Hades stepped into the Wellness Centre and frowned. The decorative plants were drooping more than usual, their leaves browning at the edges.
A familiar ache of longing stirred in his chest, a quiet reminder that his wife had been gone too long, visiting with her mother and ushering in the spring season in the mortal lands. Without her presence to brighten the Underworld, everything was duller, more lifeless than usual. All the colour had leached from his surroundings.
He'd often considered going up to the mortal lands for a short visit, just to get his daily dose of sunshine — and by sunshine, he meant Persephone. But Demeter would likely declare war on him for intruding on her time with her daughter.
"Two weeks," Hades mumbled to himself. In two weeks, Perse would be back in the Underworld, at his side, where she belonged.
He adjusted his necktie and smoothed out imaginary wrinkles from his suit. It was Hermes who'd introduced him to twenty-first-century fashion, after discovering that mortals of that era had a thriving fashion house named after him. Hades found he had a particular fondness for three-piece suits, as did Perse. Especially the neckties, which she loved helping him knot around his neck.
Today, he hadn't worn the suit to entice his lovely wife. He had a therapy session scheduled with a group of Shades who, for whatever reason, had been buried without the required coin to pay Charon for passage into the Underworld. He didn't want them dwelling too much on the fact that their group therapy session was being led by Hades himself. Doubt creeped in. Perhaps he should have dressed in normal, civilian looking chiton to put them at ease.
For some of the Shades still wandering along the banks of the rivers Styx and Acheron, Hades and Charon evoked intense negative emotions. The only reason the selected few agreed to come at all was because Perse and Hermes had convinced them it would be worthwhile; that therapy could help them cope with the tedious hundred-year limbo before they could finally cross into the Underworld.
No one, Hades had found, could say no to his wife. And apparently, Hermes was greatly loved by mortals as well. Praying to Nyx that the session would go off without a hitch, Hades made his way toward the room where he hosted the group sessions, stopping first at reception to check if there was anything he needed to know before meeting with the Shades.
To his surprise, it wasn't Charon seated behind the huge onyx desk.
His daughter, Melinoë, had her chair tipped back, balancing on its two rear legs, with her metal-studded sandal-clad feet resting on the desktop while she read what was no doubt one of her favoured macabre stories.
He cleared his throat.
Melinoë lowered her book to reveal a pale face. A few days ago, she'd hacked off her luscious dark tresses into a choppy bob that brushed against her jawline. Her beautiful eyes, so like her mother's, were rimmed with thick black liner. Blood-red lip rouge painted her lips and eyelids, and a ruby-red piercing adorned her nose. A bronze lip ring sat in the centre of her bottom lip, and four studs lined the shell of each ear.
"Pops," Melinoë greeted, flashing a cheeky grin.
"What are you doing here? Where's Charon?" Hades glanced around, half-expecting Charon to pop out from behind a corner with a harried expression. Melinoë's favourite pastime, after all, was finding creative ways in which to annoy the ferryman.
"He was too chicken to face the group of Shades coming in today, and asked me to hold down the fort. So, here I am," she said, wiggling her ring-adorned fingers.
Hades offered his daughter a close-lipped smile. "Thank you for stepping in, daughter. Wish me luck in there." He knocked his knuckles lightly against the onyx desk.
"No luck needed. You're Hades, Lord of the Underworld. What are a bunch of disgruntled Shades going to do to you?"
"The point is not to terrify them and make these group sessions into a recurring thing. Try not to drive any incoming patients mad while I'm gone, yeah?"
Melinoë rolled her eyes. "How else are you gonna get 'em to keep coming back for more sessions?"
Pasting a genial smile on his face, Hades walked into the group counselling room and was immediately met with a tidal wave of emotion from the assembled Shades. Despair. Confusion. Anger. Resentment. Helplessness. A dozen other tangled feelings hung thick in the air, turning the room's atmosphere heavy and stifling. If there were windows, he'd crack them open just to let some fresh air in.
Persephone had done her best to decorate the room in bright, inviting colours to put his patients at ease a stark contrast to the bleak minimalism and neutral palette of the rest of the clinic. Cornflower blue walls, wall tapestries depicting magnificent landscapes painted by artists blessed by the Muses and Apollo himself. She'd also found the plush seats, which were currently occupied by ten Shades seated in a semicircle, all staring up at Hades with varying degrees of animosity, fear, and mistrust.
