Eryx got tired before I did, and he sat on the sand, watching me swim. I dove around, wanting to go deeper, but staying in the shallows. I’m not stupid, and the ocean isn’t Lake Trick. It felt so good to be immersed. I held my breath and floated face down, letting the water support me, move me. It was like floating on nothing. The universe washed away. I felt at home here, even peaceful. I decided that when I grew up, I would live here. Then I remembered I was already living here. This was home now. It was both strange and comfortable, knowing that.

My eyes were open—it didn’t sting like I thought it would—and I saw the sand below me. No fish or plants. I wondered why.

When I came up for air, Eryx was waving me in, so I swam back up to shore, loving the feel of water pouring over my muscles.

“We should head into town and look for supper,” he said. “It might take a while to find something.”

I nodded, and we trekked back to our stuff. Sand stuck to my feet and legs, then fell off as my skin dried. Thirst tugged at my throat, and I was glad Eryx had scavenged the water bottles.

“You’re a good swimmer,” Eryx said. “Really good. Way better than I am.”

This caught me by surprise. “Uh . . . thanks,” I said.

“And there’s salt drying in your hair. Here.” He stood in front of me and rumpled up my hair with both hands, shaking out the salt. My mouth went dry, and not from being thirsty. Eryx looked at me for a moment, his fingers still tangled in my hair.

“You’ve got eyes like a puppy,” he said. “Big and brown. Come on—we should get our stuff.” He pulled away and took off. I hurried to follow.

We crested the dune, and down below I saw someone near our stuff. The person was pawing through our packs. My heart jerked. Eryx noticed it at the same time I did. The person—it was a girl—picked up both packs and started walking away. We both bolted down the dune after her.

“Leave our stuff alone, bitch!” Eryx yelled.

She turned, saw us pelting toward her, and took off. Shit, she could run. She seemed to flicker along, barely touching the sand. But she was weighed down with the packs, and Eryx and I were desperate. All our money and everything we owned were in those packs.

We closed the distance to a few yards. Eryx leaped ahead and tackled her. She went down with a WHOOF noise. The two of them rolled for a while, fighting and snarling. I threw myself down on top of both of them, trying to use my weight to shove her down. Eryx had her trapped on the ground, and I was on top of Eryx.

“Fuckers!” the girl shouted. “Fucking fuckers! All right, I give up. Ow! Ow ow ow! I said I give up, asshole!”

“Let go of the backpacks,” Eryx growled.

She did. I got up, yanked them away, and sat on them. Only then did Eryx roll off her. She sat up and glared at both of us. Her hair was short and blond, and it had pink and purple streaks in it. Hazel eyes, big ones. Long nose, pointy chin. Seriously cute, to tell the truth. Her clothes were a mismatch, like she’d gotten dressed in the dark. Too-small shirt painted with stripes in neon pink and green. Orange denim shorts. Her left sock was yellow, her right one was blue. Cheap sandals of red plastic. Chipped polish coated her fingernails, and each one was a different color. She was a little on the skinny side, and her boobs were small. Nice legs.

“What the fuck were you doing?” Eryx demanded.

“Stealing your shit,” she said. “You just left it here. What did you think would happen?”

“We hid it,” Eryx said. “You must’ve been looking for it.”

“Idiot.”

“Bitch.”

“All right, all right.” I rummaged through my pack and found the hundred dollar bill in its hiding place. Relief made me weak. “Look, we got our stuff back and she can’t take it now, so we’re good.”

“Noobs,” the girl said. She was still sitting a few feet away from us.

“I’m not a noob,” Eryx said. “How long have you been down here?”

She folded her arms. “About a year.”

“I’m Danny Marina,” I said, jumping in. “This is my step-brother Eric Kalos, but everyone calls him Eryx.”

“I’m Irene. Eryx? What kind of name is that?”

“Long story,” Eryx said.

I pushed the backpacks behind me. “Where are you from?”

“What makes you think I’m not from here?”

“I dunno,” I said with a shrug. “Doesn’t make sense to stay in the city you ran away in, I guess. We’re from Michigan.”

Irene blinked at me. “No shit? No fucking shit? Me, too. I’m from Red Ridge.”

