"It’s a fine line between clever and stupid, isn’t it?"
-Nigel Tufnel, This is Spinal Tap

Ares shifted upon the throne in his Spartan temple, tapping his fingers idly upon the armrest. Around him, a handpicked group of stunning women, scented, flawlessly coiffed and scantily clad, laid out typical offerings: fruit, weapons, dinars and wine. He stared at the priestesses, who reminded him of Aphrodite in their curvy, bouncing way, though they couldn’t really hold a candle to her. Aphrodite the Fair. Aphrodite the Buxom.

Aphrodite the Late.

She’d promised to meet Ares several hours ago. No doubt she had some sort of...emergency...that was making her tardy.

He assumed there had to be some sort of emergencies in Aphrodite’s field of work. Nothing like the ones Ares had to deal with, of course. But most likely some of her followers got...upset...from time to time. And needed her personal...attention.

Ares squirmed, wishing a more comfortable throne could somehow be made to match the rest of his décor. Certainly Aphrodite wasn’t personally soothing one of her mortal lackeys. She had a date with Ares. She wouldn’t dare keep Ares waiting on account of a puny mortal, would she?

Ares tapped his fingers as the oil lamps burned low and the shutters were drawn for the night by chesty, long-haired wenches he suddenly hated ever so slightly. He’d grab one of those priestesses and nail them right there and then, if he thought it would make Aphrodite jealous.

But the priestesses were just little mortal nobodies, and not even the prettiest, bounciest one was as pretty and bouncy as Aphrodite. If Ares wanted to burn Aphrodite’s toast, he’d have to do it with someone important--someone nothing like her, nothing at all.

Right on cue, a blast of power surged through Ares' unguarded mind, nearly knocking him from his throne. A god was in Sparta, someone big. No, not big. Huge. And whoever it was, he or she was leaking power like mad.

Ares stood and ran his fingers through his hair. Whoever it was felt nothing at all like Aphrodite.

The other god's signature energy practically billowed from a local inn. Ares mentally rehearsed a few quick approaches: dominant, darkly sexy, and "I'm only here to help." He couldn't be sure who was in there spilling out their power, and he needed to be prepared for anyone.

He threw open the doors to the inn's common room, looking about. His eyes went from pale mortal face to pale moral face, all of them cringing or blanching. A serving girl stared beseechingly into Ares' eyes, and then nodded her head toward one of the tables.

A figure in stiff black armor splayed face-down upon it. Ares recognized him by the blood-colored velvet cloak. Hades. In Sparta? Ares had never thought of him as the athletic type.

Ares sauntered up to the table. Hades didn't move. Ares squinted. Hades still did not move. Ares coughed politely into his palm. Nothing.

Ares decided to aim for "helpful." The dominant approach didn’t really seem like it would take him too far with the Lord of the Dead, and Ares was fairly sure he couldn’t out-darken Hades. "Uncle," he said gently. "What's the problem? It's not like you to make a public spectacle of yourself."

"Someone stole my helm," Hades replied into the tabletop.

Ares considered. "I know it means a lot to you, but cheer up. I'm sure you'll manage to get it back."

Hades sat up, his hair tumbling forward in sloppy curls onto his forehead. A woodgrain pattern was pressed into his cheek. "You don't understand." Hades sighed dramatically and gestured to the chair beside him, which slid out in invitation. Ares sat.

Hades took a good slug of wine before taking up his tale. "I've got problems, Ares."

Ares put on his best trustworthy face and nodded.

"It's...Persephone."

Ares widened his eyes, hoping it would make his expression look sympathetic. Though under the table he shook his fist gleefully and thought, “Yes!”

Hades closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. He opened his eyes again and bared his teeth, anger rising. "She's left me--for a mortal!" He slapped his black-gloved palm onto the scarred tabletop, and all the potted plants nearby died on the spot. The waitress fainted, or maybe she was dead, too. Ares couldn't quite tell.

"So I came here to drown my sorrows," Hades said, tipping back the remainder of his wine.

"To Sparta?!?"

"Well." Hades looked into his cup, curling his lip. "I wanted to make sure I didn't have any fun."

"Ah."

Hades just then noticed the waitress sprawled on the floor. He sighed and summoned the wine bottle himself. It rose from the bar, floated toward their table and filled his glass. "Want any?" he asked acidly.

Other city states used Spartan wine as vinegar, but Ares really wanted to seem companionable. "Sure." A second cup appeared and the bottle splashed its contents in, mostly dregs.

"So anyway, I was just sitting here drowning my sorrows when someone snatched the Helm of Invisibility from my head and then disappeared." Hades sighed again and settled into a pout. Ares found it vaguely disturbing to see the King of the Underworld pouting.

"How could someone steal your Helm? It makes you invisible to sight and sound, and even masks your powers from the other gods."

Hades put his face back on the table and mumbled something.

"What?"