Ten.
Five men and five women. Hades was pleasantly surprised. He hadn't expected so many to be interested in receiving counselling.
"Hello, everyone, and welcome to the Underworld Wellness Centre's first grief support group counselling session. I'm Hades," he said, pulling up a seat at the front of the semicircle.
The two Shades closest to him, both female, whimpered and not-so-subtly shifted their seats as far from him as they could get, which was a few millimetres away, at best. The rest, save for one male, were shaking so hard that had they not already been dead, they might have dropped dead from heart failure on the spot.
"What have we to grieve, my lord? We are naught but ghosts you've refused to welcome into the Fields of Asphodel." The belligerent retort came from the one Shade who didn't seem to care that he was in the presence of a god. The speaker belatedly realized his mistake and sat upright, looking chastised. "Respectfully speaking, my lord," he added.
Hades crossed his legs and balanced his notebook atop his knee.
"I understand that you're all frustrated with your current situation, but the rules of the Underworld are clear and immutable. While I empathize with you, I ask that you also understand this is how things have always been, and how they will remain. If you can't pay Charon, even if it's through no fault of your own, you have to face a penalty. I know this is hard on all of you, hence the grief therapy. You are not only mourning the lives you've lost, but the afterlife you've been denied for now. And I want to help you work through that."
A short pause to gauge the Shades' expressions. No one dared look back up at him. Sighing, he continued.
"All I ask is that we respect one another during these sessions. None of you are compelled to stay or keep attending. If you're uncomfortable, you're free to leave. There will be no penalties. Okay?"
The group murmured their assent, albeit reluctantly.
"Right. Starting with the lady to my left why don't we introduce ourselves? And if you're comfortable, share a little about who you were in life."
The female Shade shrank into herself, as if trying to escape Hades' attention. He stifled a sigh, doing his best not to let frustration creep in. Maybe these sessions had been a mistake. Mortals didn't carry the same reverence for him that they did other gods. All humans, no matter how great, feared death to some degree and that trepidation trickled over to how the perceived Hades himself.
How could to ease their suffering and offer comfort if they trembled at his very presence?
"M-my name is Agatha. I was a seamstress while I lived… I think," she said, her brows drawing together in a frown. "I was married to my wonderful husband, Demetrius, who sadly passed before me a month after I gave birth to our fourth son. I died of old age and was very much looking forward to reuniting with my beloved in the afterlife…"
Her voice cracked with a sob. The man seated beside her reached over, took her hand, and murmured soft words of comfort. She dragged in a shaky breath and started at her weathered hands.
"My relationship with my sons had grown strained after they got married, but I never thought they'd be as cruel and uncaring as to bury me without proper funeral rites. I worked myself to the bone to ensure they never went without basic necessities. But those idiots married the vilest women they could find and let them poison their minds against me!" She seethed, her despair quickly giving way to anger. She glared at Hades. "And you, my lord how can you be so cruel? I was faithful in making offerings to the gods. I never blasphemed or uttered a single bad word against your name! I was a good, virtuous woman, and yet you deny me a reunion with my husband. Why?"
Hades cleared his throat. "I understand your frustration, Agatha. Unfortunately, my hands are tied. All I can offer is a safe space to vent, something to help you stay sane until Charon is ready to ferry you into the Underworld proper."
"But a hundred years is too much, my lord!" cried the man from before.
Holding back a grimace, Hades turned to the next Shade.
His name was Philemon a young man in his late teens who had perished in his first battle and still wore his bloodied armour.
And then there was Helene. All she remembered was that she'd died in childbirth and had no idea why she'd been buried without Charon's fare.
Next came Atticus, the angry man who glared at Hades as if he were the one who had taken his life.
"I was murdered by my own brother. I always suspected he was jealous of me, and now I know for certain. I was a merchant in life, married to the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen—"
"Careful now," said a female Shade who had yet to introduce herself. "You don't want to draw Aphrodite's ire with that kind of declaration."
"We are protected from the prying eyes of the gods," Hades assured them.
Atticus clicked his tongue. "My so-called brother drove an arrow into my back while we were out hunting. And with no heir to inherit everything I worked so hard for, that prick gets it all. I bet he's already bedded my wife by now."
