that time."

  "She always leaves lists." The King of the Dead bent down and pulled a piece of cold pizza out from under the sofa cushions. "Very precise lists."

  Demeter sighed. She knew she was enabling his helplessness, but she couldn't have her daughter return to this mess. "Would you like me to take care of it?"

  "Could you?"

  The goddess put two fingers in her mouth and whistled. Almost instantly, as though they'd been waiting for a signal, a crowd of worried spirits wafted into the room. Demeter waved at the mess. "Compost this crap," she told them.

  Hades frowned as the mess began to disappear. "I'm pretty sure that's not how Persephone does it."

  Remembering that his argument with her daughter had started over saturated fats and fully aware of what side of the issue Persephone came down on, Demeter looked more kindly on him than she had. "You're probably right.

  *

  "Did you have a nice Mystery, Mother."

  Demeter stuck her heel in the boot-jack and pulled off her left wellie. "I planted a seed, time will tell if anything comes of it."

  "I hate it when you've been off talking to your priests," Persephone sniffed. "You get all obscure." She patted a pile of paper before her on the table. "While you were gone I worked up a plan to redecorate the kitchen."

  "But I like my kitchen."

  "Our kitchen. It's hopelessly old fashioned. The microwave still has dials."

  "I only use it to reheat tea," the goddess protested.

  "The kitchen in the palace has all the most modern equipment. Very high tech."

  "Yes, well Hades is God of Wealth," Demeter muttered. "He can afford to get every new piece of junk that comes out."

  Persephone ignored her. "And we'll have to get some servants." She smiled brittlely at her mother's aghast expression. "Mother, we're goddesses. Cook-outs and things are all very well in the summer..."

  Demeter had long suspected Persephone regarded the seasons spent with her as an extended visit to Guide camp.

  "...but it's not something we should have to live with year round."

  "Sephie, when you're with me, it is summer year round."

  "That's no reason why we shouldn't have servants. We can add on a wing out back." Rummaging through the pile, she held up a sheet of paper. "I drew a sketch. What the...?"

  Both women stared at the paper, trembling like an aspen leaf in Persephone's hand.

  Suddenly concerned, Demeter reached for her daughter. "You're shaking."

  "No, I'm not." A mug fell off its peg and crashed into a dozen pieces against the floor. "The whole house is shaking."

  "Earthquake?" Demeter folded her arms. "When I get my hands on the god who's doing this," she growled, "he'll get a piece of my mind and boot in the backside!"

  "Not now, Mother." Grabbing the goddess' shoulders, Persephone pushed her toward the door. "We've got to get outside. This whole place could come down any moment."

  "If it does," the goddess promised, "I'm going to be very angry."

  They'd got only as far as the porch when the lawn erupted. Four black horses, nostrils flared and eyes wild, charged up from the depths of the earth pulling behind them a golden chariot. In the chariot, stood Hades, ebony armour gleaming, the reins in one hand, a black rose in the other.

  Demeter had to admit the rose was a nice touch.

  His eyes beneath the edge of his helm almost as wild as his those of his horses, Hades turned toward the cottage. "Persephone, this time I do not pull you from your mother's arms but implore you, for the sake of love, to come home with me."

  "Very prettily said. Almost classical." Demeter poked her daughter in the hip. "Well?"

  Persephone tossed her head. "You cut down my tree."

  "And I have caused another seven to grow in its stead. One for each of the seeds you ate so that you can see how much my love has multiplied."

  "I ate?" Persephone repeated, her voice rising dramatically. "You fed them to me."

  "I only offered them to you," Hades protested. "You ate them."

  Her chin rose. "I didn't know what it meant."

  "And now you do." He opened the hand that held the rose and, like drops of blood against his pale skin, were seven pomegranate seeds.

  Persephone gave a little cry Demeter wasn't quite able to interpret, but her eyes were dewy and that seemed a good sign.

  "Please come back to me, Sephie. The Underworld is empty without you. All my wealth is meaningless. I'll stop spending so much time with the guys. I'll cut out saturated fats. I..." The horses jerked forward. Muscles straining, Hades brought them back under control. "I love... Damn it, you four, stop it or I'll feed you to the dog! I love you, Persephone."