"I said, I forgot to make the wine invisible."

Ares pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers and shook his head.

"Look--I was distraught!"

So. The mighty and darkly powerful Hades himself had been abandoned by his queen, overlooked for some mortal. If it weren’t so fortuitous for Ares, it would be downright eerie.

“You shouldn’t wear your heart on your sleeve in public,” Ares said sagely. “People might take advantage of you.”

Hades sighed into his cup. “I no experience regarding affairs of the heart. None at all.”

Ares hid a grin with one hand and patted Hades’ black gauntlet with the other.

“I suppose you’re right,” Hades said with another long sigh. “I can’t keep mooning around like this. I should just go back to my palace. My big, dark, empty palace.”

“Wait--I know,” Ares said, snapping his fingers. “You can come back to my Spartan temple.”

Hades looked at him dubiously.

“Why, you’re already here in Sparta. And it is my biggest temple in Greece,” Ares added. Hades still seemed unconvinced. “And the wine sucks.”

“Very well.” Hades stood, gathering his glum pall about him. “I suppose I might pass some time at your temple.”

Ares rubbed his hands together the moment Hades’ back was turned.

_____

Iolaus sighed and flopped down on the beach. "Now this is the life," he said, digging his bare toes into the warm sand.

Hercules sat down beside him and stared off into the distance with a vague look in his eyes.

"What're you still dressed for?" Iolaus demanded. "This is the first time we've had to ourselves in weeks--no, wait--make that months."

"That's true."

"And it's the first holiday we've taken since--I can't even remember."

"Yes, it is."

Iolaus rolled toward Hercules, reveling in the feel of sand rubbing against his bare arms and chest. "And you owe me, buddy boy. Big time."

Hercules moved nothing but his eyes, which narrowed and focused their gaze on Iolaus. "I owe you."

"You know what I mean. Don’t make like you don’t."

"I just think we should stay dressed for a little--"

"The time you were..." Iolaus glanced down at his own male equipment, "and you fell asleep? You thought I'd just forget about that? Huh?"

"Iolaus, I--"

Iolaus exploded in a flurry of sand and tickling, his fingertips violating all of Hercules' most vulnerable spots. Iolaus knuckled Hercules under the chin, and then squeezed him mercilessly just over the kneecap.

"--wait--"

Once Hercules was breathless and red-faced, Iolaus dove in for the kill: his armpit.

"--just--wa--noo!"

Sand flew. Limbs flailed. Iolaus' loincloth developed a wickedly hard peak. And above all the commotion, from somewhere deep within the abutting woods, a voice could be heard. "Iolaaaaaus!"

Iolaus froze and Hercules collapsed beneath him. "You gotta be kidding me," Iolaus muttered.

Hercules blinked philosophically. "That's funny. They're usually looking for me."

Iolaus accepted his pants from Hercules and squirmed into them, sand and all. He'd just managed to cram his boots on when the trees before him parted, and out limped a broad, well-muscled god.

Hercules squinted in the limping god's direction. "Is that...?"

"Hephaestus," Iolaus answered. "Yeah."

"What does he want with you?"

"Well...I defeated his bronze panther and trashed about a dozen of his animated armor things."

Hercules sighed. "I thought you said we could afford a vacation."

"No, no, he doesn't want me to pay for them. He respects me." Iolaus lowered his voice. “And don’t say the V-word. You know what always happens.” He knocked three times on a slab of wood and spat over his left shoulder.

At this point, Hephaestus had finally labored onto the beach, one twisted leg dragging behind him. Iolaus wondered why he didn't just appear there, but thought it might not be prudent to ask. "Iolaus," Hephaestus said.

"Boy, you look like someone killed your cat."

Hephaestus' face fell. "It's worse." He sniffled, and wiped at his nose with his good hand. "Aphrodite left me. For a mortal."

"This...can't be good," Hercules said.

"Well, you know mortals," Iolaus said with forced cheer. "They don't last forever."

Hephaestus looked up, gnawing his lower lip. "That's not all."

"It never is," said Hercules.

Hephaestus took a moment to compose himself and went on. "When I found out, I went mad with jealousy. I raged through the forge. I destroyed weapons, shields, armor. And some lava may have...escaped."

"My grandmother's village?" Iolaus asked, fearing the worst.

"It's fine. The lava turned south and hit another town instead."

"That's a relief."

"But while I was blind with rage, something else happened."

Hercules nodded. "Here it comes."

"Someone stole my hammer."

Iolaus looked at Hephaestus, and then at Hercules. "I suppose this means we have to find it."

Hercules just shook his head and brushed some sand off Iolaus' arm. "You know this happens every time we go on...uh...oh, never mind."

_____

Autolycus emerged from the baths, freshly shaved, scented, powdered and buffed. He checked his datebook to remind himself which goddess he’d made an appointment with that afternoon. “Let’s see,” he murmured. “It’s Tuesday, right? Tuesday. Hmmm.” He scanned down the page. “There it is--Tuesday. Okay, then. It looks like Persephone’s the lucky lady of the day.”