One by one, they continued introducing themselves.
There was Kallias, a warrior who had fallen in battle and remained fiercely loyal to his king. He had expected his king to at least offer him proper funeral befitting a general such as he. Finding himself confined to wander the banks of the Styx for a century was a betrayal that hurt more than any wound he'd sustained in battle.
Kleo, the woman who'd warned Atticus about Aphrodite, had perished from illness. Her family had been too impoverished to afford medicine. She wasn't too surprised to find herself in this state of limbo and was resigned to her fate. "My life was miserable to begin with, why would I expect death to be better? To be honest, I was hoping that we faded into nothingness when we died. What am I supposed to do in my afterlife?" she sighed.
The next was Dorothea. She had been murdered by her husband. That was all she was willing to share.
Niko and Lysander, brothers and sailors, got caught in a storm and perished along with the rest of their crew. They claimed they always carried the ferryman's fee with them, and it must have been swept to the bottom of the sea when their boat capsized.
The last woman only knew her name and how she died nothing about her life in the world of the living.
"My name is Sophia. The last thing I remember before winding up on the banks of the Styx is a man… violating me. I think I trusted him, and I remember feeling so shocked that he would do that to me. And shame… I felt so much shame at what was being done to me," she whispered, her expression filled with pain and horror.
Hades wanted to reach out and comfort her, but he doubted she'd welcome it. He was grateful when Agatha and Helene both got up from their seats to comfort her.
"Thank you for sharing your stories," he said at last. "Understandably, the prevailing emotion among all of you is frustration—"
"More like resentment," Atticus scoffed, cutting him off. "If I could, I would haunt my brother's every waking moment and drive him mad until he draws his last breath. If I must suffer, so should he. Neither of us will know peace."
"I don't know if what I feel is frustration… I'm disheartened. And lonely," Helene said, her tone dejected. "If I was loved if I was worth remembering shouldn't I have been given a proper burial? What does it say about me and the relationships I had, that I wound up like this?"
Her sentiments were echoed by Philemon. "I may have not been a soldier for long, but one thing our commander always drilled into us is that we were more than just a unit of soldiers. We were brothers. Family. I keep telling myself that my 'brothers' couldn't retrieve my body and that's why I didn't have a proper burial; but I have this voice in my head that won't shut up. What if my so-called family just didn't care? What if they couldn't be bothered to bring my body home for my real family to at least hold a proper funeral because it was too much of a hassle?"
Kallias, the fallen general leaned forward and locked gazes with Philemon. "Of course you'd have all these questions. I can't answer them for you. But I'll ask you this: you trained alongside these men, broke bread with them. You had time to get a feel of what kind of men they are. Using all that information, which situation do you find more plausible?"
"How am I supposed to know?" Philemon huffed. "I was a new recruit, barely three months into the military ranks when we were shipped off. I was promised glory, and all I got was a dagger to the neck and a sword to gut. I had dreams! Plans for the future. Now what?" He raised his hands up in frustration.
"Now you accept that you're dead and there's nothing to be done about it, boy. Your anger is nothing but a poison to slowly drive you mad while you serve your sentence," Kallias pointed out.
Philemon scoffed. "Says the man who's been stewing over the fact that his King didn't honour him with a proper funeral."
Hades clapped his hands, intervening before the confrontation got too heated. "Gentlemen, please remember that this is a safe space. Violence will not be condoned. Having said that; both of you are allowed to feel however you feel about the situation you are in. But Kallias is right in that you can't continue to stew in your anger and let it consume you."
"Why not? It's not like we have anything else to occupy our time," Atticus scoffed.
Hades grit his teeth. It's not like Atticus was completely wrong. Before he could say anything more, Niko raised his hand. Hades motioned for him to speak.
"I've always been a man with a plan, always on the move. I loved being a sailor being at the mercy of the ocean and weather, and finding ways to overcome them with my crew. Now, I find myself in stasis. Not living, but it doesn't feel like I'm truly dead either. I'm stuck, unable to move forward. I have no idea what to do with myself," Niko lamented.
"What are we supposed to do for the next hundred years?" Kallias asked. "Matter of fact, I can't even recall how long it's been since I died. There's nothing to do here but shuffle around the other side of the Styx and watch the lucky ones pass on. Some of the Shades out there are just whispers of who they used to be. They've gone mad… Is that what awaits us? Madness and the loss of our identities?"