“Lake Trichonida,” Eryx said.

“Oh yeah—I know that place. My parents used to rent a cottage there all the time. They used to joke that I was probably conceived there. Fucking embarrassing.” She shook her head. “So we’re all Michigan babies?”

“Looks like,” Eryx said.

“That’s got to be . . . I dunno. It’s some kind of sign. Or a weird-ass coincidence from hell. You guys ran away too?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“How come?”

I really didn’t want to go into it, and I could tell Eryx didn’t want to, either. I said, “Arguing with our folks. What about you?”

A grin spread across her face like a rainbow. It was very pretty. “Arguing with my folks.”

The three of us laughed a little. Maybe we’d tell each other later, maybe we wouldn’t. But it was comfortable laughing with Irene.

“You two have somewhere to stay?” she asked.

Eryx shook his head. “We just got here.”

“I know a place,” Irene said. “A good one. I’ll show you, if you want.”

“How much?” I said, wary.

“Totally free,” Irene said with another rainbow smile. It made my heart beat a little faster, and I got confused again. Last night I was hot for Eryx. Now Irene shows up, and I’m all puppy-dog for her. “But first I want to go swimming. That’s why I came down here in the first place. Finding your shit was just a bonus.”

Eryx wanted to go in again, too. I volunteered to stay by our stuff. Irene peeled off her clothes and showed she was wearing a swimsuit underneath. The blue top didn’t match the purple bottom. Her boobs were round inside the halter of her swim top. Her tanned skin looked soft and smooth as daylight, and I wanted to touch it. I watched her, trying not to look like I was watching her, but I think she knew.

Irene and Eryx ran down to the beach while I updated my journal. Later I swam with them for a while, too. We even played Marco Polo, and when it was my turn to shout “Marco,” both Irene and Eryx shouted “Polo” at the same time, and I couldn’t choose between them, so I opened my eyes. When we were done swimming, Irene promised to show us the place where we could stay for free. We’re going there now, soon as they get dressed.

0o0

I’m in our new place now. It’s only a few blocks from the ocean. I’m writing this in Irene’s room.

Once we were done swimming and were dried off enough to get dressed, Irene showed us a couple of good places for Dumpster diving. She knows Aquapura way better than we do.

“If you want fresh food, hit the bins behind the grocery stores before eight in the morning,” she said. “The new stuff gets put on the shelves overnight, and old or damaged stuff gets pitched. By eight, though, it’s been pretty much picked over or the trash trucks have come. Restaurants are hit-and-miss, of course. Most of the pizza places are on to the weird-ass topping trick and they call back to verify, so don’t bother with that one.”

“What’s the weird-ass topping trick?” I asked.

“That’s when you call a pizza place and order a pizza with toppings no one will want,” Eryx said. “Like feta cheese and pineapple or something. You say it’s for pickup, don’t show, and the restaurant is stuck with a pizza no one else will want. They throw it out, and you can dig it out of the dumpster.”

“Right,” Irene said. We were walking down the sidewalk together, all three of us. “And if you want stuff like clothes and shoes, or toiletries like toothpaste or mouthwash, hit the bins behind the motels Monday morning. Tourists leave behind all kinds of shit from the weekend, and the motels just throw it all out on Monday.”

I looked at her with admiration. “You’re pretty smart. I wouldn’t have thought of that.”

She shrugged, but I could see her face redden a little bit.

“Tomorrow’s Monday,” Eryx said. “We’re gonna need some summer clothes. Can you show us where to look?”

“Sure,” Irene said. The sun caught the purple strands of her hair and turned them purpler. I liked the way it looked. “But right now, I’m starving. Let’s see if Ben’s has anything good.”

Ben’s was a café. Irene had us wait out front while she dashed into the rear alley. She came back with three ham sandwiches wrapped in plastic. “Here,” she said. “These didn’t even come from the trash.”

“Where’d you get ’em?” I asked, tearing mine open and taking a rich, salty bite. It tasted wonderful.

“The owner likes me,” she said. “He feels sorry for me and he’ll give me day-old stuff if I don’t ask too often.”