Fixing his blonde wig carefully over his hair, Autolycus crept up to the rendezvous site he’d chosen with the Queen of the Other Side. “Oh Pookie, I’m here!”

“Adonis! It’s about time!”

Autolycus had almost slipped and brought her flowers--yeah, her, the goddess who created all the flowers in Greece. But at the last moment he’d remembered and stuck the flowers in the well. Hopefully they’d keep for his tryst with Aphrodite on Wednesday.

“I got you some truffles,” Autolycus sang.

“Ooh, my favorite.” Persephone ripped the box from Autolycus’ hands and began stuffing the candies into her mouth. No wonder she was so...Reubenesque.

“Take it easy there. You’ll want to save some for later.”

“But they’re so good,” she said, drawing out the last word as her hand sought his thigh. “And plump. And firm.” Her hand wandered higher. “And round.”

Autolycus did his best not to jump as Persephone cradled his plump, round accessories. “Well...ah...” he tried to recall exactly what reservations he had about coming to see her. Married? No. Pretending to be someone else? Nope. Just stole her husband’s helm? Nada. Hm.... Oh yes, he was worried she’d be too dim to help him solve his problem. She was somewhat blonde, but nowhere near as blonde as Aphrodite.

“Say, listen, Toots. I just wanted to pick your brain before you started picking my locks.”

Persephone left off staring at the chocolates for just a moment. “I thought you were more interested in my womanly charms than my omniscience.”

“Of course, Cookie Puss, of course. It’s just that you can’t expect a mere mortal like me to dream up heists...ah, I mean security checks...with the same sort of panache that a goddess of your station and experience...”

“Don’t forget wisdom.”

“...and sheer brilliance...would.”

Persephone tilted her pretty head to one side. “Well, I suppose you may have something there. Though I really don’t know all that much about security.”

“But I’ll bet you know a little something about jewels.” Autolycus shivered happily as Persephone gave his own jewels a little heft.

“Oh, sure. My husba--uh...my Uncle Hades is the Lord of Wealth. It’s one of his lesser known titles.”

“Lord of Wealth.” Autolycus rolled the words over his tongue, absently pretending that he didn’t know he was diddling the Queen of the Other Side. “So you must know where all the good stuff is kept. Emeralds. Rubies. Diamonds.” Autolycus licked his lips. “Gold.”

Persephone shrugged and unlaced Autolycus’ trousers with a few deft tugs. “He keeps all the rocks inside other rocks. I guess he thinks that’s pretty clever.”

Her hand snaked into his pants and Autolycus’ breath hissed out through clenched teeth. “And the gold?”

“Oh, I dunno. I guess he keeps most of it melted down in the earth’s core.”

An image came to Autolycus, then, of the very world he lived in, spinning amongst the stars like a great, green apple. And at its core, instead of seeds and that hard white stuff that gets between your teeth if you’re not careful, a fount of molten gold simply begging to be released.

No mean feat, busting out the golden reserve. But Autolycus had a very special tool.

“Mmm,” Persephone purred. “I love how your manroot grows so firm,” she tugged it meaningfully, “so fast.”

But Autolycus could barely concentrate on the things going on inside his trousers. “Yeah, right, manroot. Say, one more thing, before we get started. I need to be able to lift something heavy.”

Persephone rolled her eyes. “Pish posh. Whatever for? I don’t make you do any heavy lifting.”

“Humor me, oh Brilliant One.” Autolycus batted his eyelashes. “Please.”

Persephone gripped Autolycus’ manroot expertly, her delicate fist sliding up and down as she thought. “You could exercise more at the gymnasium, I suppose.”

Autolycus scowled. “But that would require effort.”

“It would, wouldn’t it?” Persephone hummed to herself as she began to peel off Autolycus’ leather breeches.

“There’s gotta be something you can do for me,” Autolycus said, hoping he’d hidden the hammer well enough to be overlooked for an hour or so.

“What could I possibly to do improve your strength?”

“You’re a goddess, work some magic!” Autolycus backed up just a bit, but it was enough to pull his manroot from her grasp. “After all, I won’t be much fun if I’m all worn out.”

“Fine,” Persephone huffed, plucking a locket from around her neck. She wiggled her fingers over it and blew on it three times. “But my own domain’s all about flowers and trees and grass. You’ll need to get a little piece of something very strong to make this work. Maybe the minotaur, or a giant or something. A lock of hair should do just fine.”

“Hair,” Autolycus repeated, nodding vigorously.

“And then you have to say the following charm: triceps, verdana, Samsonite. Say it exactly.”

Autolycus clasped the locket to his bosom, his manroot straining toward their very generous benefactress. “Triceps, veranda, yeah, yeah, I got it.” He secreted the locket within one of the many hidden pockets in his trusty green vest, then grabbed up Persephone before she could protest. “I knew you’d come through for me, Babykins. Now gimme some sugar.”

