again." He starts guiding me toward the chariot. "And what's the need? We want to be with each other, forever."
He's in total command, so sure of what he wants. So sure what I should do—
No! This time I'm going to make my own choice. I stop and he has to stop with me.
"I need time to think," I say.
"Don't think too much." He leans in close so his soft voice fills me. He knows his power. "Come now."
His words pull me in, his arms enfold me; my body is already saying yes. But somehow I reach deep and find enough brain to say, "Tomorrow I'll tell you yes or no."
The Journey
I move away from the dark window and slide two brooches from my shoulders, weighing one in each hand.
This one—the one in this hand is my bed, the same bed I've slept in forever. It's my trunk, my mirror with a handle shaped like Aphrodite, these covers I wove. It's Kallirhoe's gentle stream and Ianthe's perfume. It's the way the air sparkles when Galaxaura blows the mist away.
And the other—the other hand feels light with not knowing. What is it like down there in the underworld? Dark, smoke-filled caverns, maybe, lit by flickering torches and filled with moaning, writhing human souls? He called them shades—I bet they don't even look human anymore. How does anyone rule over puffs of smoke? I should have asked. I seem to be good at not asking.
I drop my closed palms to my sides and walk the six steps to the other wall, turn, and walk back, trying to imagine a crown on my head.
But Hades is no phantom. He's solid and real. He's what matters, not all the rest. I close my fingers tighter around that brooch, and now both hands are weighted as I walk and turn, walk and turn.
It's much later when my mother passes the door and sees me pacing. A line of concern wanders across her brow.
"Is something the matter?" she asks.
"The matter? Nothing's the matter."
I try to wash all the feelings off my face and leave it as clear as the lake.
"It's late, past your bedtime. Why are you still up? Something must be troubling you. Let me help."
She has a hopeful expression, almost pitiful in its eagerness for me to let her in. She's really trying. I know she is.
But if I tell her . . .
His kiss sweeps over me again, so strong I have to struggle to stay on my feet. If I tell her, that's what I'm giving up: that kiss, those eyes burning into me. Not to mention any chance of ever living my own life.
"Is it Admete, dear? Is that what's bothering you?"
And then I know. I've made up my mind.
"Your cheeks are flushed." She walks over and places her cool palm on my forehead. "You should spend tomorrow in bed, resting."
She pulls back the coverlet and steps aside for me to lie down. She pulls the covers up to my chin. "Sleep is what you need."
I let her kiss my brow. Then it hits me: this is it. I'll never see her again. I grab her hand and press it to my cheek.
"Well!" she says, smiling. "Good night, Persephone."
Softly, too softly for her to hear, I whisper, "Good-bye."
Across the field in morning sunlight, hugging the trees and vines, slipping into their shadows, staying far from the path that passes by Kallirhoe's stream. I hear laughter down by the lake, the splash of an oar, voices rising and falling like ripples. I hurry in the other direction. They mustn't see me, call to me, ask me where I'm going. Up ahead, where the olive and plum trees open into meadow, I see the glare of light reflecting off gold. The chariot. Black horses grazing, their glossy coats shining in the sun. And Hades, pacing.
The narcissus have grown so thick now, blossoms crowd around his feet. Their scent pulls me from under the plums' dense leaves and I step from dappled light into full sun.
The horses flick their ears. Hades lifts his head and pivots, alert.
And then he's walking toward me, eyes fixed on me as
He's in total command, so sure of what he wants. So sure what I should do—
No! This time I'm going to make my own choice. I stop and he has to stop with me.
"I need time to think," I say.
"Don't think too much." He leans in close so his soft voice fills me. He knows his power. "Come now."
His words pull me in, his arms enfold me; my body is already saying yes. But somehow I reach deep and find enough brain to say, "Tomorrow I'll tell you yes or no."
The Journey
I move away from the dark window and slide two brooches from my shoulders, weighing one in each hand.
This one—the one in this hand is my bed, the same bed I've slept in forever. It's my trunk, my mirror with a handle shaped like Aphrodite, these covers I wove. It's Kallirhoe's gentle stream and Ianthe's perfume. It's the way the air sparkles when Galaxaura blows the mist away.
And the other—the other hand feels light with not knowing. What is it like down there in the underworld? Dark, smoke-filled caverns, maybe, lit by flickering torches and filled with moaning, writhing human souls? He called them shades—I bet they don't even look human anymore. How does anyone rule over puffs of smoke? I should have asked. I seem to be good at not asking.
I drop my closed palms to my sides and walk the six steps to the other wall, turn, and walk back, trying to imagine a crown on my head.
But Hades is no phantom. He's solid and real. He's what matters, not all the rest. I close my fingers tighter around that brooch, and now both hands are weighted as I walk and turn, walk and turn.
It's much later when my mother passes the door and sees me pacing. A line of concern wanders across her brow.
"Is something the matter?" she asks.
"The matter? Nothing's the matter."
I try to wash all the feelings off my face and leave it as clear as the lake.
"It's late, past your bedtime. Why are you still up? Something must be troubling you. Let me help."
She has a hopeful expression, almost pitiful in its eagerness for me to let her in. She's really trying. I know she is.
But if I tell her . . .
His kiss sweeps over me again, so strong I have to struggle to stay on my feet. If I tell her, that's what I'm giving up: that kiss, those eyes burning into me. Not to mention any chance of ever living my own life.
"Is it Admete, dear? Is that what's bothering you?"
And then I know. I've made up my mind.
"Your cheeks are flushed." She walks over and places her cool palm on my forehead. "You should spend tomorrow in bed, resting."
She pulls back the coverlet and steps aside for me to lie down. She pulls the covers up to my chin. "Sleep is what you need."
I let her kiss my brow. Then it hits me: this is it. I'll never see her again. I grab her hand and press it to my cheek.
"Well!" she says, smiling. "Good night, Persephone."
Softly, too softly for her to hear, I whisper, "Good-bye."
Across the field in morning sunlight, hugging the trees and vines, slipping into their shadows, staying far from the path that passes by Kallirhoe's stream. I hear laughter down by the lake, the splash of an oar, voices rising and falling like ripples. I hurry in the other direction. They mustn't see me, call to me, ask me where I'm going. Up ahead, where the olive and plum trees open into meadow, I see the glare of light reflecting off gold. The chariot. Black horses grazing, their glossy coats shining in the sun. And Hades, pacing.
The narcissus have grown so thick now, blossoms crowd around his feet. Their scent pulls me from under the plums' dense leaves and I step from dappled light into full sun.
The horses flick their ears. Hades lifts his head and pivots, alert.
And then he's walking toward me, eyes fixed on me as
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