Once those were finished, Irene showed us around a little more. Aquapura is pretty big, and it must have been nice back before everything went to shit. Irene said a lot of bargain-hunter tourists come here, looking for cheap vacations. Crooked travel agencies also charge unsuspecting families nice-town rates and send them to shitty-town Aquapura. Still, the ocean is the ocean. There are places you can rent boats and hire fishing guides and get surfing lessons from old guys with man-boobs. In a couple weeks, Irene said, a carnival will arrive and set up for the winter, offering shaky rides to the kids, ripping off visitors with cheap games, and bribing the cops to stay open. Maybe I could get a job there. Wouldn’t that be cool?

By then we were getting tired, so Irene showed us where she lives, where I guess I live now. A kudzu-covered brick sign calls it the Pieria Nursing Home. It’s in the middle of a huge empty meadow behind a strip mall with a crappy-ass grocery store, laundromat, liquor store, and dollar store.

The place is a wreck. Irene says it’s been abandoned for a long time. The lawn is a forest of grass and vines, most of the building’s windows are broken, and chunks of the roof are missing—hurricane damage, according to Irene. The structure is a single story, made of brown brick, and it winds around itself like a snake with corners. There are lots of little courtyards and walkways, all of them cracked and overgrown.

Irene picked a path through the kudzu and thigh-high grass. Birds sang, complaining about the heat, and bugs chugged and chittered in the greenery.

There are lots of ways to get inside the building. The big doors in the front are chained shut, but most of the side doors have been chopped open or just torn off. And you can climb in through the windows, if you really want. The three of us entered through a side door that has a No Trespassing sign plastered to it.

The inside is a wreck, too. Cracked gray tile covers the floor, and broken glass crunches wherever you step. Light gets in through holes in the roof and the missing windows. Everything’s dirty. Most of the place is rooms for the old people, but you can also see spaces that used to be a dining room and a visiting area and a kitchen and offices and shit like that. There’s still some furniture, but it’s moldy and gross, like fairies shit all over it.

Irene took us to the room she’d staked out. It used to be an old person’s room. A battered mattress lies on the floor against one wall with a nest of blankets on top of it. A pile of mismatched clothes sits next to it. Two milk crates turned sideways make a set of shelves on the floor, and in them is some other stuff—some brightly-colored seashells, a stone arrowhead, a couple of magazines, a hand mirror, stuff like that. The mirror has a crack in it and the magazines look like they came out of the trash. Probably did.

The room has a bathroom. Both the sink and the toilet have been torn out, and little lizards skitter over the walls. Irene’s window has no glass, but on the floor beneath it is a piece of plywood with a handle in the middle of it that looks like it would fit into the window frame. Irene saw me looking at it.

“Ephram made that,” she said. “I stick it in the window to keep the water out when it rains.”

“Who’s Ephram?” Eryx asked.

“You think a big building like this is gonna stay empty?” Irene said. “A whole bunch of us homeless people live here. The others are all way older than me. There’s room for you, though, if you want to stay. Come on—I’ll introduce you around.”

“Why didn’t we see them when we were walking around just now?” I said.

“They were probably hiding. The cops throw us out every so often, so they get nervous around strangers. Wait here. I’ll go tell them you’re okay. Don’t touch my stuff.”

She left. Eryx and I were sitting on her mattress only a few inches apart. The room felt darker without Irene in it.

“She’s cute,” Eryx said after a second.

“Yeah,” I said, watching the empty doorway.

“And she’s nice,” Eryx added.

“Uh huh.”

Eryx shifted on the mattress and his leg pressed against mine. “She’s not as nice as—” Then he stopped and pulled back.

I looked at him. His eyes were big as the moon, and there were pale salt crystals from the ocean in his hair. I felt weird again. “Nice as what?”

“Never mind.”

“Now you’ve got salt in your hair, dude,” I said, and on impulse brushed at it like he had for me earlier. His hair was soft on my fingers. I liked it, and wondered if Irene’s hair felt the same way. Eryx sat stiff as a rock.

“Thanks,” he said.

“Do I have any left?” I asked, flicking at my own head and pretending I hadn’t just run my hands through the hair of another guy.

“A little. It shows up really good against all that black.” Eryx ran his fingers through my hair. At first it felt like the tips of ten arrows pricked my scalp, and I almost jerked away. Then his fingers changed into feathers and it suddenly felt soft and fine.

