Chapter Six: Hermes’s Advice

Than returned to the Underworld to his private chambers to find Hermes lying on his bed.

“Thank god.” Hermes sat up. “I’d forgotten what monotonous work this is. I’m in four thousand different places at once and still bored. Take my hand before I’m forced to disintegrate again.”

Than touched his cousin’s hand and restored himself as god of death, the transition momentarily jostling the lifeless souls he now stood beside, leading them, his hand paternally on their shoulders, to Charon. He sighed. Hermes was right, but someone had to do it. He turned to his cousin. “Thank you.”

“Good news from Aphrodite, I hope?”

“An idea. How well do you know Dionysus?”

“He’s like a son to me. Why?”

“What can I do to get on his good side?”

“You can’t.”

Than took a chair across from Hermes, who remained sitting on the bed and now tucked a pillow under his arm to make himself more comfortable. “Why not?”

“He hates the gods. All of us. He feels cheated. And rightly so. He was hidden away most of his life from Hera. You know the story?”

Than nodded. “But I had nothing to do with it.”

“He’s got a chip on his shoulder. Don’t take it personally.”

“There’s got to be a way. He’s my only hope.”

“If he’s your only hope, then you have none.”

“Is it true he lives on Mount Kithairon?”

“Don’t seek him out. The maenads will tear you to pieces.”

Than bit his lip, thinking. There had to be a way into Dionysus’s heart. Every person was capable of tenderness. As god of the dead, he’d seen even the most powerful weep. “How long does it take to recover from that—being torn to pieces?”

“Trust me when I say nothing is worth that pain. Don’t even think of it.”

“Too late, Hermes.” The pain in his heart was greater; he was sure of it.

“First love. Young love. Believe me, it’ll pass.”

“Impossible. And I don’t want it to pass. You know how monotonous my existence is. Why shouldn’t I find happiness? Why should I alone be exempt from it?” He thought of Charon and clenched his jaw. Charon, too, was exempt.

“You have nothing he desires. No leverage. He celebrates life. You are Death. I can think of nothing to help you. And as far as how long it takes to put your pieces back together again? Depends on how badly you’re ripped apart. Could take weeks. And you’ll need help if you don’t want to look like a monster for several years while you heal. Plus, someone else would need to take your job while you’re put back together, and it won’t be me, cousin.” Hermes stood up, as if to leave, but then added. “But there is one among us he respects.”

“Who?”

“Your grandmother, Demeter. Maybe she can help.” With that, Hermes vanished.