Ghost Queen in the House of Love

31. Hedone

"Really," Adonis teases by my side as we enter the manor, "now that I think about it, you cheated. You knew where the pomegranate would be."

Caeneus says, "You should know she does that by now."

Melinoë replies briskly, "Really, I simply like strategy."

Adonis feigns a weary sigh. "It's okay. I take solace in the fact that I'll fairly win the next round of Petteia."

She lifts her chin and glides ahead to the dining room. "We'll see."

The room becomes awashed in the flames of the hearth and the pale blue silhouettes of the ghosts. Never before have I seen so many in one room. They are quiet as ever; yet Carya spoke to me. I wonder if most grow weaker when they are far from the Underworld. Or, after so long, their sadness and grief grow so heavy they swallow their voices.

After chewing on a few plump olives, I dance part of the antikristos with Adonis, slipping away from him and facing him, improvising with a piece of orange cloth, lined with yellow chrysanthemums, on the table, but he stumbles having a little too much wine and cooked pig. He excuses himself, sliding into a nearby chair to eat one of the snake-shaped, creamy dough cakes. Melinoë opted out of the more obscenely designed ones, customary to celebrate fertility.

I still have the pomegranate slices, balancing on their tough rinds, set on the table, unsure what to do with them. Eat them, I suppose. Often, they catch my eye. Something like a half-remembered dream prickles my mind, but as I almost wrap my hands around it, it slips away like fog.

Melinoë sits at the head of the table, nibbling on ambrosia. Throughout the dance with Adonis, she watched with interest. I come over to her, and our eyes lock. It hits me, both sad and sweet. I can stare at her, and she at me, and I don't want to turn away. Now, and only on this night, we don't need to hide, don't need to worry about previous obligations.

Even with my love of drink and poetry and sex, even as I heard about love, I sympathized with Orpheus' plight. But I never truly understood in my bones. Of course he looked at Eurydice. If I could, I'd meet Melinoë's eyes for an eternity.

To the ghosts and alligators lazing by the hearth, Adonis clumsily strums the lyre.

Coming by his partner's seat, Caeneus smiles, and in the sunset smoke of the incense, their lips meet in a lingering pink kiss. The simple kiss that acts as punctuation. Not an exclamation, but a comma in their ongoing story.

I grin at Melinoë. "Would you like to dance?"

"Perhaps." Blinking, she looks adorably bashful. "I'm afraid I don't know the first thing about dancing."

"Oh. It's easy. You move your arms and your legs."

She gives a nod. "That is sage advice."

"Indeed," I tease. "How silly you were to think I wouldn't give any. Or show you."

She hums. "Yes, Carya once offered to show me, but I didn't want to impose my terrible skills upon her."

"Would you like me to show you? We don't need to."

A steely look sparkles in her eyes. "Yes, I'd like to try."

I hold out my open palm to her. "Then, I'm sure I'll survive."

Melinoë slips her hand in mine and stands. "Let's hope so." In one fluid motion, she stands as I guide her to the space near the hearth.

"Do you know the antikristos?" I ask her. At her long side glance, I explain, "It's a dance."

"I'm afraid I don't." She adds dryly, "We don't have festivals in the Underworld. Or in the swamp."

I let go of her hand. "Surely, the people here have celebrations."