Ghost Queen in the House of Love

3. Hedone

Like that, the spell breaks. The underhounds no longer glare at me. As they look behind them, they whine and. And. And bounce. Bounce? Is that normal for dogs? Their slobbering jowls sway as they wag their tails. Yes, I've read that dogs do that. I didn't know dogs from the Underworld did, though.

Hesitantly, I stand as fog drifts around me. My backside is wet with mud, wonderful. And even when the peril seems to be passed, the heavy weight in my chest stays.

A blue lantern hangs into the air. And all at once, a figure stands there.

Her saffron attire—not exactly what I thought she'd wear—contrasts brazenly with the grim darkness and drooping trees. Her stola is with a yellow cloak hanging off one shoulder, like draped sunlight. Where I'm small and curvy, she's tall and lithe. I have to look up to meet her eyes.

Melinoë's eyes. No doubt. The center of my chest tightens, and my pulse quickens in my throat. No whites. Only a pure, inky black, dark as her long curls.

But what's most distinct is her face, her arms. Half her body, to my left, is a brittle bone-white, and the other side is obsidian-black. Truly a goddess of the heavens and the grave. On her hands, crawling up her sleeves, are faintly glowing blue sigils, geometric shapes. Some I recognize as alchemical, but most I don't recognize. Mother spoke tersely of similar marks when she met Hecate in the Underworld; Mother doesn't care for Underworld deities, especially Persephone.

I give a small wave. "Hello. Very nice canines you have here. They're quite . . ." I watch one of them sit at her side and whine for attention, red eyes large and pleading. "Their eyes are very big."

Melinoë lowers the lantern to her side. "Why are you here?" Ah, direct. Not going straight to pity. But if Orpheus could tell me anything, it's that, even if they still have the subtler cruelties of the gods, the chthonic gods can be stirred to tears.

I clasp my hands together and look down at the gnarled tree roots. "My name is Hedone, daughter of Psyche and Eros. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"That doesn't sound like an explanation, unless I'm missing something." A rather rude welcome. So domineering, and I'm not even blindfolded. She cocks her head. "I suppose you know who I am, as you are here, daughter of Psyche. Unless you are truly lost."

"Yes, you're—"

Flatly, she interrupts, "You're far from home." Does she want an explanation or not?

I close my mouth and straighten my back. "I came to visit you, to ask to stay at your abode."

"I don't allow visitors." Melinoë doesn't so much as blink, and I check to see if she has eyelids. She does, lashes that glow silver in the pulsing lantern light as she lifts it to inspect me. Her scrutiny reminds me of many gods, how they've taken me in. Judged my worthiness with criteria I can't name.

I lick my lips. "I . . ."

Again, she lowers the lantern. "You haven't explained why you're here."

"I told you." I keep my voice light. "A visit. Which it appears you don't allow."

"I know you want to visit, but I don't know why. I can't see why you'd want to be here." Melinoë inspects my dirty bare feet and drifts her spidery fingers through the air. "We've never met, so forgive me if I don't believe a stranger wants to see me. Visits are, you imagine, quite rare. I suppose I can believe a stranger would visit me before an acquaintance."

I swallow, struggling to keep my composure. I can do this. My parents taught me well—Mother on how to survive, and Father on how to say what people want. How to know their strengths and weaknesses.