Peleus slowly stood up. He smiled dizzily at Atalanta. “That was fast,” he said.

He didn’t seem to have any hard feelings. But Feus and Plexippus looked none too happy about the outcome of the match.

“Nice spin,” I said. “Is that your best move?”

“I’ve got lots of best moves,” Atalanta said with a grin. “You think you could fix it so I could wrestle in the Olympic Games?”

“I don’t think Zeus would go for mortals competing against the gods,” I told her.

“Maybe someday,” Atalanta said. “It’s always been my dream.”

Lots of heroes were leaving the bar now and heading into a back room.

Meleager beckoned me over. “My father has rented the Heroes banquet room for tonight, Lord Hades,” he said. “He is throwing a feast for all who will go on the boar hunt tomorrow. It would be an honor if you would join us.”

“Oh, do, Hades!” said Atalanta. “Sit next to me. But hurry up. I’m hungry.”

“Let me settle up with the bartender,” I told her. “I’ll be right in.”

“Forget it, Hades.” Atalanta hooked her arm around my elbow. “I had him put your drinks on my tab.”

“You did?”

She nodded. “Had to,” she said as we headed into the banquet room. “It’s a vow we Daughters of Artemis take: Never let a man pay for your drinks.”

“I’m not a man,” I reminded her. “I’m a god. God of wealth, as a matter of fact.”

“Okay, Hades, you can buy me dinner some time.” Atalanta laughed. “Oh, it’s so good to see you. I just wish Queen Persephone, Honey, Mojo, and Tiny could be here too.”

I sat down next to Atalanta at a long table. I was glad to see that Feus and Plexippus had been seated way down at the far end. I spied the Fates across the table, a few places down from me. They weren’t going on any boar hunt. I figured they must be guests, like me. And the fact that they’d been invited meant there would be immortal food for supper. Whoopee!

Meleager sat across from Atalanta and next to his mother, Queen Althea. The queen’s crown sat crookedly on top of her head of blond curls.

King Oeneus sat beside his queen. He stood now and called out, “Greetings, heroes of Greece!”

The heroes cheered and stomped their feet in response.

“I thank you for coming to hunt the monstrous, fire-breathing boar that is ravaging the fields of Calydonia,” the king went on. “Much honor and glory shall be heaped on the head of the hero who slays this mighty beast. I’m also offering a handsome cash reward!”

More loud cheering and stomping from the heroes. The mention of a large cash reward always gets heroes worked up.

“Eat, drink, and be merry!” cried the king. “May the best hero slay the boar!”

The cheering and stomping grew deafening. The one thing heroes truly love is trying to outdo each other to find out which of them is really the best.

Servants appeared. They began pouring glasses of wine for the mortals. And glasses of NectaVino for the immortals.

“I’ll have the godly special,” I told the waiter when he came by to take my order. He soon reappeared carrying an ambro-burger with a side of ambro-fries. Yum!

“Are you worried about your son going off to hunt a fierce wild boar tomorrow?” Atalanta asked Meleager’s mother, Queen Althea.

“Oh, my heavens no,” said the queen. She turned to Meleager and winked.

“Because I cannot be killed,” said Meleager. “Right, Mother?”

That got my attention. Meleager was a very nice young man. But he was, after all, a mortal. And the thing about mortals is, they’re mortal. They can be killed. (Sorry to bring it up, but it’s the truth.)

“That’s right, Meleager,” the queen said to her son. “You cannot be killed. Not as long as I have you-know-what.”

“What?” said Atalanta, leaning forward curiously.

“I’ll tell you,” said Meleager. “When I was a week old, I came down with a terrible fever.”

“He was burning up,” said his mother. “He was barely alive. I thought I would lose him. Luckily, Lachesis and her sisters were guests at the palace at the time.”

“Who’s Lachesis?” asked Atalanta. I liked the way she wasn’t at all embarrassed to ask when she didn’t know something.

“She’s one of the Fate sisters,” said Meleager. “Clotho is the sister who spins the thread of life for every mortal. Then Lachesis gives each mortal a destiny. And Atropos is the sister with the scissors. It’s her job, when each mortal’s time comes to an end, to snip the thread of life.”