Persephone seemed keen on continuing their conversation, but sometimes too much talking ruins the moment. Autolycus plied her with kisses and caresses and more than a few enthusiastic thrusts, until finally she stopped trying to talk and started thrashing and moaning.

There’s booty, and then there’s booty. And while Autolycus could certainly appreciate the fleshy sort, it was the glittery type that, in the end, beckoned to his soul. Leaving a very sated goddess sprawled and insensate back at the inn, Autolycus stole away in search of his most favorite kind of booty.

While he was sure that giants and ogres and whatnot were plenty strong, Autolycus knew it would take a special kind of strength to access the world’s golden core--even if he struck the apex of the world with Hephaestus’ magical hammer. Since he’d stolen a few very choice items lately, not to mention a few very prominent hearts, Autolycus had little doubt that the owner of said strength would simply walk up and place himself right in Autolycus’ grasp.

With the Helm of Invisibility firmly in place and Hephaestus’ hammer stowed carefully beneath some fig leaves, Autolycus waited beside the road. And pretty soon he heard a pair of very familiar voices complaining about their holiday being interrupted. Just like clockwork. The do-gooding duo was headed toward the inn he’d just vacated.

Autolycus crept up behind Hercules while he stared at a patch of grass with Iolaus. In a smooth, stealthy motion, Autolycus grabbed up Hercules’ hair and severed it in one quick stroke.

_____

Ares scattered his priestesses before inviting Hades into the temple’s inner sanctum. Hades wasn’t known for keeping company with big, muscular, male sorts, and Ares didn’t need any competition from them. “It’s dim in here,” Hades remarked, sitting heavily in a chair made of human bones. “Was it always this dim?”

Ares sat beside Hades, making sure their knees brushed. Whether or not Hades could feel it through all that armor, Ares wasn’t sure. “It’s a refuge,” he said, dropping his voice low and sexy. “A den. A bastion of safety against the intrusions of the outside world.”

Hades was busy squinting at the half-seen weapons and shields that graced the walls a few feet away. “Yes, certainly. Now what about that wine?”

Ares stifled a sigh. He summoned some wine from the mound of offerings in his temple’s main room, hoping that Hades wouldn’t expect it to be quite as bad as the stuff at the tavern. He poured the wine into two hollowed skulls and drank it with Hades in silence, his thumb pressed over the bony nostrils to keep from dribbling on himself.

He’d need to get Hades drunk, that was a given. But that armor would need to go, too. He filled Hades’ skull cup extra full, hoping it would spill.

“I can’t imagine what she’d see in a mortal,” Hades murmured into the hollowed skull. Wine oozed from an eye socket, but instead of dampening Hades, it simply beaded up on his black carapace. “I mean, I’ve heard he’s good-looking, but please.”

So. Hades’ clothes didn’t get wet. Ares moved to plan Beta. He glanced at a brazier and flames roared to life within it. Soon the temperature in the room climbed.

“I’m sure looks had nothing to do with it,” Ares said in his best reassuring voice, hoping it didn’t sound too rusty. “Women--they’re fickle.”

“Fickle. That’s it.” Hades dabbed at his brow with a gloved hand. “Is it hot in here, or is it me?”

Ares’ eyebrows twitched. “It’s definitely you.”

Hades shifted, sweat beading his forehead. He stuck out his lower lip and blew upward. His messy curls lifted. “Would you mind if changed?”

“Be my guest.”

A flicker of golden lights danced before Ares’ eyes, and Hades’ armor was replaced with a dressing gown of deep purple silk. Now that was more like it.

Hades sighed. “Honestly. I don’t know how you can stand it so hot in here.”

“But back to you....”

“Oh, right. Me.” Hades looked into the empty wine bottle and Ares summoned another. “It’s just that she’s left all these projects half-done around the house. The den is only half painted. The thank-you cards for our wedding presents aren’t even finished.”

“That’s what’s bothering you? Projects?”

Hades fidgeted, smoothing the front of his already-smooth robe. “I thought she understood me. Y’know? All these years living as a bachelor, waiting for the right one to come alone.”

“There,” said Ares, so quickly that Hades nearly upset his hollowed skull. “That’s your problem.”

Hades looked at Ares blearily. “What?”

“The assumption that there’s only a single ‘right one’ for you.” He walked his fingers over to Hades’ sleeve and toyed with the jeweled trim on the cuff. “You might be surprised. I’ll bet lots of other gods could rock your world.”

Hades poured himself some more wine, and drank, and thought. Or maybe he was too drunk to think and was actually just sitting there. But just as Ares began feeling awkward about groping Hades’ cuff, Hades stood so abruptly his chair tipped over. “Fine. Where’s your bedroom?”

“Huh?”