“You guys okay?” Irene said from the door.

It’s only in movies or on TV that people jump and look guilty. Eryx and I just looked at her. “Salt check,” Eryx said. “You’ve got some, too.”

Irene shook her short hair. “Yeah, it never gets out completely unless you shower in fresh water.”

“You going to introduce us around?” I asked.

“Forgot—everyone’s out scrounging for the day. They’ll be in later, when it gets dark.” She yawned. “Let’s find you guys something to sleep on for tonight. I might be able to swipe a couple blankets from work, but I’m not sure.”

“You have a job?” I asked. That was a surprise.

“Yeah. I was off today. Tomorrow, too, unless they need me.”

“If you have a job,” Eryx said, “why do you live here?”

Irene shrugged. “I work at a hotel that hires a lot of illegal immigrants and street kids, people who don’t want their boss to ask questions like, ‘What’s your social security number?’ or ‘How old are you, kid?’ or ‘Where are your parents?’ The trade-off is, he doesn’t pay much. It’s enough to buy some stuff, but no way could I rent an apartment, even if I was old enough to sign a lease. And it’s why I still scrounge in the trash.”

“What kind of work?” Eryx asked.

“Cleaning rooms, working in the kitchen, whatever needs doing, really,” Irene said. “Sometimes he has one-shot jobs that pay more.” She paused, looked away, then looked back at us. Her feet shifted and her eyes emptied like leaky water glasses for a moment. She was still standing in the doorway. “If you guys are interested, I could talk to the owner, see if he’s hiring.”

I thought of the $100 bill in my backpack. I had avoided touching it so far, but it wouldn’t last very long. Eryx and I would need a jobs eventually, and the sooner the better. I opened my mouth.

“That’d be great,” Eryx and I said at the same time. Then we both laughed.

“Cool,” Irene said. “I’ll ask Lucian about it tomorrow.”

0o0

Now I’m feeling bored. Irene went somewhere and Eryx is sleeping on her mattress like a dead statue. It seems like he sleeps all the time. The graveyard wasn’t a great place for restful snoozing—not for the two living people, anyway—and we should both be as wiped as used Kleenex, but I’m wide awake while Eryx conks. Anyway, we’re going to sleep here on the floor tonight and then look for a better mattress tomorrow. Kinda weird. We didn’t talk about it, we just sort of assumed that all three of us would share this room. It’s not like there aren’t any empty rooms on this floor, either. But we just put our stuff here together and we’re all going to be sleeping here together, too.

I wonder if we’ll be sleeping together. I’ve been thinking about that a lot. Are we supposed to? Does Eryx like—as in like—Irene, too? What if we both want her? Does she like me? Eryx? Both of us? Neither?

I got an image in my head of all three of us sliding together on her little mattress, the mismatched blankets crushed beneath us like dirty clouds. But probably nothing’ll happen. That’s the way it always works. We’ll all three be just friends, or Eryx and Irene will pair up, leaving me alone. I feel like I should say something, but all the words that come to me are blundering, stupid cows, so I keep them in my mouth.

Irene kind of hangs on the air even when she isn’t here. She colors everything in the room, and I remember everything about her—her streaky hair, her hazel eyes, her funny clothes. I don’t want to say the wrong thing and make her mad or—worse—make her think I’m an idiot.

Funny how I don’t worry about that with Eryx. Maybe it’s because I already know him. Or maybe it’s because he’s a guy. Would Irene be mad if she saw me and Eryx—

Shit, why am I even writing about this? None of it’s going to happen. It’s not. I should be worrying about my next meal and whether this Lucian guy will give me a job or not. Fuck this—I’m gonna do something else.

0o0

Ganymede was flying. Sort of. The eagle held him both tight and gentle by the shoulders as it flapped its impossible wings and climbed toward the storm clouds. The ground was a green blur surrounded by a blue blur far below. He still couldn’t hear a thing, and the air rushing past his ears didn’t make a sound. The wounds from his fight with Minos and the dogs hurt, but he barely noticed the pain. Fear and awe had smashed everything else from his mind.

