Several days later, I'm working in my garden when Hades and Hermes come strolling down the path.

   They have a good time together, those two. When Hermes is done guiding shades to Charon's boat, he often stops by and lounges with Hades on the golden couches, sipping nectar, and they talk and laugh until all hours. That's how we get most of our news about the other gods on Mount Olympus, and about mortals, too—their heroic feats, or their ill-fated challenges. Gods live forever, after all, and when you live forever, you need novelty to catch your jaded eye. From the way these two talk, mortals are good for that.

So I'm glad to see Hermes. He takes off his broad-brimmed

traveler's hat. His curly hair pops up, and he runs his fingers through it, trying to get it to lie down straight.

   He grins at me. "Your garden grows as lovely as its gardener."

   Did I mention he's a bit of a flirt?

   Hades puts his arm around my shoulder protectively. Doesn't he know he'll never need to worry about me? Other women may cast appreciative glances at Hermes and his winged sandals, but for me there'll never be anyone but Hades. I nestle into his arm.

   "It's a relief to see green again," Hermes goes on. "I can't believe you have grapes. Everything is brown up on Earth."

   "How bad is the drought?" I ask.

   "One of the worst I've seen." Hermes tosses a few grapes in his mouth.

   Hades nods. "Charon's been rowing so much, I had to order liniment for his shoulders."

   I pull out from under Hades' arm. My hand strays to the vine, but instead of plucking a grape, I start worrying a leaf between my fingers. The unease that I've been trying to ignore suffuses the air around me. Crops failing, birds eating seeds before they can sprout . . .

   I lift my head, staring at Hermes. "It's my mother, isn't it?"

   Hermes runs his hand through his curls again. "Well, I've heard that—"

   "Who knows what the mortals have done this time!" interrupts Hades, staring intently at his friend. "Droughts come and go. They always have and they always will. This is nothing new."

   Hermes gives him a strange look. Then his face goes blank.

   "You've heard what?" I ask.

   "Sorry," says Hermes. "I forgot what I was going to say."

   "And it's all my fault!" proclaims Hades, clapping a hand vigorously on his friend's back. "They call me the host with open arms, and here I've forgotten to offer you a drink. Look at you! You're so parched, you're picking the vines clean. I got in some particularly sweet nectar. Let's go back to the palace and I'll pour you some. Persephone, will you join us?"

   I shake my head, feeling confused.

   Hermes looks at me and shrugs. "You know me, always traveling between one place and another." He smiles an apology as his hand strays back to the vine. "Tell you what, though. Next time I'll bring you some plants or something. Before everything shrivels away on Earth."

   He pops another grape, then catches sight of Hades' face. "Just joking! It's bound to rain soon."