  Could have been a more polished declaration, Demeter acknowledged but not more sincere. "Well?" she said again, this time with a little more emphasis.

  "But spring...?"

  The goddess smiled, trying not to let the relief show. "Spring can wait two months."

  With a glad cry, Persephone ran forward and leapt into both the chariot and Hades' arms. Finding no hand on the reins, both of the god's hands being otherwise occupied, the team did what horses always do under similar, if less mythic, circumstances. Hoofs striking sparks against the air, they bolted down toward their stable carrying their two oblivious passengers back to the Underworld with them.

  The last Demeter saw of her daughter and her son-in-law, they were feeding each other the pomegranate seeds and murmuring things she was just as glad she couldn't hear.

  "Happy endings all around," she muttered, and added as she went to work tucking the spring growth back into bed, "I have no idea how Aphrodite puts up with this kind of nonsense day in and day out."

  With Persephone back in the loving arms of her husband, it didn't take long for Demeter to return the season to normal, although she felt a little bad about the radishes.

  When Dusk approached, the goddess wandered down to the rec room, opened a new bottle, and poured herself a glass of wine. The house was blessedly quiet. Even the cat had returned from wherever he'd hidden himself.

  Slippered feet up on a hassock, she picked up the remote. Maybe she'd heat up a frozen pizza for dinner.

  The lawn was a disaster. In the spring, the actual spring, it would have to be rolled.

  It seemed a small price to pay.

  Outside the cottage, it began to snow.

  As I recall – and my recall isn't the best, but, all things considered, this seems like a no brainer – stories written for the anthology, Earth, Air, Fire, Water, were to be about one of the four elements in the title. Edited by Margaret Weiss and Janet Pack, it was the second in the Tales from the Eternal Archive series. I'm not sure there was a third.

  I wanted to use Fire because I'd recently bought a book called Fire: Technology, Symbolism, Ecology, Science, and Hazard by Hazel Rossotti who is a Fellow and Tutor in chemistry at St. Anne's College in Oxford. I suspect it may be her thesis. I love this book. It pretty much proves to me that, if you look hard enough, you can find a book about anything.

  As for the story, well, this is another one that started about three thousand words before it was supposed to and had to be ruthlessly edited until the actual beginning appeared. Now, I have no problem setting my urban fantasy in a distinct time – the tech is going to out you anyway – and two lines set this story firmly in the time it was written, back before DVDs of television shows were quite so omnipresent and before George Lucas proved he should've quit while he was ahead.

  Burning Bright

  "Mom?"

  Beth Aswith opened her eyes and stared up at the young woman bending over her. "Good, you made it. Did you come alone?"

  "No, Alynne gave me a lift."

  "Alynne?" Beth glanced suspiciously around the small room as if she expected to see her daughter's oldest friend hiding behind the curtains or under one of the ugly, orange plastic chairs. "Where is she?"

  "She's waiting for me down in her car. She wouldn't come in."

  "Why not?"

  "I think it has something to do with a guy she was dating."

  Silver brows dipped down. "She put a date in the hospital?"

  Beginning to feel like part of a Three Stooges routine, Carlene dragged a chair over to the bed. "I think he works here, Mom."

  "Well, I wouldn't be surprised if she had put a date in the hospital." Thin fingers clutched at the blanket. "She's an eccentric little person."

  Circumstances helped Carlene resist the urge to announce it takes one to know one. As a child, her mother's eccentricities had been fun, as a teenager they'd been embarrassing, and as an adult, well, they put Alynne's in perspective. "I don't want to argue with you, Mom. Not here, not now." She caught up her mother's hands in both of hers. "Tell me what’s happening?"

  "Didn't they tell you? I'm dying."

  "Mom, you're not dying." Elbows braced on the mattress, Carlene leaned forward until she could capture her mother's pale gaze with her own. She knew it was a mistake the moment she did it – no argument could stand against that pale stare. When shaking her head failed to dislodge the unwelcome truth, she leaned back. "Oh my god. You really are."

  "I really am. We all have our allotted time and mine has run out. I meant to end this properly, but I thought I had another year. Such a pity because I was so looking forward to seeing how the experiment came out. Let this be a lesson to you." Her fingers returned the pressure of Carlene's grip. "Always check your math."

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