I waited until Prometheus and Epi had passed out all the steaks. The guys grabbed them eagerly. Then they ran back to their caves to eat them.

When the steaks were all gone, the Titans started packing up their wagon. Prometheus was whistling. He was very pleased about the way his little scheme had worked. I went over to him.

“Prometheus, I couldn’t help overhearing what you said to the guys,” I said. “About bringing them fire.”

“The steaks were Part I of my plan,” Prometheus said. “Part II is fire.”

“Listen, I know the guys need fire,” I told him. “And in time, if you play your cards right, Zeus will give in. He hardly ever remembers his decrees. But he can hold a grudge like a pitbull. Don’t make him any angrier at you then he already is.”

Not that I wasn’t completely on Prometheus’s side. I was! But I didn’t want him plotting against my little brother Z. That could be hazardous to his health.

“By the way, Prometheus,” I added, “didn’t you promise Zeus you wouldn’t make too many guys?”

Prometheus nodded. “Zeus may think there are too many guys on earth. But I don’t.

I got what he was saying. “Too many” was a matter of opinion.

“We think the earth could use more guys,” Epi put in. “Lots more!”

“But I won’t make any more,” said Prometheus. “Not until I bring fire to the guys who are already here.”

“Be careful, Prometheus,” I warned. “You saw how nuts Zeus went when Epi brought this up before. He said fire for the guys was a big no-no.”

“I don’t care what Zeus says!” Prometheus shouted.

“Easy, big fella!” I said.

But Prometheus was really worked up. “I’m a Titan!” he cried. “I’ve been kicking around the universe for a long time. A lot longer than you gods. I’m a peaceful Titan. But if I have to tangle with a thunder god, I’ll come out on top.”

I calmed Prometheus down as best I could. Then I took off. As I drove down the Underworld Highway, I thought about the Titan’s boast to bring fire to the guys. The only way he could get it was to steal it from Mount Olympus. My sister Hestia is the Olympian guardian of fire. She tends an everlasting flame at her hearth. Every morning, it’s a tradition for all the gods who live on Mount Olympus to bring a torch to Hestia’s flame. They hold it to her fire and light it. (Except for Zeus, who always sends his Serving Nymphs to get his fire for him.) Then they take their fire back to their palaces to be used for heating and cooking. The fires die down during the night. So the next morning, everyone comes back to Hestia for a light. Being goddess of the hearth isn’t a huge job. But Hestia takes it very seriously. She watches her flame like a hawk. She’d never give fire to Prometheus. So Part II of his plan would never happen. That was too bad for the guys. But it was good for Prometheus, because it kept him safe from the wrath of Zeus.

Back in the Underworld, things were shaping up. Cerberus was catching on to my “No bark!” command. And I was teaching him to play “Catch the Discus.” He was good at it. After all, with three heads, he had triple the chance of catching it. Sometimes, though, two or even three of Cerbie’s heads started fighting over the discus. Then there was plenty of snapping, snarling, growling, and barking. Luckily, it didn’t happen very often.

One day I clipped my Helmet of Darkness to my belt and walked Cerbie all the way to the Styx. I had Charon ferry Cerbie and me across the river so we could play fetch on the opposite bank for a change. (The old money-grubbing ferryman charged one gold coin for me and triple for the dog!) This riverbank was where I’d first laid eyes on Cerbie. He was a little three-headed pup then. And it was the place where he’d come to me with a note from his mother tied to his collar. The note said that Cerbie wanted to be my dog. So this riverbank was a special place for me and my pooch.

I threw the discus. Cerbie caught it and ran to me. As we played, Hermes’s old rattletrap of a bus rounded the last curve of the Underworld Highway and clattered onto the riverbank.

“Cerbie, come!” I called. Hermes is a reckless driver, and I wanted Cerbie out of his way.

The bus screeched to a stop in front of Charon’s ferry. The messenger god hopped out of the driver’s seat. I expected to see a load of ghosts pile out of the bus after him. But there were none. Hermes flapped the little wings on his helmet and sandals and flitted over to me.

“Greetings, Hades,” said Hermes.

“Greetings,” I said, staring at the empty bus. “Where did the ghosts go?”

“I didn’t bring any,” Hermes said. “I’m here strictly in my role as messenger of Zeus.”

I groaned. “What now?”

“He wants you up on Mount Olympus,” said Hermes. “There’s some sort of big emergency. Come on. I’ll give you a lift.”

I groaned again. Nine days and nights to get up to earth! And nine more to get back. Even for an immortal, it was a nightmare. But what choice did I have? Zeus was a cheat and a total myth-o-maniac. But surely he wouldn’t have sent Hermes for me unless it was a real emergency. Maybe at last he realized that he needed the advice of his wise older brother. I picked up the dog and followed Hermes to his old bus.

“Let’s go,” I told him.