Alma looked over her narrow glasses. “Remember last year? They battled for three days.”
“Perhaps you will go into labor and Hades will be forced to abandon his conquest,” said Yuri.
Persephone blew out a breath. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”
A few children hurried inside, their cheeks rosy from the cold.
“Boots off at the door!” Tyche called before they could track snow across the marble floor. Alma rose from her spot, leaving her needlework behind to help the goddess with the hot chocolate.
“Do you feel ready?” Yuri asked, gaze flickering to Persephone.
“I’m ready to not be pregnant,” she said.
Yuri smirked, and after a quiet moment, said, “I never had a chance to know what it’s like.”
Persephone’s throat felt tight. The dead retrained their appearance in the afterlife, and it was clear Yuri had died young, a victim of the Plague of Athens.
“You may not know what it is like,” said Persephone. “But you are no less a mother to the children of the Underworld.”
It was an unhappy truth, one that should go against the natural order of the world. Persephone doubted much would bring comfort to mothers and fathers who lost children, but the souls who received the littles on the banks of the Styx cared for them and loved them deeply.
Yuri swallowed, eyes falling to her hands. “Thank you, Persephone.”
“What are you doing, Lady Hecate?” one of the children asked. At the same time, Persephone was overwhelmed by a pungent, sharp odor. A knot formed in her throat as she turned to see the Goddess of Witchcraft in the entryway of the ballroom, holding two strands of braided garlic.
“Oh no,” she said, letting out a slow breath, hoping the nausea ceased.
“I am decorating,” Hecate replied.
A few more children gathered around the goddess.
“Those aren’t holiday decorations!” said another, giggling.
Hecate smiled, mischievous. “Oh, but they are,” she said. “Have you not heard of the Kallikantzaroi?”
“The Kallika—what?”
“The Kallikantzaroi,” she repeated. “They are gremlins. For most of the year, they labor, sawing at the sacred pillars that keep the sky and earth apart.”
“I thought Atlas kept the sky and earth apart,” said one of the children.
“He did,” said Hecate. “But Heracles built the pillars to free Atlas during his twelve labors and now, every year, days before Christmas, the Kallikantzaroi abandoned their task to cause chaos.”
“Are they scary?” one of the children asked.
“They are small and hairy,” said Hecate. “With goat-like legs and sharp claws?—”
Persephone cleared her throat and Hecate pivoted.
“But they are very, very stupid,” she said. “And you have no need to worry over them. I will keep you safe.”
One of the children scrunched their nose. “With garlic?”
“Yes,” she said. “Garlic is one ward.”
One. The word filled Persephone with dread. She knew the goddess had a myriad other rituals and protections she would use over the next few days, some even smellier.
“Why?” another asked.