The eagle rushed up through the clouds, and Ganymede found himself enfolded by cool white mist. Before he could think further, the eagle burst up through the top of the clouds into clear, bright air. The clouds formed a fluffy white plain that stretched out in all directions like a puffy blanket. Overhead shone the golden sun.

The eagle dropped him. Ganymede yelled in terror, then yelped in surprise. He had landed on the clouds, and they supported him. They felt both soft and bouncy, like a gigantic sponge. He lay there a second trying to get his heart started and his breathing back to normal. What the hell was happening to him? Maybe Minos had hit him on the head and he was dreaming.

He felt a rush of wind, and the eagle landed near him. Before Ganymede could do anything, the eagle shimmered and shifted. Its feathers shrank and vanished. Its talons became human feet, its wings became human arms. Ganymede’s mouth fell open. Standing before him was a tall, handsome man in a short purple toga the same color of heaven after sunset. He had a lot of red-blond hair and a full beard. His eyes were blue as the sky, and they sparkled with stars and lightning. Every powerful muscle stood etched against the clear air. In his right hand he held a thunderbolt like a staff. It flickered and jumped and crackled in his grip. Ganymede’s first thought was that this was the most incredible, amazing guy he had ever seen. His second thought was that the thunderbolt staff was seriously cool. His third thought was that, holy shit, this was Lord Zeus, king of the gods, ruler of Mount Olympus, and why the hell was Ganymede still standing upright?

Ganymede threw himself flat on the clouds, prostrating himself before most powerful of the gods. Fear made his whole body shake. Minos could only kill him. Zeus could do way worse. This was the guy who had chained Prometheus—another god—upside-down on a mountain and had his heart ripped out every day. A moment later, though, Ganymede felt a gentle arm around his shoulders. The arm pulled him to a sitting position, and he found himself enfolded in Zeus’s powerful arms. Zeus sat beside him on the clouds and stroked Ganymede’s golden hair with one broad hand. The lightning staff had vanished. Ganymede was staring straight into the god’s powerful chest. He smelled ozone, and the air around him felt tense, as if a storm was holding back and trying not to break. Ganymede swallowed, uncertain and still afraid.

Zeus’s smooth skin was quivering slightly, and Ganymede felt rumbles like thunder in Zeus’s body. Greatly daring, he looked up and saw that Zeus was speaking.

“I can’t hear you, my lord,” Ganymede said, and couldn’t tell if he was talking, whispering, or shouting. “The thunderbolt that destroyed the tree made me deaf.”

Abruptly he realized that Zeus must have sent the lightning to stop Minos from killing Ganymede and he feared Zeus might take his words as criticism. Terror crawled cold down his spine.

“But thank you for saving me, my lord,” he added hastily. “Minos would have killed me if not for you.”

In answer, Zeus put a finger under Ganymede’s chin and looked deeply into his eyes. The blue gaze was at the same time piercing and tender. Terror vanished. Ganymede’s heart lurched and began to race. Then Zeus brought a finger to his mouth. He licked it, and a tiny spark jumped from his tongue to the fingertip. Zeus gently ran the finger over Ganymede’s left ear. Ganymede gasped at the electric rush that flashed through him at the touch. Zeus licked his finger again and touched Ganymede’s other ear, and Ganymede jerked involuntarily at the same amazing sensation.

“There,” Zeus rumbled. “You can hear me now.”

“My lord,” Ganymede gasped. “Yes, my lord. Thank you.”

And then Zeus kissed him hard. The move caught Ganymede by surprise. Zeus’s arms went completely around Ganymede, and the kiss deepened, stealing Ganymede’s breath. The world crashed to a halt, and all the sensation in Ganymede’s body rushed to his lips. When at last Zeus pulled away, Ganymede was panting, and he wanted more. The stiffest hard-on of his life pressed against his stomach, and it screamed for Zeus’s touch. Ganymede squirmed.

“I’ve been watching you,” Zeus said. His voice was rich and deep. “You’re beautiful. And brave. And I had to have you.”

Ganymede couldn’t do anything but look mutely into Zeus’s eternal eyes. Emotion swelled and broke and spilled down his face. A few minutes ago he had been facing rape and torture and death. Now the king of gods, ruler of the universe, had just called him beautiful. Still unable to speak, he touched Zeus’s cheek with a tentative hand. Zeus smiled, and the power of that simple expression thundered over Ganymede, blew through him like a tornado on steroids. Ganymede’s muscles went weak as water, and all he wanted in all the universe was for Zeus to smile at him again.

