New to the story or need a refresher? Begin with the prologue:
“Shouldn’t you be getting back to the ocean?” I asked. “Your skin is turning quite dry and scaly.”
“Oh, it’s not so bad yet.” Polydora brushed off some of her crumbling epidermis.
“Even so,” I said, rushing her out of my room. I had been searching for some excuse to get rid of her ever since I woke up next to her that morning. “I’ve heard about Oceanids who spent too much time away from their waters and end up with skin tough as dried beef. Trust me, it’s an upsetting image.”
“But what about the rest of the story?” She seized the door frame and very nearly filled the entire thing. “I want to hear it. It sounds romantic.”
I pushed against her. She filled the doorway in a way that made the palace feel smaller. “I could write it down for you instead.”
There was some give to her body. Her voice went up. “You’ll write me?”
“Sure,” I said, and barely managed to maneuver her out the doors and out my palace before my strength gave out. It was one of those times that try a god’s soul.
Behind me, I heard Pan’s hooves echo on the marble floor. “She ain’t too shabby, eh?”
“I don’t want to hear it from you.” I served him a frosty look. “This is all your fault.”
“My fault?”
“Yes, your fault. You abandoned me with her last night, and now she’s infatuated with me. All over me like a bad rash.”
“Well, you did lead her on,” Pan said. “Maybe you should lay off the sauce at these gigs. Could save you a lot of headache.”
I could have massacred the little monster. “I only went to that party so you could pursue her!”
“Polydora?” Pan snorted. “Why, I couldn’t betray what has grown between Clytie and me. When our eyes met last night, I realized that what I had imagined being my love for Polydora was only a moment’s madness. The whole night, it was just Clytie and me. We gabbed. We danced. We got sozzled. Oh, Didi, she’s a crown jewel surrounded by lesser gems.” I watched him pirouette on his hooves, lovestruck. “I absolutely worship her. She’s a true goddess—”
I walked away.
Except Pan trailed after me, tugging at my robes. “You do believe in love at first sight, don’t cha, Didi?”
“No. And don’t call me that. I am not in the mood for any of this. I want to sit on my favorite divan by myself, simply relax and enjoy a nice glass of wine, with no one bothering me. In a quiet room. By myself.”
All at once, I felt it. The rundown, vampiric state of not having time to recharge for years.
“But you can’t do that. You made plans already.”
“What?” I asked. When?”
“Last night, when you were three goblets past wise, you swore to everyone you’d host a viewing party for the season premiere of Gladiator Resurrection.”
“No,” I said, even though I watched Pan nod. Unfortunately, I began to recollect the night in a hazy sort of way. The trail of people I had invited to my place for the after party, the constant snogging with Polydora at the after-after party.
“It will just have to be canceled.”
“You can’t do that.”
“I can and I will.” I was feeling fairly godly and sovereign.
“But it’s too late to cancel. Guests will be rolling through in a jiffy. What are you going to do, shoo ‘em off?”
“Yes.”
“Yes?” Pan questioned, bewildered.
“Yes!”
Pan stomped one hoof down. “Where’s yer sense of xenia? Surely you don’t want to snub Zeus by turning away guests.”
“Oh, come on. Many of the Olympians no longer live here, including Zeus, who spends more time camping out in his godcave in New York. I doubt he cares about hospitality on Mt. Olympus anymore. Half the residences are boarded up like a second-rate hotel.”
The two of us thrashed the issue out some more, and the battle sapped what little energy I had recovered from hitting eject on Polydora.
I collapsed onto the floor. “I can’t do this, Pan. I am not the god I once was. These all-night vigils are starting to wear on me. I don’t know if I can go on any longer. Aren’t you starting to feel a bit…unhinged?”
“Listen, all ya gotta do is reframe the situation. Imagine the frenzied delight. Think of all the grub piled high.” Pan hopped around me, making me feel a bit woozy. “And the music beyond belief. Gods sweating, goddesses twirling. The sparks flying in dark corners!”
With every clap of his hooves against the floor, I felt more and more beads of sweat roll down my neck.
When did it get so unbearably hot?
Pan swirled around me faster and faster until I could see nothing more but blurred lines. If I could have thrown up, I would have, but my body had been trained to resist the consequences of a good party since birth.
Pan’s laughter only heightened the feeling that his unbridled force of nature was closing in on me.
The madness of it all.
The panic.
Then everything went dark.
