The Unfortunate Future

One hundred forty-two thousand, five hundred forty-three. The number, printed in big, black numerals refusing to be dismissed, stared at Hades from the bottom of the tally sheet. One hundred forty-two thousand new souls in a single day, and that didn’t even count as high anymore. His head hurt thinking about finding space for all of them.

Hades glanced at his phone, turned face-down on the desk. Hopefully Zeus kept his word, but Hades had to admit that it wouldn’t be the first time a promise made, shook on, and drunk to had fallen to nothing between them. For all his insistence on keeping the dead where they belonged, Zeus cared little for anything beneath the soil.

Monday. No matter which way Zeus went with his decision, he could wait that long. He’d still have time to figure something else out. Hopefully.

Hades’s chair squeaked as he leaned back into it. He rested his hands on his head and let his tired eyes find the ceiling. Once, his office had been constructed from the same jagged black stone as the hills and craggy shores. Since the dead had come in dizzying numbers, carrying with them strange architecture and stranger ways of speaking, he’d found himself in a boxy, glassy, twenty-story high-rise. Luckily, this one came with shades he could pull over the windows to spare himself the dizzying drop to the rivers below.

A buzz on the desk brought him back to his phone. Despite his pride at refraining from checking it every second, Hades flipped it so he could see the screen. HECATE, spelled out in block letters at the top, greeted him instead of his brother’s name.

Hades swiped to read it.

Heading out, the message said in messy English lettering. He preferred the language over the butchered modern Greek; seeing his native tongue gored and smashed back together in a hobbled version of itself gave him a headache he preferred to avoid.

Another buzz, a second line beneath the first. I have some business on the surface. Cinnamon rolls when I get back?

Hades smiled as he typed. Absolutely.

A glance at the time told him it was much too early for Hecate to be embarking on her usual nighttime rounds. He pulled up the keyboard again. Anything I need to know about?

Prophecy stuff. You know how it is.

Given that foresight sounded to him like a curse wrapped in a shiny bow and covered with a layer of insanity, he most certainly did not know. Still, he sent a thumbs-up back to Hecate and put the phone down.

Hades turned back to his desk, his chest sinking at the stack of papers still waiting for him. Appeals for second judgments, complaints, petitions from the minor gods for this sentencing or that shop or this renovation project. He slipped one sheet from the top of the stack, read it, and stamped REJECTED in red letters at the top. Another, this one an almost tolerable project outline for a new housing development. He set in a different, much smaller pile beside him.

A knock at the door made him jump. He rubbed his eyes, calling for whoever waited to come in.

Leuce’s round face appeared, smiling when she saw him sitting at the desk. “How did the meeting go?”

Hades shrugged. “Zeus said he’d look into it, just like I said.”

One of Leuce’s perfectly-arched eyebrows rose. “That’s it? You trusted his ‘I’ll look into it’ and left?”

“He also said he’d speak to Hephaestus. He’s supposed to get back to me by Monday.”

Leuce pumped one of her fists in the air. “That’s ten for me, I think.”

Hades shook his head, but he couldn’t help the smile that crept onto his face. He reached for his wallet.

“You have a visitor, too.”

“Who is it?”

“Minthe.”

Hades paused, his wallet open—and empty. He’d given everything in it to Charon at the crossing. “It’s awfully early for her.”

Leuce looked at him for a long moment. “I can tell her to go away.”

If he said yes, Leuce would know that the last time he and Minthe had spoken to each other, the words hadn’t been kind. If he said no, she’d frown the way she always did when she wanted to warn him he spent more time fixing his love life than doing his job.

“Did you tell her I was out of the office?” he finally asked, mostly to break the silence.

Leuce nodded. “She came by earlier with lunch. Not a lot I could say without straight-up lying.”

Hades took a moment to settle his expression into something neutral. “Send her in. Thanks, Lu.”

She dipped her head and disappeared out the door. Voices followed, pitched low enough he couldn’t make out the words. A moment later, the handle turned and in came Minthe.

She’d either dressed up or come straight from the office. Her long hair had been pulled into a ponytail above a black turtleneck, which she’d tucked into a gold skirt barely long enough to meet the standards for professional attire.

“Hey,” she said as she shut the door behind her. “How was your day?”

Her tone pitched friendly, though her eyes read anything but. Hades had learned the hard way she had more trouble lying with her face than her words.

“Rough,” he said honestly.