“You’re my favorite,” Zeus murmured into Ganymede’s ear. “Now and forever. Always my favorite.”

He lowered Ganymede to the soft bed of clouds. Ganymede didn’t struggle, didn’t want to. It hurt like a motherfuck when Zeus pushed into him, but at the same time the god’s touch fired every pleasure connection in Ganymede’s brain with electric glee. Zeus clutched and howled, and Ganymede was vaguely aware that beneath them, the storm had started up again. Lightning stabbed at the water again and again and again, and then came one final explosive crash of thunder. The storm ended.

Above the clouds, Zeus pulled Ganymede to him for one more kiss, and another bout of fear struck him. Was Zeus going to take him back to earth? Leave him there? The idea made him shake.

Zeus seemed to be reading Ganymede’s mind. He took Ganymede’s hand. “Come along.”

“Where?”

“Mount Olympus, of course.” He smiled again, but this time it didn’t have the powerful effect it did before, though Ganymede still caught his breath. “I told you—you’re my favorite. I can’t send you back to Minos.”

“But I thought only gods and immortals could enter Olympus,” Ganymede stammered.

“True, true.” Zeus stroked his beard. “But my essence inside you has made changes. It healed the rest of your wounds” —here Ganymede noticed for the first time that the aches and pains from his fight with Minos had vanished— “and granted you temporary immortality. Once we’re on Olympus, I’ll arrange for you to be granted that gift forever.”

Ganymede stared at Zeus for a long moment, trying to take this in. He was going to be a freaking immortal? Some kind of . . . god? He didn’t know whether to be excited or scared.

“What am I going to do there?” Ganymede asked. “On Olympus, I mean?”

In answer, Zeus grabbed him by the shoulder. Ganymede felt a strange rushing sensation, and suddenly he and Zeus were standing before an enormous set of stone doors. They were carved and decorated with intricate designs that moved and shifted in eye-twisting ways even as Ganymede watched. Abruptly he realized he was wearing a wine-red tunic edged with gold. Where the hell had that come from?

Zeus raised a hand, and the doors boomed open. Beyond lay an enormous banquet hall with pillars, but the floor was soft green grass, and the pillars supported nothing except open air and mild sunshine. A ring-shaped table the size of a ballroom took up the center. In the center of the ring, a large fire danced on the grassy floor. Twelve enormous thrones surrounded the table, and each throne was different. The biggest one was made of swirling clouds, and it sparkled with lightning. The one next to it was made of rigid stone, painted purple and decorated with gems and peacock feathers. One throne seemed to be made of ivy and wheat sheaves and flowers. Another was made of gold and onyx and old bones. Yet another was entwined with grape vines, and blood-red grapes hung from them in heavy bunches. Ganymede didn’t have time to look at much more. Zeus slammed his hands together with the sound of a thunderclap. Instantly, the hall was filled with people. Amazing, breathtaking people.

Gods.

Ganymede saw Hermes, god of merchants and thieves and healers, with his winged helmet and sandals, settle into a throne created of coins. Athene took up her bronze throne and instantly noted Ganymede’s presence. Her wise gray eyes flicked a millisecond glance at him, and Ganymede had the uncomfortable feeling that in that tiny time she had learned everything there was to know of him. Her brother Ares, his armor dented and bloody, flung himself down with a scowl onto a throne of sword hilts and broken shields. Poseidon appeared, dripping wet, and sat on a watery throne with fish swimming through it. Artemis and Apollo, twins as opposite as night and day, occupied thrones made of silver moonlight and golden sunbeams. Aphrodite lounged with lush grace on her red satin throne and ran her pink tongue over pouty lips. Ganymede couldn’t take his eyes off her indescribable beauty until Zeus touched his shoulder and the spell was broken. Aphrodite tossed her head, pretending not to notice. Her husband Hephaestus, his legs twisted and broken, uncertainly fingered his blacksmith’s hammer from a throne of burning coals and raw iron. Hestia knelt at the hearth in the center of the great hall and quietly poked at the fire with her staff. Hades took the throne of gold and onyx, while Dionysus took the one with the grapes.

