Hearts of Greek Fire - A Hades/Meg Love Story

Chapter 1 - Love Is Stronger Than Death

I've never feared death. Not because I don't have anything to live for, no, I guess I embrace my mortality. That's one reason the gods envy us, don't they? Our lives mean more because we have an expiration date. A punch out of the universal time clock, if you will.

It's why I never understood everyone's fear of Hades. Oh, no, the God of the Underworld. To worship him meant you were accepting reality or something. Newsflash: Death IS reality. And some of us have to face it sooner than expected.

I'd always considered alchemists to be quacks, but we'd run out of options. My boyfriend, Ambrose, had been sick for months. No doctor could tell us what was wrong with him. If I heard one more person say, "The best you can do now is to make him comfortable," I'd shove my fist so far up their--

"Can I help you, dearie?" The alchemist, a miniature woman with a nose as long as her neck, wiry white hair, and gnarled fingers like a tree trunk, asked.

I jumped, obviously far too lost in my thoughts to have noticed her. The hood of my brown cloak flew off my head, and I pressed a hand to my chest. "By the gods, you startled me."

The rounded glasses resting on the tip of her nose magnified her eyeballs to the size of pomegranates. "You were the one who rang the bell..."

I sneered, eyeing the large bronze bell still swaying near my head. "Right. Listen. All I need are some healing herbs, and I'll be on my merry way." Digging into my satchel, I clutched a handful of drachmae, ready to get the Tartarus out of dodge.

"Ah, yes. Not all kinds of healing herbs will work. Tell me what ails you." The alchemist hobbled her way past me toward a vertical row of shelves filled with jars.

I had to step out of the way; otherwise she would've faceplanted into my kneecap. "It's not for me. It's for my boyfriend, Ambrose."

She cackled. "Ambrose. An ironic name for someone on their deathbed."

"How did you--" I pinched my eyes shut. "Fever. Aches. Upset stomach. Does any of that help?"

"Yes. Yes. Hallucinations?" Her hands dragged over the jars, knocking one of them to the ground.

I scrunched my nose, stepping me and my sandal-covered feet away from shards of glass. "Not that I know of."

"Gassiness?" She looked at me over her shoulder, flicking her tongue to the corner of her mouth.

I grimaced, twirling my wrist. "Not that I've...noticed?"

She nodded, smacked her lips together, and cradled five jars against her chest. I held my palms out, sliding backward as she whisked past me.

Honestly, was she blind as a bat?

Pottery clanked against the glass as she aimlessly measured ingredients from each jar. Using a mortar, she ground them all together, lit it on fire with a smoke cloud flourish, and poured it into an empty container.

"This paste should help, but as always, there's no guarantee," she said, holding the jar of green liquid to me.

I took it between two fingers with a grimace. "Any side effects?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Not living is a pretty big one already, wouldn't you say?"

Hesitantly, I popped the cork and took a quick whiff. Puffing my cheeks, nausea boiling, I quickly sealed it back up. "For the love of Zeus, this smells like centaur dung."

"What'd you expect it to smell like? Roses?"

"How is he supposed to take this when he's already queasy?"