“You’re seducing me, aren’t you? Where’s your bedroom?”

“It’s, uh...” Ares gestured toward a draped doorway.

Hades shrugged. “Well, let’s go.” He staggered off toward the drapes, but then turned back toward Ares, taking just a moment to focus. “And I’ll need my toes licked.”

“Your toes.”

“Can’t get properly aroused without toe licking.”

Ares stared, and then quickly caught himself and nodded. “Sure. I can do toes.”

“Good, good.” Hades reeled a bit closer to the bedroom, but then swayed in place. “And you have to wear a hat,” he called over his shoulder.

Ares stood to follow Hades. “O-kay. A hat.” He thought it might be a good idea to herd Hades into the bedroom quickly before any more stipulations could be voiced.

_____

Iolaus followed the furrow in the ground as it meandered through ferns and shrubs, veering around trees and fording a stream at its narrowest point. It was obvious to him that he was hot on the trail of Hephaestus’ hammer. The furrow was just the same width as the hammer’s head, and the occasional tread on either side belonged to a man who was accustomed to stepping lightly--a thief!

“Iolaus,” said Hercules, scratching the top of his head where his newly-shorn hair stood up straight, “this mark in the ground that you’re following could be anything. We need to ask around and see if anybody’s seen the hammer.”

“Aha!” cried Iolaus, jumping up out of a thatch of ferns. “But that’s the thing. Hephaestus didn’t see anybody in his forge.”

“He was enraged.”

“But still--the forge isn’t exactly huge, you know. Enraged or not, he would’ve seen the thief.”

“So what are you saying?”

Iolaus looked quickly away from Hercules’ hair and gazed down at the tracks. “Either the thief was invisible--or he was extremely small. With very big feet.”

Hephaestus labored up the hillside behind them, sweating, panting and dragging his crippled leg. Iolaus felt bad for him, but suspected that if he didn’t wear quite so much leather he might be a little more comfortable. Plus he was rubbing out all the tracks.

“Are we any closer?” Hephaestus gasped.

Iolaus allowed the god to catch up with them and then gestured toward a gap in the trees. “I think we’ll find what we’re looking for right there, at that very inn.”

“Nah,” said Hercules under his breath, “that’d be way too easy.”

“Shh,” Iolaus hissed. “Don’t discourage him. He’s moving slow enough as it is.”

Since most of the suspiciously hammer-like tracks had been erased, Hercules, Iolaus and Hephaestus decided to try their luck at the inn. But none of the patrons had noticed anyone dragging a phenomenally heavy hammer along. Iolaus coughed out the word “invisible” but Hercules ignored him. No, the only thing of note the customers recalled was a man with flowing blond hair and a jet-black mustache and flavor saver.

Hercules glanced at Iolaus, brow furrowed. “Autolycus?”

“I could see him swiping the hammer,” said Iolaus, rubbing his chin. “But what’s with the flowing blond hair?”

“I dunno, but I’ve got a bad feeling about it.” Hercules ran his hand through his extreme mullet yet again.

By the time Hercules and Iolaus checked the room, Hephaestus had dragged himself up the first few steps. They met him on the way back down. “Well,” panted Hephaestus, “did you find anything?”

“Whoever was in that room is gone,” said Hercules.

“Nothing left but an empty box of chocolates and a funny hat,” added Iolaus, shaking his head.

_____

Autolycus dabbed his brow, biting his lower lip as he dragged Hephaestus’ hammer to the base of Mount Olympus. He wasn’t quite sure how long the charm would last once he’d recited it, so he wanted to get as close as possible to his goal before he activated his god-like strength. Or Hercules’ god-like strength. Whatever.

Even so, the cherry atop the sundae was getting closer. He spat blond wig-hair aside as he gazed up at Olympus. There it was: the culmination of several excruciatingly careful moments of planning. Not to mention that bit of good luck, spotting the floating wine that kept disappearing at the last inn he’d meant to rob.

The apex of the very world towered over Autolycus. One good hit from Hephaestus’ hammer and the silky smooth golden core of the earth would be his.

Autolycus took a few sloping steps up the base of the mountain, and dragged. And then two more steps. And a drag. And another step. He pulled at the hammer, but it had grown too heavy to budge.

“This uphill battle’s for the birds,” he said as he considered removing the wig, since it was causing him to sweat profusely. But luckily his arms were so tired from dragging the godly hammer they were slow to react to his perspiring need. “Let’s see now. Uh...triceps!” Before he could remove the toasty hairpiece and admit that he’d forgotten the other two words, a chirpy voice called out behind him.

“Adonis! Sweety pie honey muffin! What’re you doing in my neck of the woods?”

Autolycus disentangled a hank of sweat-soaked wig hair from his mustache and then fixed his mouth into a smile. He turned toward the voice and bowed. “Aphrodite. You are more ravishing than ever.” The wig was obscuring his vision, but Autolycus figured it was always safe to assume she was ravishing.