“I heard.” Her mouth pulled down at the corners. “You didn’t tell me you were going up top.”

“It never came up.”

Minthe crossed the office, the carpet dampening the click of her stiletto heels, and lowered herself onto one of the leather couches. “I’m sure Zeus was insufferable, as usual.”

“Actually, he was…almost pleasant. Offered me whisky and insisted I share a glass with him.”

Minthe scoffed. “Alert the presses.”

“He had a new secretary. I’m sure that had something to do with it.”

She chuckled and kicked off her heels, tucking her feet beneath her on the couch. “Can’t wait ‘till Hera finds out.”

Hades decided to change the subject. “How about you? Long day?”

Minthe leveled a look at him. “Why? Do I look that harrowed?”

“No, I didn’t mean—”

“Relax, I’m kidding.” Her expression broke into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “It was fine. I’m on the Asphodel Expansion Project board now.”

“I’ve heard it’s quite the shitshow.”

“You have no idea. You’d think it would be impossible for humans to pollute a river in the Underworld, but here we are.”

“Really?” Hades leaned against his chair, stretching to ease his back. “Whose river?”

“No one important.”

Hades made a mental note to look it up later. He would at least ensure the nymph hadn’t been harmed or uprooted.

Minthe glanced around the office. One hand climbed to her neck, massaged the back of it. “How much more time do you have left?”

Hades stopped his eyes from finding the still-massive stack of papers. “A few hours, I think. It all added up.”

Minthe’s mouth twisted. “You’re really going to try to get it all done today?”

“There’s only going to be more by tomorrow.”

“You’re the king. You can’t find someone else to do it?”

They’d had this conversation often enough that Hades considered simply not answering. How many times could he say that, sure, he could pawn the work off to whomever he wanted. He had that right. But if he did, what would that make him? Every complaint, every problem, every threat of the dead exploding off their banks rested in his lap. To ask someone else to make those decisions would be laughing in the face of his own responsibility.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“I should get this done,” he said instead. “It’ll only take a bit longer.”

Minthe rolled her eyes. “Has anyone ever told you it’s all right to lighten up once in a while?”

“You’ve mentioned it.”

“Well, I’m done for the day, and I don’t have half a mind to spend it waiting here.”

Hades bristled at the tone, like her boredom rested squarely on his shoulders. “I wouldn’t expect you to. I can call you later, and we’ll figure out something to do then.”

A pout crossed Minthe’s expression. “You can’t leave now?”

“No.”

“Not even for me?”

“I told you—”

“I know, I heard.” She stood abruptly and jammed her feet back into her shoes. “I guess I’ll stop bothering you, then.”

“You’re not bothering me,” Hades started, but Minthe had stopped listening. She’d gotten her heels on her feet and had made it to the door. She didn’t even turn around before it closed behind her.

Hades fought the urge to stand and follow. He might have, if he thought it would do any good, but experience warned him otherwise. Minthe had told him before how much she hated feeling second to his work and yet here he was, still sitting behind his desk.

He sunk down in his chair, letting his feet slide out from under him. He considered his brother’s ability to turn into creatures of the earth. What he wouldn’t give to collapse himself into something small. A rabbit, perhaps. Or a mole. Tunneling seemed like it could be a decent pastime.

The door opened again and Hades sat up, expecting to see Minthe’s red-lipped expression bursting back into the room.

Only Leuce appeared, her eyes sympathetic. “I heard yelling.”

Hades sighed. “I’m all right.”

“Are you sure? I can tell the downstairs clerk to put a hold on her name. She doesn’t have to come up here.”

Like that would go over well. Hades could already hear the angry phone call. “Leave her on the list.”

Leuce’s expression said exactly what she thought about that idea, but she mercifully kept those thoughts to herself. “You don’t have any more meetings today. I can make an excuse for you so you can head home.”

Hades didn’t imagine he’d be able to relax back home, either. “Thank you, but I need to get this done. I’ll probably be here late, so you’re free to go whenever you like.”

“I’ll send a few last emails and get packed up, then.”

“Thank you, Leuce.”

She slipped back into the waiting room with a sad smile.

#

Hades remained in his office until almost midnight. He could have left sooner, but he’d sunk into a mood and work seemed as good a way as any to wallow in it. Only once he’d emptied the stack of papers before him, and made the calls he’d been putting off, and found nothing more for himself to do did he shut off his desk light and lock the door behind him.

