Ghost Queen in the House of Love

19. Hedone

As we go inside, Melinoë guides me to the manor's vast cellar. And here I thought she had a lot of herbs in one of the main rooms, the place she goes in case she must make an emergency ungent or poultice to slather on a mortal's injury. I didn't know half of it.

Though the faint odor of mildew drifts in around the estate windows, the air is dry, and I wonder if Melinoë did a spell to keep it so. She didn't bother so much with lavishing the main floors of the manor with aesthetic flourish and precautions to keep the dampness away, but she did what she could to preserve her herbs. She directed her magic sparingly, on practical matters.

Many wooden shelves line the cellar, which is lit by candles attached to the bare walls. That, and ghosts who seem to carry blue fire inside them as they peer down curiously from the ceiling. Cobalt light dances on the wood. The candle flames are constant, and not a single glob of wax falls from the sticks. Alongside the old mildew comes the fragrance of smoke mingled with pungent herbs, some sweet and others earthy as we pass through the rows.

With a steady hand and voice, Melinoë shows me where and how she organized everything, and I listen closely to her low intonations, which caress my ear without touch.

My host positions everything by use. Fertility herbs, such as the chaste berry and evening primrose, are on the opposite side of the room from the abortifacients. There are a series of herbs for every ailment--colds, bone aches, menstrual cramps, sinus woes, unusual and unpleasant stomach excretions, and so on.

Melinoë inspects some golden stalks of turmeric, almost the same color as her cloak. "This induces menstruation."

"Ah. Can one menstruate in perpetuity?" I say my question with some humor, though something a little darker clouds my mind. Zeus isn't fond of moonblood. I wonder if he would catch on if I bled endlessly. No, what am I thinking? I shouldn't be so unkind. He loves me. This terrible purpose he's given me, it must be for a good reason. Because if not, what am I? Once again, I long for home.

Melinoë hums. "Not normally, and most wouldn't wish to, though the herbs can be magically altered for any desired effect."

After assisting with some organization, I briefly leave her to take care of our bounty. The day's still young, and after I set the basket of apples on my nightstand, I find Melinoë again in the study, illuminated by the burning hearth.

Our outing makes me bolder than before, though I have to be careful. Tactful, yes, that's how Mother would phrase it. Pushing Melinoë too far will only ruin what little progress we've made. Not only because she might withdraw, but because I might, too.

Approaching her side, as she sits by the fire, I say, "I've wanted to ask. What was . . ." I stop when I keep looking into the hearth. "Is that a baby alligator?" True enough, one lounges inside the fireplace, and it looks like it's smiling.

"Yes," she says, voice a breezy sigh with a hint of amusement, "that's Icarus. He likes getting a little too close to the fire. Anyway, what were you going to ask?"

"What was it like living in the Underworld? The stories make it sound so gloomy, and yet things grow there."

She sets two fingers on her chin. "For me, it was home. It never felt especially strange or overwhelming. When I was very little, Mother, Father, and Hecate would take turns holding my hand and teaching me the curve of every river." As if realizing the posture she's making as she's thinking, she stiffly assumes a proper sitting position. But now, it's hard for me to see her as so cold and iron.

She makes it sound so droll, almost pleasant. Not melancholy, not the place where Tartarus seethes with the bones and meat of defeated Titans and tortured souls.