The next weekend, I drove up to see Persephone. When I knocked at her apartment door, she flung it open.

“Hades!” she said. “I’ve missed you!” She picked up a picnic basket, took my arm, and whisked me outside. We began walking out of the city toward our favorite picnic spot in the countryside. “See the leaf buds on the trees?” Persephone pointed. “And the green shoots poking up out of the earth? I did that.”

“Wow, P-phone,” I said. “You’ve really gotten into the whole goddess-of-spring thing.”

“That’s nothing,” said Persephone as we came to a barren field. There wasn’t a single bud or blade of grass. “Watch this.” She flung her arms wide and shouted, “KA-BLOOM!” As the words left her mouth, clover, buttercups, and violets sprang forth from the earth. Leafless trees sprouted fat pink blossoms. I was impressed.

We spread a cloth in the flowery field and sat down to a picnic, just as we’d done the day I fell in love with her—with a little help from Cupid. Persephone took some goodies out of her basket.

“Pickle?” she said, offering me one. “Ambrosia dill. So, Hades, what have you been up to?”

“Plenty,” I said. I told her about Athena gorgonizing Medusa and her sisters. I’d had Eno’s film developed, and now I pulled out the picture that Athena had snapped. “This was taken just before Athena put the stonifying spell on Medusa.” I handed it to Persephone.

“Aaaaah!” Persephone cried as she looked at the monsters. “Oh, the poor goddesses! All their gorgeous hair, gone!”

“Well, not gone exactly,” I pointed out. “Just turned to snakes. But at least the Gorgons are in SNIPP now, safe from Athena.”

“There is something seriously wrong with Athena, Hades,” Persephone said, munching on an ambrosia-laced spring roll. “You know, last summer, Po threw a beach party. All the gods and goddesses went swimming and surfing and had the best time, except for Athena. She showed up wearing her armor! I talked her into taking that off, and Hestia lent her a swimsuit. But Athena refused to take off her helmet. It was so strange. She just sat there on the beach with that helmet on her head, looking miserable.”

“Was Medusa at this party?” I asked.

Persephone nodded. “All the moon goddesses came. Medusa set up a water slide, and everybody went down it about a million times. We had so much fun.”

“Did Medusa and Athena get into a quarrel or anything?” I asked.

Persephone shook her head. “No. Nobody quarreled.”

I shrugged. Athena’s hatred for Medusa was still a mystery.

Next, I told Persephone about discovering Danaë and Perseus inside their brass prison.

“I can’t believe it,” Persephone said. “In one week, I’ve missed so much excitement! Is there anything else?”

I gave Persephone her emerald necklace then. It was a hit.

*  *  *

The Underworld Mall was under construction that spring. Dozens of new shops and restaurants were going up. Then my carpenter ghosts went on strike, and I was so busy dealing with labor problems that time passed swiftly. Before long spring had turned to summer, summer became fall, and finally winter rolled around. On December XXI, Cerbie and I drove up to chilly, gray-skied earth to pick up Persephone.

“Those can’t all be yours!” I exclaimed when I saw P-phone standing outside her apartment next to a mountain of suitcases, trunks, and duffels.

“They are, Hades,” Persephone said. “You know it’s impossible to shop at the Underworld Mall now. I have six new robes for you. And wait until you see the elegant little throw pillows I bought for the couch! And a set of spun-gold dinner plates. They cost a fortune, but they’re worth it.”

“I can hardly wait,” I said as I began loading her gear. I had to ZIP! into Athens to buy a few pack mules, but we finally got all the luggage loaded up. Persephone hopped into the chariot beside me. She was in such a good mood, she even let Cerbie sit in the front seat. Off we drove to the Underworld.

As we carried the suitcases and things into Villa Pluto, Persephone spotted an envelope on the entryway table. It was addressed to both of us.

“What’s this? There’s no postmark.” She opened the envelope. “Listen, Hades.”

“Dear H and P,
       E and R are still you-know-where in the you-know-what, but I had things to do, so I took off. I’m learning so much! I’ll be in touch.
       —Guess Who”

Persephone looked puzzled. “Who could this be from?”

I stared at the letter. “Medusa,” I said. “My guess is that it means Eno and Riley are still in SNIPP but that Medusa’s left the program.”

Persephone nodded. “Medusa is an independent goddess. She must hate hiding out.”

“But Athena is out to give her a monstrous tail!” I said.

I reread the letter. I’m learning so much, it said. Learning what? I couldn’t guess.

Persephone wanted to meet Danaë, so the next night, I asked her and Perseus to come to dinner. I made sure the doors to the throne room were shut tight, then I sent my first lieutenant, Hypnos, the god of sleep, to pick them up.

“You’ll like Danaë,” I told Persephone as we walked to the entryway to greet our guests. “But I’m not so sure about Perseus.”

Hearing the name Perseus, Cerberus turned ran off. He wasn’t taking any chances.

Danaë and Perseus had never come to visit me. So I hadn’t seen them since I’d rescued them from the brass box. When they arrived, I was surprised to see how much Perseus had grown. He was walking now. And he looked more like his father than ever.

“Perseus, can you say hello to Lord Hades and Queen Persephone?” Danaë asked her son.

“NO!” yelled Perseus.

“Oh, come on, Perseus,” said Danaë. “You can do it.”

“I can do it!” cried Perseus. He broke away from his mother’s grasp and ran into the living room, yelling, “I can do it! I can do it!”