Atalanta turned to the queen. “So you asked Lachesis if Meleager would live or die?”

“Exactly!” the queen nodded, and her crown wobbled.

“We hear what you’re saying, Queen Althea!” Clotho called from where she sat farther down the table. Her yellow hair was so thick and so long that it nearly hid the tiny spinning wheel she held in her lap. Even as she spoke, her hands were busy spinning away.

“I remember that night,” said Lachesis, tossing her dark hair. “I told you that as long as the log of holly wood in your fireplace was burning, Meleager would burn with fever.”

“That’s just what you told the queen.” Atropos nodded her head of red curls.

“Then,” Lachesis added, “I told you that when the log had burned up completely, Meleager would die.”

“That log was burning fast,” put in Atropos. “I had my scissors all ready.”

“Well, I wasn’t about to let that happen,” the queen said. “So I grabbed the poker and raked the log out of the fireplace. Then I called for the servants to bring water. They came and poured water on the holly log. It smoked and steamed, but finally the fire went out. Then I ran to my son in his cradle, and his fever was gone!

“Wow!” said Atalanta. “Just as the Fates said.”

“We knew the fever would be gone,” said Clotho.

“We totally knew,” said Lachesis.

“Even so,” added Atropos. “One of these days—snip!”

Some of the heroes began to grumble. I didn’t blame them. Heroes like to think they control their own destinies. The Fates knew better than to remind mortals that one day they’d be goners. Especially on the night before a dangerous hunt.

I waved to the waiter. I nodded toward the Fates, pointed to a bottle on the table, and drew my finger across my throat. The waiter nodded. He understood what I meant. No more NectaVino for the Fates.

“You were fated to do that, Hades!” Clotho called to me.

“We knew you would,” added Atropos.

Even for a powerful god like me, being around the Fates was unnerving.

“Now I keep the holly wood log in a chest,” the queen was saying. “And I keep the chest hidden in a secret place. I’m the only one who knows where it is.”

“I know where it is!” called Lachesis. “So do my sisters!”

“But no one else does,” said the queen, her crown teetering now. “And as long as that holly wood log stays safe, my Meleager is safe too!”

“You are lucky, Meleager,” said Atalanta. “You may be very bold on the hunt, knowing you will live.”

A pair of centaurs rose from the tables. They trotted over to Atalanta.

“Nice mane of hair you’ve got there,” one centaur told her.

Atalanta looked up at him. “Are you talking to me?”

“You bet I am, girlie,” said the centaur. “The name’s Giddiopeus.”

“I’m Trotteus,” said the other centaur. “Say, how’d you like to go for a ride?”

I groaned. The waiters should have known better than to serve NectaVino to them. When centaurs have too much to drink, look out!

“No, thanks,” said Atalanta.

“Aw, come on,” Trotteus insisted. “I can take you on a wild ride!”

A low, rumbling growl rose up in Atalanta’s throat. She stared at the centaur, lifting her upper lip slightly.

“Sheesh!” said Giddiopeus. He backed away from the table.

“Really,” said Trotteus. “You don’t have to get all huffy about it.”

Atalanta turned back to me and said, “I wonder what’s for dessert.”

“You have a hearty appetite, Atalanta,” I said.

She smiled. “Bears have the right idea. When there’s food around, eat it. Because you never know what tomorrow will bring.”

“We know!” Lachesis called from her seat. “We know exactly what tomorrow will bring!”

Atalanta rolled her eyes. “So, Hades,” she said. “I hope you’re planning to come on the boar hunt.”

I shook my head. “I’m not much of a hunter.”

“So don’t hunt,” said Atalanta. “But come, and see me bring down the boar!”

I smiled. Atalanta was a true hero. All the heroes I’d ever known were completely sure of themselves. And they loved having an audience for their heroic deeds.

“All right, Atalanta,” I said. “I’ll come. But you might not see me.”

“Oh, so you’ll be wearing your Helmet of Darkness?” asked Atalanta.

I almost choked on my NectaVino. “How do you know about my helmet?”

“Oh, we mortals know things.” Atalanta laughed. “Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow, Hades. Or . . . maybe I won’t.”