I awoke sequestered in my library sometime later, sprawled out on a long, low, leopard-print sofa.
Waiting beside me was a bottle of my dearest champagne: Château Elysium.
I made quick work of uncorking it, pouring myself a glass, and reveling in the aromas of bread crust. I enjoyed a touch of something like cooked apples as I let the bubbles rest in my mouth. That was true carnal ecstasy and delight, the poetry in this bottle.
“Sweet, sweet, Pan,” I said aloud. “Thank you, my horned friend.”
He could be thoughtful, honoring the quiet, low-key night I needed. With a withdrawal from the party scene and exquisite wine in hand, I started to revive like a watered flower.
During my second sip, I noticed Bromie, one of my maenads, fussing over the army of rugs in the room. She was brushing out the fibers with concentrated effort, eyes trapped open. I had seen the whole lot of beloved women perform some strange rites in my day: tearing both cattle and humans alike to pieces, suckling wolf cubs from their teat, and adorning themselves with snakes to channel dark ladies who enfolded people in their makeshift tentacles. But never before had I seen them fret and frenzy about the palace with such gusto, going to work like sweet, darling fairies—straightening, sweeping, polishing.
Before I could accost her with my questions on the matter, the palace’s bells went off. I parried Bromie’s newfound servitude before she could get up.
“Don’t worry,” I told her. “I’ll get it.”
My glass, the bottle, and I escorted ourselves to the front entrance.
“Hephaestus, what are you doing here?” I asked.
The god of the forge looked at me with polite yet slightly condescending puzzlement behind his metal-rimmed glasses. “Hardly the tone I expect to hear from a host. Wasn’t it just last night you were saying this would be the party of the decade?”
“Oh, no. I told Pan I wasn’t going to do this. When I see that little deviant, I’m going to kill him!” I took a gulp of champagne to prevent myself from morphing into a demon. It did nothing for the desire to take Pan by his beastly neck, shake him till he frothed, pull him inside out, and make him swallow himself.
Hephaestus shuffled with me in the corridors of my own home as I shouted Pan’s name.
“How do I look?” he asked, oblivious to my plight.
He did not want to know the true answer to that. Kind-hearted as Hephaestus was, he made me feel embarrassed, as one always does when left alone with someone so gnarled. In a particular light and maybe with a carefully chosen filter, Hephaestus was not hideous.
And despite my objections to this party, I still had a duty as host. Part of that responsibility meant I couldn’t tell old friends to shove off because I was tired. Or that with everything so exquisitely decorated and everyone so impossibly beautiful on Mt. Olympus, seeing the one exception was almost an offense to the eyesight.
“I love the fact that I’ve never seen something like that on you before,” I said tactfully, always the gentleman.
For added measure, I passed him the bottle and told him to enjoy the sacred drink while I left the two of them behind.
It was a sacrifice I was willing to make.
In any case, I had to rush forward to bugle Pan’s name from room to room. “Pan, where are you, you unfortunate little mutt? I know you’re lurking around here somewhere.”
I checked the kitchens, the wine cellar, and the ballroom, but he was nowhere to be found.
When I made my way back to the entrance hall, hundreds of guests instantly fruited, but maenads and satyrs had already gone to work as innocent hosts who lubricated up the crowd with welcome drinks and ambrosia bites. I wished Pan hadn’t served my cache of ambrosia for the guests, being supplies were thinning and Zeus hadn’t clarified when the divine food would be replenished. But I brushed aside that thorn as I realized how well-oiled this party machine was without my direction.
As I stepped back and admired the coordinated effort, I savored the last drops of the wine in my glass. There were rich and ripe fruit notes, but then wham, I got this stark acidity that cut through the profile and made the champagne fresh. The snappy stimulant invigorated me, despite my ire. That’s what I love about Château Elysium: it’s much too fun to drink and makes life nothing but pure joy. I still wanted to wring Pan’s neck, but give credit where it was due. Somewhere between the blackouts and the bacchanals, he’d learned the craft.
Everything was cheer, charm, and goodwill.
For all about five seconds. Because even the power of Château Elysium has its limits. The conversation I had with Poseidon at the Titan party finally came to mind. Initially, I dreaded that I had said something moronic to him during my frenzy, but it was actually what Poseidon had let slip to me.
The god of the sea was shoring up for war.
P.S. I’ve been quietly building a small group of early readers for the full book. If you meant to reach out earlier, you still can!