I landed in front of Heroes. The garden was open. Tender green vines were starting to climb up the garden walls. Daffodils were blooming. Persephone had never mentioned coming to Heroes, but clearly she’d been here. A nice job she’d done, too.

I walked into the garden. All the usual heroes were there—except for Meleager. Was some princely business keeping him from hanging out with his pals? Hercules and Peleus sat at a table facing one another. They had that competitive gleam in their eyes. The other heroes stood in a tight circle around them. They seemed to be egging the two on to do something.

“You can beat him, Hercules!” said Castor.

“You can take him, Peleus!” cried Polydeuces.

“Start, will you?” said Theseus.

With that, Hercules pounded a huge fist on the table. Peleus’s first banged down on the table next to it. There the heroes sat, fist to fist.

Peleus glared at Hercules and chanted: “One, two, three, four! I declare a thumb war!”

Hercules’s and Peleus’s heroic thumbs began darting around, each trying to pin the other down in what looked to be a thumb-wrestling tournament. The other heroes cheered and stomped. I had to smile. Being a hero in ancient Greece was a nice gig.

“Hades!” Atalanta spotted me. She broke away from the crowd and came over to the bar where I was standing. She hopped up onto a stool. I saw that she was holding a smoothie glass. Empty, of course.

“Who do you pick to win?” I asked her.

“Hard call,” said Atalanta as the heroes erupted in a cheer. “But Nestor will wrestle the winner of this match, then I wrestle the winner of that match.” She waved at the bartender. “Blackberry smoothie!” She turned back to me. “You just missed Boar.”

“Too bad,” I said. “What’s he up to lately?”

Atalanta shrugged. “Not much. We toss around ideas, but nothing seems quite right to him. He was such a great wrestling coach. I wish he’d take that up again.”

A sudden cheer went up from the heroes.

“All right!” Hercules shouted. “I won!”

“Atalanta! Paging Atalanta!” called a voice.

A messenger was walking through the throng of heroes, waving an envelope.

“Over here!” Atalanta called.

The messenger ran over to her. “Wow!” he said. “Are you really Atalanta, the Princess Hero?” When she nodded, he handed her the envelope. Then he held out a little autograph book. “Can I have your autograph?”

“Sure.” Atalanta took the book and signed a big letter A. “Writing our whole names wasn’t big where I come from,” she said, handing it back.

“Cool! Thanks!” the messenger called as he ran off.

“Get a lot of requests for autographs these days?” I asked Atalanta as the bartender placed a lavender-colored smoothie in front of her.

She shrugged. “Some. Isn’t that weird?” Then she ripped open the envelope. She handed me the sheet of parchment inside. “Do you mind reading it to me?”

I held the parchment and started reading: “Dearest daughter . . .”

“What?” cried Atalanta.

“It’s from your father.” I held the letter out to her. “Maybe you should read it.”

“No, you,” she said. “It’ll go faster that way.”

And so I read:

“Dearest daughter,

What fun to read about you in The Calydonian Post, Princess Hero! I always knew you’d amount to something. Please come home to the palace where you belong. We have so much to talk about.

Your loving father,

The King”

Loving father? This from the dad who had banished Atalanta’s mother for giving birth to a girl? This from the father who had handed Atalanta to a servant just minutes after her birth, with orders to give her away to the first person he saw? I glanced at Atalanta. Her mouth was hanging open in surprise.

“You don’t have to go,” I told her.

Atalanta shook her head, as if to clear it. “My dad banished my mom from the palace. And got rid of me. Still, I’ve always wondered about him.” She drew a breath. “Hades, how about coming with me? I’d really like you to be there when I meet my dad.”

I smiled. Atalanta had called on me by name and asked me to do a very clear-cut task for her. It was almost as if she’d read The Godly Handbook for Helping Mortals herself.

“No problem!” I said. “Let’s go.”

“Great!” Atalanta slid off her bar stool. She ran over to inform the other heroes that she wasn’t going to be able to take her place in the thumb-wrestling rotation. She acted like going to see her father was no big deal. But I knew better. There on the bar was proof that Atalanta was nervous: one blackberry smoothie—untouched.

Atalanta walked beside me through the streets of Calydonia. She was almost as tall as I was, which was tall. Her long legs kept up with my godly stride. Outside Calydonia, we started down the road to Arcadia.

Suddenly, Atalanta stopped. “I heard a groan.”

I listened. “Sounds as if someone’s hurt.”

We hurried down the road. The groaning grew louder. We rounded a curve and there, lying at the side of the road, was a mortal.

Atalanta rushed toward him. “Stranger!” she cried. “We are here to help you!” She knelt down beside the hapless mortal. “Have you been robbed and beaten?” Then she gave a sudden cry. “Hades! It’s Meleager!”

I ran to Atalanta. I knelt down beside her as she put her hand to Meleager’s forehead.

“He’s burning up with fever!” cried Atalanta. “He’s barely alive!”

“Fever?” Alarm bells began going off inside my head. “Meleager! Can you speak?”

Meleager only moaned.

“Let’s take him home!” Atalanta picked up the prince, and we took off running for the palace.

When we reached it, I banged on the door. A servant opened it, and we rushed inside.

“Queen Althea! King Oeneus!” cried Atalanta. “Come quickly!”

Footsteps sounded from down a hallway, and Queen Althea, her crown askew, appeared in the entry hall. When she saw her son, unconscious in Atalanta’s arms, she gasped.

“He has a fever,” said Atalanta. “A terrible fever. I fear he is close to death.”

Queen Althea quickly summoned a servant to take Meleager and put him in his bed. “Put some cold, wet towels on him,” she instructed. “Cool him down!”

The servant carried Meleager away. The queen looked helplessly after him. Then she turned back to Atalanta and me. “How is this possible?” she cried. “Meleager will live so long as the log does not burn. The Fates have said so. As long as the log . . . the log!” The queen gasped. She turned and ran from the room. Soon after, we heard a horrible scream. Atalanta and I ran to the queen. We found her on her knees before an empty chest, sobbing.

“The log is gone!” the queen cried. “Gone!”

“Who could have taken it?” asked Atalanta.

“My brothers!” the queen cried. “They must be burning it. If they keep it up, Meleager will die!”

Atalanta sat down beside the queen. “Tell us what happened,” she said.

The queen pulled out a hanky and wiped at her tears. “Feus and Plexippus came here after the boar hunt,” she began. “Their faces were red. They were gasping for breath.”

“Mmm,” said Atalanta. Clearly the two had been recovering from her bear hug!

“They told me that at the boar hunt, Meleager had made fun of them,” she said, dabbing at her nose with her hanky. “They said he got all the other heroes to call them names too. Feus the Goose, they said. And Plexipussycat.” The queen broke into sobs. “They were so angry and hurt, and I felt so sorry for them. They kept saying I didn’t trust them, or I’d tell them where I kept that holly wood log, and in all the confusion, I must have given the secret away!”

“Queen Althea, where do your brothers live?” asked Atalanta.

“On the far side of Calydonia,” she said. “I bought them a house on top of Greek Peak.”

Atalanta stood up. “We can do no more for Meleager here,” she said. “Come, Hades. We must go and get the log back from Feus and Plexippus—before it is too late!”