Hera, Zeus’s wife, appeared a second after all the others. She was the tallest among the goddesses, almost as tall as Zeus himself, and only Aphrodite was more beautiful. She wore a long purple gown and carried a peacock, its long tail trailing down her arm like a waterfall with eyes. Like Athene, she flicked a glance at Ganymede. Their gazes met, and Ganymede felt the power and rage behind her eyes. In that instant, Ganymede realized that she understood exactly what he and Zeus had been up to only moments before, and he also realized she was royally pissed off about it.

Abruptly Ganymede remembered all the stories about Zeus and his love affairs, and how his wife Hera had reacted. She wasn’t able to do anything to Zeus—he was more powerful than she was, and in any case, he was the king—but she could and did go after his lovers. He swallowed hard. His guts twisted inside him and he moved a little closer to Zeus, who didn’t seem to notice a thing. Hera gave Ganymede a grim little smile, and in that moment Ganymede knew he was fucked.

Zeus regally sank to his cloud throne, gestured for Ganymede to stand beside him, and held up a hand. The conversation in the great hall fell instantly silent.

“I’ve summoned you all here,” he boomed in his powerful voice, “because I have some wonderful news. It begins with a story.” Here he told the tale of Ganymede’s fight with Minos, embellishing the story and making Ganymede sound like a great hero who was nonetheless overwhelmed by the evil king. Zeus ended with Ganymede’s rescue, though he left out what happened right afterward. The Olympians listened with varying degrees of attention, though none of them dared interrupt.

“The boy’s bravery and beauty must never die,” Zeus finished. “That is why I have brought him here to Olympus. He will join us, the immortals, and live forever.”

Hera stared and glared through the entire thing, and after Zeus’s speech, only a smattering of polite applause drifted around the open hall. Ganymede shifted, feeling more and more uncomfortable and uncertain. The gods were in a tough spot and were behaving just like some of the people he’d seen at court in Troy and while visiting Minos on Crete. If they didn’t act like Zeus’s decision was cool, the king would get ticked off. If they acted like Zeus had done the greatest thing since the sun started burning, the queen would be mighty pissed. So they walked down the middle of the road. This was unfair, as far as Ganymede was concerned. The gods seemed to spend a lot of time wondering who they might have offended among themselves. Didn’t they have a universe to run?

Completely oblivious to all this, Zeus turned his head away from Ganymede to the other side of his throne. A girl, maybe thirteen years old, was standing there. She was blond, rosy-cheeked, and very cute. She held a long-necked jar of wine, and she was pouring a steady purple stream of it into a cup on the table before Zeus. With Zeus and the other powerful gods all lounging on their thrones, Ganymede hadn’t noticed her. Now he began to notice other beings had slipped into the hall—minor gods. Pan, with his goat’s horns and hooves, squatted near Dionysus. Eris, goddess of discord, stood near Ares’s throne and watched Hera’s angry face with hungry glee while little Deimos and Phobos—terror and fear—hovered overhead as tiny demons. An athletic, redheaded teenager wearing a quiver between the shining white wings on his back insolently leaned on Aphrodite’s throne. He caught Ganymede’s eye and winked. Ganymede didn’t know how to react to that, so he didn’t. A teenage girl wrapped in a tunic of shifting, glimmering color leaned over to whisper in the winged kid’s ear. They both laughed softly, and Ganymede wondered if they were laughing at him. He flushed slightly.

Zeus, meanwhile, was talking to the young girl on the other side of his throne. “Hebe,” he commanded, “bring Ganymede a plate of your ambrosia and a cup of your nectar. Ganymede will have eternal life and eternal youth.”

The wine jug vanished, and a golden plate and cup appeared in Hebe’s hands. The most wonderfully indescribable smell drifted across the hall, and Ganymede felt suddenly ravenous. A lot had happened since the breakfast he’d barfed up this morning. How long ago had that been? Weird to think, although he began the day retching into a smelly chamber pot, he had no way to know he’d finish it on Mount Olympus.