“And you’re working up a lather without me,” said Aphrodite, dimpling prettily (from what he could tell through the wig.)

Autolycus considered Aphrodite, and then the hammer. Normally, he would have been concerned that she’d recognize it from her husband’s forge. But she was blonde. Very blonde. Much blonder than Persephone.

“Say, Dollface, I’ve been dying to see you all day. In fact, I was gonna surprise you.”

“I love surprises.”

“Sure, sure. But since you caught me in flagrante... whaddaya say you whisk me and this...sexual aid...up to the top of this mountain?”

Aphrodite turned her attention to the massive hammer and scowled for a moment, and then her eyes lit up. “Wowsa. Just for me?”

“You got it, baby.”

“But why Olympus?”

“Be...cause...because of the wonderful...view. Very inspiring, don’tcha know?”

Aphrodite dimpled even more. “Oh! Groovy!”

The world lurched around Autolycus and a stunning Grecian vista appeared around him. Behind him, on a nearby slope, a cluster of gleaming marble god-condos dotted the mountainside. The view lived up to Autolycus’ machinations. Now, if only he could figure out how to use the hammer as a sex toy....

“Well, there you are, Snugglemuffin. I was wondering if you’d seen my hat.”

Autolycus whirled around to behold Aphrodite’s slightly less blonde sister. “Per...per...uh...uh-oh.”

“What’re you doing here?” Aphrodite demanded.

Persephone looked from Autolycus, to Aphrodite, to the hammer. “Me? I’m just looking for my--hey, what’re you doing here?”

Autolycus squeezed his eyes shut and hoped they’d make it quick and painless. But the Fates seemed to smiling on him just then, as Persephone and Aphrodite seemed more interested in challenging each other than in questioning him.

“I live here.” Aphrodite planted her hand on her hip. “And I brought Adonis here for a little romantic interlude. That didn’t include you.”

Persephone curled her lip. “Well I hope you really get off on hammers, ‘cos you’re not doing anything with my boyfriend.”

“Your boyfriend? You can’t have a boyfriend. Have you checked your marital status lately?”

“Me?” Persephone looked Aphrodite up and down. “Hel-lo! You’ve got a husband and a babydaddy. So back off, Sis!”

“Oh yeah?” Aphrodite crossed her arms over her ample cleavage. “Who’s gonna make me?”

Persephone planted her feet while Autolycus began what he hoped was a subtle creep in the opposite direction, muttering the word “triceps” over and over. He dragged the hammer after him as quietly as he could.

“I am!”

“You are? You and what army?”

Autolycus’ hackles rose as fog swirled around his feet, gaining quickly in thickness and stench. And then a low moan rose all around as a thousand corpse soldiers appeared.

Persephone smiled sweetly. “Me and my dead army.”

Autolycus tucked his head down and dragged the hammer away twice as fast. “Triceps. Valencia. Sodomite!” The hammer continued to weigh down his arms, there was no doubt about that. Autolycus dragged it along, mentally pleading for the amulet to do its business. And just as he was convinced that the whole thing was just a bum deal, his awkward blond wig grew tighter and tighter, its fibers entwining with his own hair until it snugged up firmly to his scalp.

“Oh, great. Just...great.”

_____

Ares clenched his jaw through yet another muscle spasm in his forearm while Hades shifted restlessly beneath him. He switched hands, pretending he didn’t hear Hades sigh. He adjusted a hat with his cramped hand. “Anything else I could do to...amuse you?” Ares asked, doing his best not to sound as exasperated as he felt. “Sing a song? Do a dance? Chant some magic word?”

Hades rolled out from under Ares’ desperately pumping fist. “It’s no use, Ares. You’re just not my type.”

Ares stared. “Not your type? How can I not be your type?”

“You’re handsome.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t take it as a compliment.” Hades waved a hand vaguely. “You’re too...perfect. I thought that maybe, once you’d stripped down...I don’t know. Bowed legs? A hairy back?” Hades shook his head. “But no. You’re just...” Hades dropped his waving hand.

Ares stared. Hades stared back for a moment, then turned to slip into his dressing gown.

“Wait! I have a scar.”

Hades stopped mid-sleeve and raised an eyebrow.

“It’s...It’s, uh...” Ares dug through his chest hair, searching for the spot where Athena had once nailed him with a spear. What an ugly battle that had been, blood everywhere. Aphrodite’d had to come and save his sorry ass that day....

Aphrodite.

Her panicked cry for help filled Ares’ awareness. And she wanted him to bring an army along. Ares leapt from his bed, flinging the hat aside. “Sorry, Hades. We’ll have to pick this back up some other time.”

Or not.

“War calls.”

_____

Autolycus gazed out over the teeming mountainside. A bunch of living troops had appeared to fight the Undead Army, and while everyone else was busy, he’d be sure to make the world’s moist, juicy center of gold his...all his.

