Meleager leaped up from where he sat by the fire. “No, uncles!” he cried. “Your spears will do nothing, for this Boar is immortal!”

“Oh, yeah,” said Feus, scratching his stump of an ear. “I forgot.” He sat back down next to the fire.

But Plexippus remained standing. “Maybe Boar is immortal,” he said. “But we could have captured him. We could have tied him up and taken him to the king as our prisoner. Now we have nothing to show for our hunt. And it’s all Atalanta’s fault!”

Meleager’s face turned red with rage. “Stop picking on Atalanta!” he cried. “She is one of the heroes of Greece!”

“Oooooooh!” cooed Plexippus. “Is Atalanta your sweetheart?”

“No!” cried Meleager, turning redder still.

“Meleager loves Atalanta!” chanted Feus. “Kiss her, Meleager! Hug her!”

A vicious snarl split the air as Atalanta sprang to her feet. “One hug, coming up!” she cried.

She grabbed Plexippus with her right hand. She grabbed Feus with her left. She threw her arms around them, picked them up off the ground, and began to squeeze.

“Uuuuugh!” groaned Plexippus.

Feus just sputtered as her grip grew tighter and tighter.

When Feus and Plexippus were as limp as rag dolls, Atalanta let go. The uncles dropped to the ground, gasping for breath.

“That was a bear hug,” said Atalanta. “Want another?”

“No, no!” cried Feus and Plexippus.

“Come on, heroes,” said Meleager. “Let us go back and tell my father that the ravaging is over.” He turned to Boar. “You come too.”

“Yes, do,” said Atalanta.

But Boar hung his head and said:

“Just one more thing:

I’m ashamed to face the king.”

“Don’t be,” said Meleager. “He’s very forgiving.”

It warmed my godly heart to see the way Atalanta and Meleager were helping Boar. Now the former wrestling immortal and the heroes began making their way back to the palace. Plexippus and Feus, still panting and groaning, followed behind at a distance. I trailed invisibly behind them.

“We’ll get Meleager for this,” muttered Plexippus.

“Yeah,” said Feus. “We’ll make him sorry. Very, very sorry.”

I walked invisibly along with the heroes back to Calydonia. I kept an ear out for anything else Plexippus and Feus might have to say. But they were quiet, stewing about their “bear hug.” So I listened in on what Atalanta and Meleager said to Boar.

“But you’re the only wrestling immortal who used the Flying-Hoof Thrust, Boar,” Atalanta pointed out. “So you were the only wrestler who was hurt when the Wrestling Federation banned it.”

Boar nodded.

“I was down all summer.

It was totally a bummer.”

“It’s more than a bummer,” said Meleager. “It’s downright suspicious. I’m going to ask my father to look into it. Find out who wanted your move banned.”

Boar shook his head.

“Prince man, don’t bother

your father.

What’s done is done.

I’ve had my fun.”

My godly heart sank when I heard Boar’s words. Boar was what made the Wrestling Immortals immortal! I wondered—what would it take to lure him back into the ring?

“Why don’t you hang with me for a while, Boar?” Atalanta suggested. “I have to figure out what I’m going to do with my life. Maybe we can figure out something together. Maybe you could write down your poems, and I could sell them.”

Boar looked skeptical.

“Or, we could open a smoothie bar,” said Atalanta. “You own a brizo?” (That’s old Greek speak for blender.)

Boar shook his head.

“I know. Maybe if we train really hard, we can wrestle in the Olympic Games!” said Atalanta.

But Boar said,

“Atalanta, you were brave.

Thanks for the save.

I think I need some time in my cave.”

With a wave of his hoof, Boar trotted off into the woods.

“Come see me, Boar!” Atalanta called after him. “You can always find me at Heroes!”

Boar had not been gone long when Peleus said, “Shhh! Someone’s lurking at the edge of the forest!”

The heroes readied their spears, just in case.

I spied a shadowy figure standing among the trees. I knew it was a mortal, for it had no godly glow. But that’s all I could tell.

“Stranger!” called Meleager. “Make yourself known!”

A skinny young man bolted from the trees, his hands in the air, clearly scared to death. He looked small and weak, surrounded, as he was, by muscle-bound heroes.

“Don’t slay me, heroes!” the young man cried. “Please! I mean no harm!”

“Who are you?” asked Meleager.

“I—I—I—I’m from The Calydonian Post,” the young man said. “I’m a reporter.”

“A reporter?” cried all the heroes.

“Well, a cub reporter,” the mortal admitted. “This is my first assignment.”

“I’ll give you a quote!” called Peleus.

“I hope you brought your kamara!” said Castor, turning to show off his profile to the young reporter.

“I was first to spot the boar,” bragged Polydeuces.

“It was a big boar,” said Hercules. “But not as big as me.”

The reporter’s hand shook as he tried to get everything down. The booming voices of all the heroes talking at once seemed almost too much for him.

“Quiet!” called Meleager, and the publicity-seeking heroes finally settled down. Meleager turned to face the reporter. “I’ll tell you what happened.”

The reporter steadied his hand and gave a nod that he was ready.

“There is only one true hero of this boar hunt,” said Meleager. “Atalanta.”

“No way!” cried Feus.

“We’re all heroes!” Plexippus called out loudly.

“Quiet, uncles!” said Meleager. “I organized this boar hunt for my father, and I’ll do the talking here.” He turned once more to the reporter. He told him all about how Atalanta had recognized her former wrestling coach. The reporter scribbled away.

While Meleager sang Atalanta’s praises, I kept my eye on her. She wasn’t the blushing type. But I could tell that Meleager’s praise embarrassed her.

“If Atalanta hadn’t stopped us,” Meleager finished up, “we would have thrown our spears at Boar. He’s immortal. We could never have killed him. We could only have injured him and made him mad. He might have charged and hurt some of us. Atalanta stopped this from happening. Atalanta saved the day.”

The reporter asked a couple of follow-up questions, and then he headed off to write his story. I could hardly wait to read it in the newspaper.

I put down the newspaper. I wondered who the gutsy Olympic-hopeful mortal was. Atalanta? And I had to hand it to that cub reporter. He had written an exciting story. All that stuff about what might have happened if the heroes had hurled their spears at Boar—that was good!

After the Boar hunt, I’d come back to Athens. I was sitting on Persephone’s little balcony again. She was flipping through the seed catalogs. I was chilling with the paper.

“Atalanta is famous now, P-phone,” I said.

“Isn’t it funny how things work out?” she said.

“Boar hangs out in Calydonia with Atalanta,” I murmured. “I wish he’d consider getting back into the ring.”

“Why don’t you go talk to him, Hades?”

“I think I will.” I folded the paper and put it down. “Want to come?”

“It’s spring, Hades!” Persephone said. “I don’t have a spare moment!”

“Bye, Phoney, honey!” I quickly astro-traveled to Calydonia—ZIP!—before my queenie could think of a garden in some far-flung corner of the earth that needed weeding.

As I zipped away, I pictured Boar stepping back into the ring for his big comeback. I could almost hear the roar of the crowd as his fans welcomed back their champ. I didn’t kid myself. Talking Boar into changing his mind wasn’t going to be easy. But if any god was up to the challenge, it was me, Hades.