Now you know the T.R.U.T.H. about Hercules. Looking out for him until he grew up was a full-time job, and all that astro-traveling really wore me out. Too bad there weren’t frequent-flyer miles back then. I would have racked up millions.

I was late finishing my first draft of Get to Work, Hercules!, so I sent the manuscript right to my publisher.

The next week, I grabbed my copy of The Big Fat Book of Greek Myths and went out to the back porch to see if I could find a myth for my next book.

“Hello, Peirithous,” I said to the unfortunate mortal still sitting in the Chair of Forgetfulness.

He nodded happily but blankly, having no clue who I was. Or who he was, for that matter.

I sat down on my throne and started reading. I was so into the myths that when a knock sounded, I jumped a mile.

I stared as my sister Hestia, goddess of the hearth, walked in. She tended the fire up on Mount Olympus XXIV/VII. What was she doing in the Underworld? And what was she doing holding a copy of my Hercules manuscript?

“Hestia!” I said. “This is a surprise.”

“You’re probably wondering why I have your story, Hades,” she said as she approached me. “The truth is, being goddess of the hearth is very solitary. I want to get out more, meet some gods, demi-gods, whatever. You think I want to stay single forever? No! So I got a job, Hades. I’m your new editor.”

“You’ve . . . read my book?” I asked.

Hestia nodded. “It is a great story, Hades. But there are so many typos and spelling mistakes. Whole sections are impossible to read.”

“I had a tight deadline,” I muttered. “I was counting on the copy editors to fix it all up.”

“They fixed it, Hades,” said Hestia. “But they weren’t happy about it.” She started to sit down in the chair.

“Not there!” I cried.

“What?” Hestia jumped away from the chair. “Oh!” she said, noticing Peirithous for the first time.

“That’s Peirithous,” I said. “He’s the mortal who came down here to woo Queen Persephone.”

Hestia’s eyes lit up. “I remember him from the story,” she said. “The copy editors had a terrible time with his name. So he’s been sitting in the Chair of Forgetfulness all these years?”

“Centuries,” I said.

“I guess it serves him right, trying to steal your wife and all,” said Hestia, taking a seat across from him. “Tell me, Hades, did Cee and all those monsters stay with Hercules when he went off to do more heroic deeds?”

“Cee stuck with him like honey dripping from a beehive,” I told her. “But Hercules led a pretty rugged life. In time, Hydra, Orthus, and Ladon moved back home.”

“Back to the cave that Echidna fixed up so nicely?” said Hestia.

“Right,” I said. “At first, Echidna wasn’t all that thrilled to have them back. But they were her kids. What could she do?”

“Anything you can add to this story?” asked Hestia.

“Hercules helped mortals,” I said. “And he even helped a Titan—Prometheus. Remember how he—”

“Gave the guys fire?” Hestia finished for me. “How could I forget? It was my fire he stole, Hades. I thought he liked me, but no. He was only after my fire.”

“Well, he was punished for it,” I told her. “Zeus had Force and Violence chain him to a rock in the Caucasus Mountains, and he sent an eagle to tear out his liver.”

“That’s disgusting!” Hestia cried. “I mean, I was mad at Prometheus for using me and all, but he didn’t deserve that!”

“The good news is that Hercules found Prometheus, chained to that rock,” I told her. “When he heard what his own father had done, it made him so angry that he grabbed Prometheus’s chains, pulled with all his might, and broke them. He set Prometheus free.”

“Really?” said Hestia. “Do you happen to know if Prometheus is seeing anybody special these days, Hades?”

“I don’t,” I said. “Ask Po. He knows all about the social scene.”

“Po! Right.” Hestia made a note to herself. “One more question. Did Hera keep her promise and make Hercules an immortal?“

“She did,” I said.

“You might want to add that to your book,” said Hestia. “And—do you happen to know if he is seeing anyone?”

“Hera fixed it so that he married her daughter, Hebe,” I said.

Hestia sighed. “All the good immortals are taken.”

“For my next book,” I said, changing the subject, “I’m thinking about telling the story of Atalanta. She was an amazing mortal athlete.”

“Stories about athletes sell,” said Hestia. “But I’ve never heard of her.”

“Read this, for starters.” I passed her The Big Fat Book of Greek Myths.

“Atalanta ran after the golden apples?” said Hestia. “She sounds greedy.”

“She wasn’t,” I said. “Atalanta only wanted those golden apples so she could help a sick friend.”

“Hold it,” said Hestia. “Was Atalanta a goody-goody? Books about goody-goodies always end up in the ‘99¢ Special’ bins.”

“No way,” I said. “Atalanta was raised by a bear. She could growl and wrestle and hunt like a champ. The only gold she cared about was winning an Olympic gold medal. I’m thinking of calling my book Go For the Gold, Atalanta!”

“Nice.” Hestia stood up. “I have to get back to the office, Hades. Some editors are going out to Sky Bar after work, and you never know who you might meet at that kind of a get-together.”

She hurried to the door, turning back to say, “It’s another tight deadline. Get to work, Hades.” 

And so I did.