Autolycus spat in his palm and chafed his hands together. “Over the teeth, over the gums, look out stomach, here it comes.” It wasn’t the best prayer, but it was all he could come up with. Plus it was a completely nondenominational prayer, since he had to be careful not to summon any god in particular.

Bracing his feet, Autolycus pulled at the World’s Heaviest Tool and struggled to heft it up and over his shoulder. He couldn’t quite do it, not without rupturing something. He did manage to raise it approximately waist-high, but then he felt a groin pull coming on and wisely let go.

Hephaestus’ hammer hit ground with a boom that shook all of Greece.

_____

Iolaus sprawled beside Hercules on the bank of the stream. His feet dangled into the cool water, despite Hercules’ warning that he should keep his boots on.

“But why? It’ll take Hephaestus at least half an hour to get here from the inn. And we are on vacation. And the water is perfect.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, but Hercules was having none of it.

“It’s all that and more. We are on vacation. The water is too perfect.” Hercules held up Iolaus’ boot. “I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Iolaus whistled to himself, paddling his feet in the water while silvery fish scattered. Beside him, Hercules sat and smiled a secret smile. Iolaus rolled onto his side and propped his head in his palm. “Okay. I give up. What is it?”

Hercules was serene. “Here it comes. Three. Two....”

Somewhere in the distance, a great rumble sounded.

Iolaus crossed his arms. “The weatherman said partly sunny with no chance of rain until Thursday.”

“But wait,” said Hercules. “There’s more.”

“Hercules!” Hephaestus staggered through a gap in the undergrowth.

Iolaus gave a low whistle. “Wow. That was quicker than I thought. He must’ve been running.”

Hercules somehow managed not to sigh. “What is it now?”

“My hammer!”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Iolaus. “We’ve been looking for it all afternoon, remember?”

Hephaestus braced his hands on his knees and caught his breath. “Someone’s used it.”

Iolaus glanced at Hercules, who nodded carefully. “So it’s in a forge somewhere, making armor?” Hercules suggested.

Hephaestus gasped, wiped his brow, drew a few exhausted breaths, and then pointed at the graying horizon. “It’s on top of Mount Olympus,” he said between gasps.

“Well, at least we know where it is now,” said Iolaus.

Hephaestus looked uncommonly anxious to retrieve it. “We need to go there immediately.”

“Shoddy craftsmanship?” Hercules suggested.

Hephaestus shook his head. “It’s pulling the magma from the earth and turning Olympus into a volcano.”

Hercules met Iolaus’ eyes meaningfully and dropped his boot.

_____

Hades materialized on Mount Olympus a heartbeat after Ares. The air stank of blood, of char and of corpses. He shook his head. Who’d started the party without him?

Before him, an army of men fought valiantly--arrows singing through the air, spears hefted, and trumpeting horses stamping down the enemy.

Their enemy, however, was far more interesting. Decayed cadavers lurched forward, impervious to spears that poked through their ribcages, unheeding of the arrows that thwacked into their bones. Rotting weapons waved high, they descended on Ares’ army in a slow, lumbering, unstoppable attack.

And as Hades appeared, they all raised their weapons and wheezed.

His chafed loins stirred.

“Yes, yes,” he called to the sword-wielding corpses. “Carry on.” He materialized a high throne of twisted black metal and an understated puce-and-black canopy under which to watch the dead army, which would undoubtedly trounce the living one.

_____

Springing like a gazelle, Iolaus darted up the side of the mountain. He leapt in a high, graceful arc from one rock to the next, occasionally tumbling in midair, working his way higher, ever higher.

Behind him, Hercules labored up the mountainside with Hephaestus slung over his shoulder. Gods were way heavier than they looked.

“C’mon, Herc!” Iolaus called over his shoulder. Hercules noticed that somewhere along the way Iolaus had discovered a patch of wild berries, and was chewing them openmouthed as he encouraged Hercules onward and upward. “Only a few more vertical miles to go.”

“Great.”

“Hercules,” Hephaestus called, his head bouncing against the low of Hercules’ back. “Please. We have to hurry.”

Hercules bit his lower lip and vaulted over a small goat.

The air around him grew thick with oily, black smoke, and embers began raining from the sky like molten snowflakes. Still Hercules pressed on, leaping over widening cracks in the mountainside and trying not to think about how hot the soles of his boots were getting.

“I’m trying to hold the lava in,” Hephaestus said, “but without my hammer, I can’t force it to listen to me. Can’t you go any faster?”

Hercules considered flinging Hephaestus to the summit, but decided they’d be in serious trouble if the fire god suffered from post traumatic stress disorder and started having flashbacks of his most famous incident with Zeus. He took a deep breath and climbed faster.

Hercules was so intent on the need for speed that he didn’t notice Iolaus’ firm buttocks until he rammed face-first into it.