"Retaining your sense of self is a struggle most Shades face. Many succumb to the despair of being unable to cross over and end up, as you put it, Kallias, mere whispers of the men and women they once were. Oddly enough, it's those like Atticus who still cling to lingering attachments in the world of the living and harbour strong emotions who are able to hold on to their sanity, so long as they don't lose themselves completely in their anger."
The Shades shot him sceptical glances.
"You would encourage us to haunt the living?" Dorothea asked, aghast at the suggestion.
Hades shifted in his seat. "I do not encourage haunting the innocent. But let's take Atticus's case, for example. Do you believe your brother will be brought to justice for his crime?"
Atticus rubbed his chin. "There were only two of us hunting in the forest the day I died. One would hope that an arrow in my back would raise suspicion but my brother is a cunning bastard. He probably blamed my death on a bandit attack or some such story."
"So you're saying that, in cases where someone was murdered and justice hasn't been served, you'd condone us haunting their killers?" Philemon asked. "But I was killed in battle an honourable death," he added.
"And we died at sea. Should we rail against the mighty Poseidon?" Lysander mocked.
"I can't haunt the illness that killed me. I loved my family and don't blame them for being unable to bury me with an obol for Charon. And what about Dorothea? She died of old age, didn't she?" Kleo asked.
"Old age and neglect. My sons left me to fade away," Dorothea corrected. "I, for one, wouldn't mind putting the fear of Hades in them by terrorizing them from beyond the grave. Them and those witches they married."
Hades opened his mouth to speak, but the group spoke over him, already deep in debate about the best ways to torment the living from the afterlife. Their fear of him forgotten and bearings far lighter than when the session first began. Even Sophia, timid at first, joined in. Though she didn't remember the man who violated her, she relished the idea of revenge even in death with a bloodthirstiness that rivalled Ares.
Kallias and the other women eagerly offered suggestions about what she should do to her abuser if she ever got her memory back.
"You should drive the rat bastard to madness make it so the only thing he can fuck is goats and pigs. And always in public, where he can be shamed and shunned by everyone," Niko suggested.
"And how do you suppose I could get back at my sons and daughters-in-law? Perhaps I should wait until my grandchildren are older… before I torment them," Agatha mused.
"How about minor and petty inconveniences? Like moving items from where they remember placing them," Kleo suggested.
"Or switching out salt for sugar," Dorothea giggled.
The hour-long session passed without Hades saying anything further. It wasn't what he'd planned, but it was what worked for them. At least the Shades left in higher spirits and looking forward to the next session.
Hades returned to the waiting room to find Melinoë fiddling with an ornate-looking box about the size of his palm. A puzzle with pieces that had to be slipped in place to unlock it.
His daughter's eyes swept over him, cataloguing every detail of his appearance. "Looks like you made it out in one piece. Was it a good session?"
"Yes. Not what I expected, but I enjoyed it nonetheless and more importantly, so did my patients. Do I have any others scheduled?"
A devious gleam lit her eyes. "No. But a messenger came to make an appointment on behalf of Mistress Echidna"
"No!" Hades declared, not waiting to hear the rest of the message.
"But—"
"No!"
Melinoë's expression darkened. She set the puzzle down and crossed her arms.
"I thought you didn't discriminate against clients seeking help. Why can't mistress Echidna come here for therapy? Aren't you all about helping all these all-powerful beings fix their twisted personalities?"
"In this case, I don't mind discriminating. I will not invite the Mother of Monsters here. She despises our kind, for one. And if Zeus were to find out, he'd have a conniption. I'd rather not deal with another of his tantrums, so no!" Hades stated firmly.
Melinoë pouted. "This is your domain, Daddy. Uncle Zeus has no say in who you can or can't invite here. Besides, Echidna hates the Olympians which we are not. We're of Chthonic nature, just like her. Practically family."
"We have stronger family ties to the Olympians than we do to her," Hades pointed out.
"Whatever," Melinoë clicked her tongue. "I bet you're just terrified of what she'll do to you for keeping one of her children as a pet," she countered.
Hades rolled his eyes and walked past her desk into his office. "I have patient files to update. And Cerberus is family, not a pet," he called out.