“No,” I said. “He can’t have my dog.”

“Come on, Uncle Hades,” said Hercules.

“No,” I said again. “No, no, no, no, NO!”

“It’s my last labor,” Hercules told me. “I’ve got to take Cerbie to Eury.”

“Over my dead body,” I told him. And when an immortal says that, it means “never.”

These mortals! First one wanted my queen. Now one wanted my dog. What was next, my wrestling girdle from the first Olympic games? 

I was about to say NO again when the monsters scampered back in.

Hydra began signing, with Cee interpreting. Finally, Cee turned to me. “Hydra says Theseus is sitting out on the back porch.”

“Theseus?” Hercules jumped up. “Is . . . is he a ghost?”

“No,” I said. Truthfully, I’d forgotten all about those two, sitting in the Chair of Forgetfulness. “You want to see him? Come on.” I led the way around the palace to the porch.

“Theseus!” exclaimed Hercules.

Theseus looked up, puzzled. “Who are you?” he asked.

Hercules turned to me. “What’s wrong with him?”

I explained about the Chair of Forgetfulness. And why I’d put these mortals there.

“You must let Theseus go!” Hercules said. “Do it for me, Uncle Hades. Please!”

“All right,” I said. “You can take Theseus. But his pal stays here. And so does Cerbie.”

Hercules held out his hand to Theseus. I gave my permission, and the chair released him.

Theseus took a long look at Hercules. “I know you from somewhere,” he said.

Hercules clapped him on the back. Then he turned to me. “Come on, Uncle Hades,” he said. “I have to do Labor XII. Let me have Cerberus. I’ll take good care of him.”

“All right, all right,” I said. “But I’m coming too. And no way is that wimpy king keeping my dog.”

I had to break it to Persephone that I was taking one more little trip up to earth.

Then I called the dog. “Come on, Cerbie! Want to go for a ride?”

This time, when Hercules and all his hangers-on walked through the gates of Mycenae, the crowd cheered, whistled, and stomped to honor him. Everyone knew that this was Hercules’s final labor, and they’d come to cheer their favorite hero. And what a strange procession the hero and his posse made: two muscle-bound heroes (for Theseus had come along as well), a lion, and four monsters. I was there, too, but helmeted.

Hercules stopped outside the palace. “Eury!” he called. “Come and see Cerberus, guard dog of the Underworld. Come out! For I have finished my labors!”

The slot opened. “Where’s the dog?” said Eury from inside the pot. “I can’t see him.”

“Go on, Cerbie,” I gave him an invisible nudge. “Show yourself to the king.”

“Where is he?” Eury was saying. “If I can’t see him, it doesn’t count. You will have failed, Hercules. XI out of XII labors just doesn’t cut it.”

Cerberus tilted his heads, listening, as the king ranted on and on. He stepped up to the big bronze pot. And then, before my eyes, Cerberus started growing. He grew and grew until he was X times his normal size! And still he kept expanding, like a huge dog balloon. His little paws grew to the size of a bear’s feet, with long, menacing claws. Spikes popped out along his spine and all down his tail: Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Cerbie’s six eyes glowed like red-hot coals as he peered down into the great bronze pot. Then he let out a triple growl that rattled the pot like an earthquake.

At this point, I was pretty sure I didn’t have to worry about Eury wanting to keep my dog.

“Stop! No! Down, dogs!” whimpered Eury, who must have been looking up from inside the pot. “Hercules? Call them off!”

“Not my dog,” said Hercules.

Cerberus still towered over the pot.

“Don’t eat me!” cried Eury. “I’ll give you my servants! You can eat them!”

Cerbie shoved the pot with his front legs. The pot crashed over onto its side. Then Cerbie butted it with all three heads. The pot started rolling. It rolled slowly at first, but as it started rolling down the hill, it picked up speed. It rolled faster and faster and faster. Inside, Eury was yelling and screaming. The pot acted as a huge bronze megaphone, and his voice echoed so loudly that everyone for miles around could hear him shrieking and whimpering as he rolled down the mountain. The crowd stood still and watched the pot grow smaller and smaller as it rolled. Finally, it rolled off a cliff and splashed into the ocean, where it was quickly carried out to sea. And that was the last anyone saw of King Eurystheus. Ever. 

I was so intent on watching the pot, that I missed seeing Cerbie shrink back down to his normal guard-dog-of-the-Underworld size. But later, Cee told me he looked very much like a balloon with a leak.

Now the crowd began to cheer for Hercules. He’d worked hard for years, and he’d completed XII all-but-impossible labors. Okay, he’d had a little help. But still, he was a big hero, and this was his big moment. He strutted outside the palace, waving, flexing his muscles, and generally showing off for all the other mortals.

Suddenly a bright white light flashed in front of the palace, and there stood Hera.

My godly heart sank. Could she not give him a few minutes to enjoy himself before she inflicted her next torture?

“Hercules,” said Hera.

Hercules had enough sense to bow down to her.

“You have done well,” Hera went on. “And you have suffered enough.”

What? Could I believe my ears? Had Hera

really said that?

“Because you have done so well at your labors, I, Hera, have convinced the other XI Power Olympians that you are worthy to become an immortal.”

“Awesome!” said Hercules.

“You may live up on Mount Olympus,” Hera went on.

“Whoa,” said Hercules.

If Hera loaded on one more good thing, she’d use up his entire vocabulary.

“And,” said Hera, “you may have the hand of my own daughter, Hebe, in marriage.”

Ah, here it was. I’d been waiting to see what Hera was going to get out of this. She was goddess of marriage, and she had an unmarried daughter. It must have been getting embarrassing.

“Oh, great and awesome goddess,” said Hercules, not really sure how he should address her. “I thank you for your great gifts and generous offers. But—”

But? Now I really couldn’t believe my ears. 

“But,” Hercules continued, “I chose the hard path. I have not walked all the way down it yet. There are more monsters to be slain. More mortals who still need the help of a hero like me.” He grinned.

I was ready for Hera to slap XII more labors on him. But again, she surprised me.

“The deal stands,” Hera told him. “When you are ready, send me word, and I shall keep my promise.”

A white light flashed again, and Hera was gone.

As soon as she vanished, the crowd turned to Hercules and went totally crazy. I never knew mortals could make so much noise. Hercules had said no to immortality. He was going to stay on earth to help the little people. There’s no better definition of a hero than that.

Now I understood that Hercules didn’t need help from his Uncle Hades anymore. He’d be just fine on his own. I reached over and tapped him on the shoulder.

“It’s been fun, Hercules,” I told him. “Keep in touch.”

“No problem, Uncle Hades,” Hercules said. “And thanks. Thanks for everything.”

I was sort of glad he didn’t really know what “everything” was.

“Bye, Cee. Bye, Hydra,” I said. “So long, Orthus and Ladon. Come on, Cerbie. Let’s go.” My dog made the rounds, saying goodbye to his siblings and then ran to my side. I picked him up and—ZIP!— we landed beside my chariot.

“Home, Harley! Home, Davidson!” I called, and I steered my steeds toward the cave shortcut to the Underworld. I was going home. And the next time I saw a cute baby, I planned to run away from it as fast as I could.