Normally, he enjoyed the boat ride to the small island he now called home. The currents lapped gently at the rocky shore, and in the perpetual gloom, the sky took on a lovely shade of yellow-gray. Tonight, though, Hades only wanted to see the path that sloped upward from the river and know his bed waited nearby.

When the boatman finally pulled them alongside the low bank, the windows glowed. The lights had been turned on inside, bright against the half-dark of the sky. Music drifted towards him, too, gentle on the still air.

Hades climbed out of the boat and up the bank, gravel crunching under his feet. The big picture windows of the foyer reared up before him. He peered through, at the tile floor and the scrap of living room he could see from this angle, but nothing appeared out of the ordinary. Whoever had made their way into his house, they had to be in the kitchen or further beyond.

Hades let himself in through the front door. When a scrabbling of clawed feet didn’t rush towards him, when Cerberus’s three massive heads didn’t peer around the corner, his chest constricted. Not much kept the dog from welcoming him home.

The music flowed from the living room, a song he recognized from the last decade, but Hades turned instead towards the kitchen. He cleared the supporting pillar of the entryway, then into the open-plan great room and beyond, the tile that demarcated the kitchen. There, lying against the cabinets with his paws in the air, Cerberus enjoyed belly scratches from none other than Hecate.

The Titan glanced up when he walked in, though she didn’t move from where she sat cross-legged on the ground beside Cerberus. She, like most divine entities he knew, didn’t look a day over twenty-five, a slouchy sweater hanging off one shoulder and her ashy gray hair tied up in a sloppy ponytail. She’d taken much more to the modern fashions than he had, a black ring punched through one side of her nose and studs forming lines up the shells of her ears.

“You’re home late,” she said when he didn’t greet her. “I know you’re usually the last one at the office, but this is extreme even for you.”

“Long day,” he managed.

“No shit.” Hecate looked him up and down. “What happened?”

Hades didn’t feel like talking about it. He bent down to untie the laces of his dress shoes, then toe-heeled them into a pile against the wall. His suit jacket went next, thrown over the side of the counter. Newly unencumbered, he crossed to the wine cabinet.

“I have the power of foresight, not hindsight,” Hecate said when he let the silence stretch, “but I can sure make a guess if you want me to.”

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t.”

The prickle on the back of his neck said she continued to stare at him, but Hades didn’t turn. He wanted to be alone, to drink something maybe, sink into the oblivion of sleep, if Hypnos deemed him so worthy. Unfortunately, he couldn’t tell a Titan to get lost, even if he considered Hecate a friend.

“Well,” Hecate continued, “I brought cinnamon rolls, as promised.”

Hades craned his head and saw the box on the counter. “Thanks. They’ll make a great breakfast.”

She didn’t move, and Hades had to take a deep breath. “That’s not the reason you’re here, is it?”

She paused, like she considered denying it. “I was hoping to hear about the meeting with the big guy.”

“I don’t know what to tell you. It went about as well as you’d expect.” Hades opened the wine cabinet and went through the familiar motions of selecting a bottle, cutting the foil, setting the corkscrew and popping the cork out. He reached above his head for two glasses, poured one, and handed it to Hecate.

She took it with a small smile. “You know I wouldn’t break into your house if it wasn’t important.”

“I wonder if you can really call it breaking, if the doors are never locked.”

“It’s the thought that counts.” Hecate held out her glass.

Hades clinked his own against it, then took a long sip. This, at least, he could say had improved with time.

Hecate swirled her glass, looking at the dark purple held within. “I’ve had a vision.”

Hades’s eyes slid closed of their own volition. “Do you know how much I hate that sentence?”

“Trust me, I’m not the biggest fan, either.”

“What is this one?”

“I—it’s easier if I show you. You won’t believe me otherwise.”

Hades grimaced, but held out a hand. Hecate slipped her fingers into his, and the room disappeared.

When Hades could see again, he found himself on the shores of the North Bank. Shuffling bodies clustered in massive groups, undulating like ripples through a pond. Hundreds of them. Thousands.

Hades stumbled backwards. The rocks slid beneath him, and he had to swing his arms to avoid falling into the rushing river at his back.

A rumble started at his feet. The sky ripped open with a thunderous crack, loud enough to send his ears ringing. From the jagged wound stretched across the twilight, bodies plummeted towards the beaches. They bounced like fish poured from a barrel, before pulling themselves upright.