“He’s such a rascal,” said Danaë as she ran after him. She scooped him up and sat down with him on her lap.

Persephone sat down across from her. She and Danaë began talking as if they’d known each other for years. After a few minutes, Persephone turned to me. “Hades, Danaë isn’t up on the latest fashions. I want to show her some of the robes and tunics I picked up in Athens. Look after Perseus for a minute, will you?”

“Me?” I said. But Persephone and Danaë were already hurrying from the room.

I turned and saw Perseus over by the couch throwing all the pillows on the floor.

“No, Perseus,” I said. “Not Persephone’s new pillows!”

He began shrieking and jumping on the pillows.

“No, no!” I told him, trying to pull him off.

Perseus yanked away. “I can do it!” he yelled. “I can do it!”

I quickly picked him up. I knew he’d set up a horrible wail, so—I’m not proud of this—I did the only thing I could think of to keep him from screaming his head off.

“Perseus!” I said. “Let’s go find Cerberus. Let’s find the doggie.”

“Doggie!” Perseus said eagerly. “Doggie!”

“Where is Cerberus?” I said, carrying the boy out of the living room and down the hall. “Is the doggie in here?” I asked, opening a closet door. “Noooo.” I went on down the hall. “Is the doggie in here?” I asked, opening another door. “Nooo.”

“Doggie!” shrieked Perseus. “Want doggie!”

I was sure Cerbie had hidden himself safely away. I was only trying to buy time until Persephone and Danaë had finished their fashion show.

“Is the doggie in here?” I asked, opening the door to the robe closet.

Unfortunately, Cerbie was there, hunkered down on the closet floor.

“Doggie!” shrieked Perseus. He kicked me in the stomach and wriggled free. Then he grabbed Cerberus by his stumpy tail and tried to drag him from the closet.

“Let go, Perseus!” I cried.

“I can do it!” yelled Perseus.

“Ow! Ow! Ow!” howled Cerberus.

Danaë and Persephone heard the commotion and came running.

“Perseus, are you being kind to the nice doggie?” said Danaë.

“Want doggie!” wailed Perseus, keeping his death grip on Cerbie’s tail.

“Perseus,” said Persephone, “would you like a lollipop?”

“Lolly!” Perseus cried. He let go of the dog.

Persephone took his hand. “Let’s go see if we can find one.”

My P-phone never failed to amaze me. How clever she was!

I bent down and began what I knew would be a long and humiliating apology to my poor pooch. After much begging, Cerbie came out of the closet. I made an ice pack for him to sit on to soothe his sore tail. I gave him dozens of Cheese Yummies. By bedtime, we were friends again.

Persephone and Danaë became great friends, too. That winter, dinner together at Villa Pluto became a weekly event. One night, I paid Meg and Alec handsomely to look after Perseus. But he managed to rip the leather strips from Meg’s favorite scourge, the little whip Furies use for punishing mortals. After that, no matter how much I offered to pay, they refused to sit for him.

Danaë knew Perseus was what she called “a busy boy,” and when Persephone went back to earth in the spring, she didn’t bring him back to the palace at all. But the following winter, they became regulars at the dinner table again. Perseus continued to be a stubborn little troublemaker. But Persephone and I liked Danaë’s company so much that we were willing to put up with him.

The night before Persephone had to go back to earth again, Danaë and Perseus came to supper. After we ate, Danaë asked to speak to us. For once, Perseus was sitting under the table, quietly behaving himself.

“Lord Hades and Queen Persephone,” Danaë began. “I have been looking for a way to thank you for your great kindness to me and my son. I believe I have found one.”

“There’s no need to do anything,” said Persephone.

“I wish to honor you,” said Danaë. “I would like you to be Perseus’s god-parents.”

“God-parents?” Persephone and I said at the same time. We gods have parents. But we don’t have anything called god-parents. Neither of us understood what she was talking about.

“As Perseus’s god-parents,” Danaë explained, “you would be there for him. You would watch out for him if he ever needed you. Will you accept this honor?”

Persephone and I were fond of Danaë. We didn’t want to hurt her feelings. So we both nodded and said we’d be happy to be Perseus’s god-parents.

“We should have some sort of ceremony,” Danaë said. “I have heard that the waters of the River Styx are used for important occasions, so this afternoon I walked down to the river and scooped up some of its water.” She pulled a clay pot from her bag and set it on the table.

I didn’t like where this whole thing was going.

Danaë bent down to pick up her son. He did not want to be picked up, so he grabbed on to the tablecloth. He gave a yank, and everything on the table, including Persephone’s new spun-gold dinner plates, went crashing to the floor.

“Oh dear,” said Danaë.

“Don’t worry,” I told her. “Persephone never liked those plates anyway.”

“Couldn’t stand them,” agreed my queen.

Danaë picked up the clay pot, which still had a little of the Styx water in it. She held Perseus’s hands on it.

“Hades and Persephone, will you also put your hands on this pot?” said Danaë. “Will you now promise to watch over and protect my son, Perseus, come what may?”

Neither Persephone nor I could think of a good reason why we could not swear this awful oath. And so we put our hands on the pot—alongside the grubby little mitts of Perseus—and swore to protect him, come what may.

I had a bad feeling the whole time I was swearing. Did Danaë know that an oath sworn on the River Styx could never be broken? What had I gotten myself into?