Charis grits her teeth and blanches painfully. “I swear on my sister’s life.”
“Charis!” Chloe squeals with a hurt look on and her face.
I’m an only child, but I imagine swearing on your sibling’s life is a very serious thing. Especially after seeing Chloe’s reaction. I scoot back the slightest bit and remove my fingers from the stem. “Explain,” I demand as I place my hands on my waist.
“You can’t pick that flower because it doesn’t come from this world. It comes from the world beneath us,” Charis says.
“What?”
Chloe steps forward. “That flower only grows in the Underworld. It’s an asphodel.”
Then Charis adds, “The flower of the dead.”
Hades
Hades stood at the end of the field watching the Persephone and the twin wood nymphs argue over the flower he planted at the edge of the field. “Pick the flower,” he said in a hushed voice. “Pick the flower.”
Still, Persephone did not pick it. Those damn twins stopped her.
Hades planted the asphodel in the yard, knowing that it was the most beautiful flower in the world. Well, not in this world, his world, the underworld. He also knew that Persephone was the daughter of Demeter, the Goddess of the Harvest and she would have been taught to appreciate the beauty of plant-life and she’d also appreciate the unique beauty of a flower like the asphodel.
For a moment, he thought she was going to pick it. For a moment her dainty fingers rested on the stem and she was seconds away from plucking it from the earth. Until the twins intervened and told her what it was. The identical pair with the crowns of raven curls were ruining everything. They knew when they saw it that something was off about an asphodel growing above ground. Perhaps they even sensed that something would happen afterwards.
Hades knew what would happen to her too. Once she picked that flower, the earth beneath her would crumble. She would lose her balance, and therefore tumble from the land of the living into the land of the dead. She would be the Queen of the Dead and Hades would not give her back. However, this was going to be easier said than done. Hades knew Zeus, and he knew Demeter. Zeus would be outraged at the fact that after all this time, Hades was able to find a way around the sensitive time shield. Demeter would be distraught at losing her child whom to which she was extremely attached to. Hades didn’t care about them though, he knew what he wanted and he was selfish.
He snapped to attention when Persephone and the twins left the yard, wandering into the house. Seconds later, Demeter rushed out the back doors, hands on hips, a fierce gleam in her eye. She’d remove the flower, Hades was certain of it, but he did have some time left. A few hours to be exact. And that was just enough time to come up with another plan. Something that would ensure that during this seventeen year span he wouldn’t end up empty handed.
The white petals of the asphodel blurred in his vision and Hades knew exactly what he was going to do. But before executing his plan, Hades glanced at the patio where Persephone now stood, lost in a trance, eyes centered on the flower. This is my year, Hades thought.
Then, with a twist of his invisibility cloak, he blew the Goddess a kiss and returned to the underworld to await her arrival.
Persephone
After my party ended and every guest had left, I sit on the back porch staring up at the moon, consumed with anger. I’m mad at myself for being so impressionable. I should have known better. I should have known that Hades was behind planting that flower. Shortly after the twins told me what kind of flower it was I had a moment where I could practically feel death’s icy grasp on the back of my neck. I’d almost picked the flower. I would have picked the flower. I owed the twins big for stopping me.
There were several moments where I felt enchanted. Like I was under a spell. Thinking about it, I wouldn’t have put it past Hades to trick me or use some kind of magic to pull me under. He definitely could have placed some sort of enchantment over the flower that drew me to it.
The sound of crinkling plastic yanks me from my thoughts. I glance to my left and notice Adonis in his back yard, putting a black trash bag into a tin garbage can. Moonlight shimmers down and graces the tips of his chestnut hair and certain strands of it look silver. A fuzzy feeling buzzes in my stomach and I don’t even realize I’m gawking. His tan skin glitters like he’s covered in amber gemstones. And he’s wearing a cut-off shirt that reveals the toned muscles in his arms.
Adonis places the lid on the garbage can and the tin lid clunks against the tin can, echoing in the night air. I swallow hard, nervous, thinking that it’s funny that I’m so captivated by watching Adonis do silly household chores. Watching him take out the trash is like watching a swan as it glides gracefully across a calm body of water. I wonder how I’d react if I saw him washing dishes or running the vacuum.
“Hey! You!” Blinking, I snap out of my trance when I see him staring back at me. He jogs toward me and reminds of Trojan soldier, charging forward into battle. I drop my gaze. Heat flushes my cheeks and pretty soon my whole face tingles. I hope he didn’t catch me staring at him. And if he did, I hope doesn’t mention it. I don’t how I’ll react if he does.
“Hi.” The words exit my throat so softly I can barely hear them. I clear my throat. “Hi,” I repeat, louder.
Adonis plops down next to me. His perfect white smile gleams in the moonlight. “How was the party, birthday girl?”
How did he know about my party? I don’t remember mentioning anything about a party to him. Maybe he had noticed all the cars in our driveway and made the assumption.
“Good.” One word answers are the only words I can muster up at this point. And my eyes keep trailing down from his face to his loose cut-off, just below his arms. There is an opening and I try to fight off the urge from staring at his muscled abs, but it doesn’t work. I feel like I’m burning them with my eyes. And either Adonis doesn’t notice or he’s pretending not to.
He lifts his head, looking up into the sky. Flecks of brightness flicker in his ocher irises. “There are lots of stars out tonight,” he muses. “They’re beautiful aren’t they?”
“Yeah.” The only problem is that I’m not looking at the stars, I’m looking at him. Sometimes with Adonis, I think that the word beautiful might be an understatement. No. More than sometimes.
He lowers his head and I meet his gaze. He stands and I’m saddened by the fact that he’s already planning to leave. “Well—I.” He freezes as the sliding glass door opens and mom waltzes out onto the porch. His eyes flick toward her. “Hi Mrs. Jones,” he says politely.
We’ve had many last names through the centuries and “Jones” is our most recent adoptive surname. Mom always says, “Nobody is more normal that the Joneses.”