Lovely War(109)

Hephaestus’s eyes dart to Aphrodite’s.

“All the harm in these two stories,” Apollo tells Ares, “was your handiwork. Colette’s losses. James’s traumas. Hazel’s injuries. Even Aubrey’s injustices trace back to war.” He frowns. “By way of bigotry, prejudice, slavery, and hate. But still.”

Ares stands majestically, despite the golden mesh enclosing him. “Is he right, Goddess?” he demands. “Were you playing a trick on me?”

Aphrodite smiles. “It’s a nice theory, Apollo,” she tells him. “Don’t flatter yourself, Ares. This wasn’t all about you. Though Zeus knows you had a finger in every pie.”

Ares’s relief quickly yields to aggravation. “Look, just let me out of here, all right?”

“If I release you,” asks Hephaestus, “how do I know you won’t rip my head off?”

Hades’s voice reverberates with the authority of the ruler of the Underworld. “Ares will behave,” Hades says. “Or he’ll have me to answer to.”

Hephaestus parts the net. His brother emerges, clenching his fists. Veins ripple along his torso as his unfettered powers return. He drinks in an exultant breath.

“Well, I’m off,” he says. “But before I go . . .” He hesitates, and turns to Aphrodite. “Goddess. Your story. After the war ended. What came next?”

She’s puzzled. “Next?”

“For James and Hazel.” He shrugs like he doesn’t really care. “For Aubrey and Colette.”

“What do you mean?” inquires Aphrodite. “They got married. Isn’t that obvious?”

“Both couples,” Apollo says, “happily ever after.”

“Well,” Hades says, “I wouldn’t use those words.”

Ares’s brow furrows. “Why not?”

“Life’s never quite like that,” Hades says. “Particularly, there’s the war. This one. The current one. It came along just as their sons—both James and Hazel’s, and Aubrey and Colette’s—would soon reach draft age.”

“Really?” Ares looks pleased. “Good. Two generations in battle. I’ll keep an eye out for them.”

Hades catches Aphrodite wearing a strained look.

“Where to next, Ares?” he inquires.

The God of War considers. “I need to visit the Pacific Theater,” he says. “Check on the latest developments. But then, Babycakes, I’ll be back at Olympus, waiting for you.”

“You do that,” calls Aphrodite. Hades eyes her curiously.

Ares disappears with a rolling boom like the firing of a Paris Gun. Hephaestus’s face relaxes, almost imperceptibly. His inhale sounds like it’s the first he’s had in a while.

Aphrodite turns to her other two witnesses. “Thank you both,” she tells them, “for being here tonight. And for all that you give to my work.”

Apollo bows like a concert pianist. “Don’t mention it, Goddess,” he tells her. “Wouldn’t miss it. Love and Art go together like baritone and alto, paint and canvas, like sunrise and a burning atmosphere. Anytime you want to tell a story, I’ll bring the soundtrack.”

Aphrodite blows him a kiss. “Thank you, Apollo.” She nods toward the window. “Sunrise beckons. You’d better hurry.”

“You know, Goddess,” Apollo says, shoving his argyle feet into his brown-and-white wing tips, “we should collaborate. Produce something on Broadway, maybe?”

Hephaestus turns to his wife. “You really should.”

Aphrodite’s jaw drops. “I . . . er . . .”

“I’ll be in touch,” Apollo says. “We can bounce ideas over lunch sometime.” He winks at them both. “Later, you two.” With a flash of sunrise, he’s gone.

Hades rises and dissolves his severe-looking chair. It vanishes with a faint pff.

“You’ve got me wondering, Lady Aphrodite,” Hades says, “whether I was not, myself, perhaps, on trial tonight.”

Aphrodite rises to a kneeling posture, a look of dismay written across her lovely face.

“Then I have failed, my Lord Hades,” she tells him, “to show fitting gratitude. You are my crown and my glory.”

Hephaestus is surprised to see what might—or might not—be a tear in Hades’s eye.

“I scrabble in sticks and clay,” she says. “You make of my work a temple.”

Hades bows to the goddess of love. “For such gracious words,” he tells her, “a boon, if it’s in my power to grant it. What would you ask of me?”

Aphrodite presses her hands together. “If it pleases you,” she tells him, “look after their children, in this war. James and Hazel’s. Colette and Aubrey’s. Bring them, I beg you, safely home.”

Hades nods. “If the Fates allow me,” he tells her, “I will.” His brow darkens. “If the Fates don’t allow, we’ll have words, they and I.”

Hephaestus would almost worry for the Fates, but they’re tough old cookies.

“I promise this,” Hades continues. “When anyone from these families finds their way to me, I will make their passing painless. One way or another, I’ll bring them safely home.”