Hebe was turning to bring the cup and plate around the throne to Ganymede when a powerful female voice echoed through the hall.

“No!” Hera boomed, and Hebe froze.

Zeus raised his eyebrows at her. “No? Wife, I think you go too far.”

“Husband,” Hera’s words fell cold as hailstone, “I think you’ve forgotten. Hebe is the goddess of youth, and only she can decide who lives forever. Not even you can order her to give this . . . boy her gifts, any more than she could order you to toss a thunderbolt. Your little friend will have to do without.”

Hera sat back on her tall, straight throne, a triumphant smile on her lips. All eyes went to Zeus, who stroked his red-blond beard with a broad hand.

“You’re right,” he said at last. “I did forget.” But before Hera could smile further, Zeus turned to Hebe. He reached down, put a finger under her chin, and turned on the charm. “Hebe, darling daughter, will you do Daddy a favor and give Ganymede eternal youth? You’re doing such a fine job as my cupbearer, and if you do this little thing for me, I’ll give you some new responsibilities. Would you like that?”

Hebe flushed and her face grew excited. “Yes! Yes, I would! Thank you, Father!”

Before Hera could rise to object again, Hebe thrust the golden plate into Ganymede’s hands. The ambrosia on the plate kept changing shape. First it was chocolates. Then it was plump grapes. Then it was new-baked bread slathered in butter. It smelled fantastic, like all those foods and more. Hebe snatched up a piece and stuffed it into Ganymede’s mouth. His eyes widened. This was a feast in a single bite. It was every bit of deliciousness put into a single crumb. It was a morsel of orgasm. He shuddered in an ecstasy he never imagined could exist.

Hebe put the golden cup to Ganymede’s mouth before he had quite recovered from the ambrosia, and her nectar filled his mouth. It was every drink in the world—sweet wine, hearty ale, icy water, hot chocolate, warm milk. Ganymede’s eyes widened, and he shuddered again as every cell in his body reacted with an electric jolt. The nectar mixed with the ambrosia on his tongue, and sudden power thrummed through him, like he’d been hooked up to a dynamo powered by a volcano. Liquid light poured from every pore. For a moment, the entire universe washed through him in a tidal wave. He was the salty ocean, and he felt every fish, every whale and dolphin, every grain of sand. He was the fresh-water lake, and he felt the stones and algae, the crawfish and turtles. He was the flowing streams and rivers, the bubbling springs, the hidden pools. He was the clouds of mist that hugged the ground and the silent clouds that puffed through the sky. He encircled the world, flowed beneath it, wandered over it. An integral part of everything.

Then he was back on Olympus, and Hebe was pulling the cup away from him.

“Join me in welcoming Ganymede to Olympus,” Zeus declared, clapping him on the shoulder from his throne. “We will have a banquet in celebration!”

A great cheer went up from all the gods. Apollo pulled his lyre out of thin air and struck up a happy melody, and Artemis joined in on a rough-made skin drum. Pan produced his own pipes and played an eerie counterpoint. Aphrodite pulled Ares from his throne to dance. The other gods laughed and chattered, except for Hera, who sat in cool silence. Platters filled with ambrosia appeared on the table. It continually changed shape, just as Hebe’s food had, and the wonderful smell of it filled the air.

Ganymede grinned, still a little uncertain but growing in confidence. The gods seemed a little different, less overwhelming and powerful now. He supposed it was because he had become immortal. And that was a major head trip. He tried to wrap his mind around the idea. He would never grow old, never develop wrinkles or arthritis, never wither and die. He’d be young forever.

As Hebe moved back around to the other side of Zeus’s throne, it occurred to Ganymede that even though she looked barely thirteen, she had to be thousands of years old. Wow.

Hebe reached her spot next to Zeus. The wine jug had reappeared in her hands. Zeus drained his golden cup and set it on the table. Hebe leaned in, ready to refill it, but Zeus almost casually pushed the jug away. Some of the wine spilled. It trickled over the edge of the table and vanished before it could hit the grassy floor. The hall fell silent again and everyone stared. Hebe’s face turned red with embarrassment and surprise.

“I’m sorry, my dear,” Zeus rumbled. “But you’ve been replaced as my cupbearer. That job now belongs to Ganymede.”