The existing dead pushed forward as one mass, overtaking the newcomers, absorbing them into their ranks. In minutes, they stretched across the rocks in a sea of shambling, dead-eyed ghouls. They neared him, and Hades inched backwards, until his shoe slipped on the rocks and water splashed up his pant leg.

Fire erupted across his skin. Hades cursed, hissing through his teeth. He could not go farther, not without risking the river dissolving him into a matter of parts.

And still the dead came. They trampled each other, climbed atop one another, clawed their way across the beaches.

Far in the distance, Hades heard a shred, paper tearing in two. A shock wave blasted through the air, a pressure he felt in his chest.

Suddenly, the swell turned away from him. They drained towards the horizon, emptying from the beaches like wastewater down a drain. As quickly as they’d come, they left. They hadn’t crossed the river, meaning they’d gone somewhere much, much worse.

Hades returned to himself with a shatter. Hecate cursed somewhere to his left, but the sound came to him distantly, as if filtered through cotton. He reached for something solid and found the countertop, gripped it with everything he had.

“No, Cerberus, stay! No!”

Hades forced deep breaths until his head stopped spinning enough for him to open his eyes. Purple covered the kitchen tile, little shimmers within catching the overhead lights. Glass, he realized. He’d dropped the wine glass, and it must have broken against the floor.

Hecate stood with one leg pinning Cerberus to the cabinets, a few larger pieces of the cup in her hands. The dog’s intense expression said he was seriously considering whether wine would be worth shards of glass in his tongue.

Hades mumbled something that might have been a curse and might have been an apology. He reached under the sink for the trash can and set it where both he and Hecate could reach it, then fixed Cerberus with a look and waited until all three heads met his gaze.

“Go lay down. I don’t want you getting glass in your paws.”

The dog hesitated, for a moment looking like he would lunge for the mess after all. Then he backed up, in the uncoordinated way all things with four legs did, and turned for the living room.

“Thanks,” Hecate breathed. She stretched for the paper towel holder. “If I broke into your house and got your dog all cut up, I don’t think cinnamon rolls would get me out of it.”

Hades couldn’t bring himself to smile at the joke. “What was that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Only one thing makes the dead rain down like that, Hecate.”

She didn’t answer, focusing on wadding enough paper towels over her hands to not cut herself as she mopped up the spill.

“So what happens?” Hades tried again. “War? Disease?”

“I hoped you would know more than I would. That’s why I came to ask you about the meeting.”

Hades wiped a hand over his eyes. “If Zeus knows, he didn’t say anything.”

“Did he agree to the new gates?”

“He said he’d get back to me on Monday.”

“He needs to do it soon. I don’t know exactly when this takes place, but we can’t count on it being far away. What I see is always too close for my liking.”

Hades knew it too well. All those dead, surging to the surface…he couldn’t imagine it. The world as they knew it—as they were tasked to protect it—would end.

“Have you told anyone else?”

Hecate shook a slow no. “Not anyone here, anyway. I didn’t want to cause a panic.”

“That’s good. No sense in worrying them when they can’t do anything about it.”

Hecate dumped a sodden wad of paper towels into the garbage. “I visited Hera. That’s where I went when I left the office.”

“And?”

“She didn’t know of anything on the horizon.”

“Okay. Famine, then? War is still a likely option, too.”

Hecate frowned. “I’m happy to talk with Demeter, but Ares and I don’t exactly get along.”

“Who does get along with him?”

An eyebrow raised in a sarcastic expression, and Hades knew they thought the same thing. “Well, it’s not like she and I speak often.”

“I know. I’ll take care of that. I thought you could go back to Zeus, though.”

Hades fought a grimace. “I suppose, for the end of the world, I can manage twice in one week.”

“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

“I know. This isn’t your fault.”

“I appreciate you saying so.” Hecate swiped another wad of paper towels over the tile. She bit her lip. “Thanks for not freaking out on me.”

Hades looked pointedly at the mess spread around his feet. “I’ll take the vote of confidence, but I’m not sure I’ve earned it.”

“Nevertheless, you’re doing better than most do. Where’s your vacuum? We should make sure to get all the little pieces before Cerberus comes back in here.”

Hades retrieved the machine from the hall closet. Another human invention, this one at the very least useful. When it roared to life, he heard Cerberus get up from the living room, then his claws click-clacking their way to the bedroom. Hades knew how the dog felt. He wanted to run away, too.