New to the story or need a refresher? Begin with the prologue:
“Get your hooves off my ottoman,” I said, snapping my fingers at Pan and rousing him from his slumber.
He muttered something as he came to, unfurled his hircine legs, and stomped them on the floor. His hair was already everywhere. Pan was passed out somewhere in my palace several times a week, and I usually cleaned up after. Still, I managed to find strands of his shaggy fur embedded in either the couch, the carpet, or my clothes. The last thing I needed was for him to smear all his woodland dirt over my upscale furniture.
“What did you say?” I asked.
“Geez, someone’s grouchy,” he repeated, with a touch of rebuke.
“I’m not grouchy. I’m hungover. And we have to stop drinking this much every time we have a party.” I plopped down on the couch next to him, nursing my temples.
Pan gave me a grave, sympathetic face as if he knew that despite my best wishes, that would never happen.
“By the gods, what even happened last night? And why is my couch wet? I swear to Zeus, if you pissed on my couch, I’m going to—”
Before I could finish, Pan was on his feet, and he seemed to flicker. A blurred dash of his horns whirred by my line of sight. I heard him rummage about in the kitchen, and then he returned as swiftly as he left with a wine glass balanced on his index finger.
“Just toss this back,” he said in a tone somewhere between a request and a demand.
“Is that the—”
“The ‘86 Fury Noir? Damn skippy.”
“I need to eat something,” I said, waving away the temptation. “We drank plenty last night.”
“You don’t need to eat. You need a stiff drink. I hate to tell ya, but you ain’t so much fun unless you drink.”
“Well, that’s rude.”
“Centuries of field research,” he said. “When you’re hungover, you always get a bit fussy until you have some wine.”
“Fine.”
“Fine,” Pan echoed, nudging the glass under my nose.
Smokey, cedary notes layered with rich, ripe fruits and a hint of leather crawled up and camped out in my nostrils.
I do not deny that my body greatly desired the drink.
Damn that Pan, I thought as I took the glass. He didn’t need to know, but things did immediately improve after I had a couple of sips. The lighting in the room seemed less aggressive—cozier somehow. My headache subsided. And seeing that scoundrel brought a wry smile to my lips. Generally speaking, hope flourished once more after I tasted the velvety texture on my palette and smacked my lips at the long finish.
“For the record, yer couch is covered in water, not piss,” Pan added and tucked himself next to me.
“Water? From what?”
“From whom,” he corrected, in that strangled kind of tone that came out more as a bleat. “And it’s from Polydora.”
“Polydora,” I repeated. “That Oceanid?”
I anxiously looked at the poor goat-god as his cheeks flushed, and he nodded eagerly. I already knew where this was heading.
“I worship her. I worship the very current she treads on. She is a true goddess.”
It was remarkable how quickly his language cleaned itself up whenever he fell in love. And ever since I have known Pan, he has been perpetually falling in love. But it didn’t seem possible that he had fallen for Polydora. Sure, she was his type in that she was a nymph, but she wasn’t by nature particularly gregarious. Pan needed someone who would complement him on the party circuit. Someone who took an interest in him and his low-brow buffoonery. Not to mention that unfortunate accident with the cruise liner where it looked like she got a propeller dragged across her face.
“Are you sure we’re talking about the same girl? There are like thousands of these ocean nymphs. I’m referring to Polydora, the one with the scar on her face.”
“Yeah, that’s the one we’re talking about.”
“And she strikes you as a true goddess?”
“She does.”
“Zeus bless you.”
He seemed perturbed. “You don’t think she’s the most wonderful girl you’ve ever seen?”
“Sure,” I said, if only to soothe him, all the while privately pondering who would want to dally with the discount rack of divinity. Lesser goddesses who would probably need to crowdfund for their continued eternity.
“Then you’ll help me,” Pan said, unable to stop himself from smiling.
“Help you with what?”
“My problem.”
“What problem?”
“Why, to snag Polydora! During last night’s party, she kept taking the form of water before I could woo her with my charm. But I found out she’ll be at Oceanus’s celebration tonight.”
There was no mistaking it. Pan was obviously all for her. No surprise there, considering he was at peak horniness during the spring. The change in weather seemed to act on him like magic.
“Sorry, but I’ve got a prior engagement already. Pretty important too.”
It’s not that I didn’t want to help Pan. It’s just that these things always ended the same way for him.
“What engagement?”
“Well—I—”
“See, you don’t have any commitments! And even if you did, you need to weasel out of them. It’s party time, and you’re my wingman.”
Some of the other gods, no doubt, find Pan to be a bit rough around the edges. As an aside, I have found his fur to be surprisingly silky, however insidious its manner of lodging itself everywhere. Anyhow, despite Pan’s element of irreducible rascality, from the first time we partied together, I have come to see him as a confidant and friend.
“Oh, alright. But we will need to bring our own wine. Those Titan parties are a drag. A bit too old school.”
“More wine,” Pan agreed. “And you can finish telling me that story along the way.”
“What story?”
“The one you were telling me last night after everyone left the party. About that human? The one Apollo told you about.”
I hesitated.
“You’re the first I’m properly telling it to,” I said. “I haven’t decided what I think about it yet.”
“Even better.”
Normally, by morning, other people’s secrets taste like nothing. This one still had a shape to it.
“Well, as you know, with humans,” I said as we readied our entourage, “they tend to die.”