“No time for that now, buddy!” Iolaus exclaimed, whirling around to give Hercules a hand up. “Take a look at this! There’s a war going on right here!”

Hercules straightened and Hephaestus tumbled from his shoulders. “A war?” said Hercules. “On Olympus?” He stared out over the smoldering vista, and indeed, men were shouting and brandishing spears. “Where’s Zeus?” Hercules demanded. “Why doesn’t he put a stop to this?”

Hephaestus levered up to his elbows as embers rained on them all, leaving only him without little pinholes in his clothes. “I think he took the form of a marmoset to seduce some maiden he’s been eyeing.”

“Funny,” remarked Iolaus. “Those soldiers that’re on fire still keep coming. I’d like to learn that trick.”

“That’s no trick,” Hephaestus said, gaining his feet. “Those men are already dead.”

Hercules closed his eyes and strained to keep from sighing, since it would do him no good to choke on the smoke. “It just keeps getting better and better.”

“And don’t look now,” said Iolaus, “but there’s Autolycus.”

Then Hercules did sigh. Just a little. “See what I mean?”

_____

Hades materialized a glass of iced tea, complete with small umbrella, and sipped it pensively. A dead army. A very impressive dead army. He wondered who’d had the balls to call them forth. Thanatos? Hermes, perhaps? Charon on a day out?

A spume of lava flung itself high, backlighting the shambling troops, and then glittering down upon the small figure at their fore. Hades squinted, noting the flowing, golden hair cascading from beneath the death’s head helmet. He’d recognize that plump, curvy body anywhere; he shared a bed with it six months out of the year. He’d just never have imagined it quite like that.

“Bravo,” he whispered, baring his teeth in a tight grin.

Another army of mortals--live ones--stomped up to meet Persephone’s horde, but they screamed and scattered as the lava bore down on them, followed shortly by flaming zombie warriors.

Ares looked on from his great war chariot with Aphrodite, resplendent in barely-there, pink-chased silver armor, plastered to his side. Ares shook his fist and cursed the mortal army, while Aphrodite appeared to be attempting to shoo them back into combat.

A few brave warriors turned and sank their spears into flesh that split open like ripe fruit. But not many. That was the price of letting mortals have their free will.

Screams sounded over the grumblings of the mountain as the dead shambled ever closer, pinning the living between their rotting bodies and scorching plumes of lava. Hades couldn’t quite hear the snap of limbs being torn from their sockets over the general din, though he smiled to himself as he pretended he could.

But even Olympus seemed to pause and hold its breath as one great figure rose among the howling troops.

“This ends here,” the figure shouted. “Now.”

Hercules. Hades rolled his eyes. Leave it to his absurdly moral nephew to throw a wrench in the works.

Hercules spotted Persephone at the dead army’s fore and made his way toward her. Hades sent his iced tea away, stood, and allowed his chair and pavilion to evaporate. Because Persephone might show some backbone against a mortal army, but she was putty in Hercules’ hands.

“Scuse me, comin’ through.”

Hades nearly overbalanced as a man who smelled of Persephone’s perfume wearing a charred blond wig rushed by him. Hades stroked his chin and watched the fellow retreat. Interesting look, that.

While he was appreciating the wigged man’s rather fetching legs, another running figure brushed by. “Stop that man,” it gasped.

“Iolaus?”

“Hades???”

“Help me stop Autolycus,” Iolaus managed between great gulps of air. “He stole Hephaestus’ hammer and used it to make Olympus erupt!”

Hades glanced leisurely in Autolycus’ direction with no intention whatsoever of stopping him. “He doesn’t seem to have the hammer with him now.”

“Well, no. He doesn’t. But still--“

“What good will it do to stop him if he doesn’t have the hammer? Can you use him to plug up the volcano?”

“Uh...we could try.”

“Indeed.” Hades gave Autolycus a small mental shove to get him out of Iolaus’ way. His godly awareness brushed up against his Helm of Invisibility, and he sent that back to the Other Side for safekeeping.

He supposed he should be angry at that Autolycus fellow for stealing it. And for borrowing Persephone without even asking. If it weren’t for that wig....

Hades had always been a sucker for someone in unusual headwear.

“Instead of chasing Autolycus, you should be looking for someone who can actually do something about the lava.”

“Right. Um. Would that be you?”

Hades rolled his eyes. “Do I look like a volcano god?”

“Er, no. It’s just that...well, I thought that someone with your power....”

“Don’t try playing the power card. It won’t work with me.”

“Oh, all right. Look, just tell me how to stop this thing.”

An exhausted, limping figure loomed up beside Iolaus and Hades. “Iolaus....”

“Just a second,” Iolaus said, “we’re coming up with a plan.”

Hades glanced over at Hephaestus, then back to Iolaus. He pressed his lips together to keep from smiling.

“But, Iolaus....”

“I’m really sorry, Heph, but this is pretty time-sensitive. C’mon, Hades, think.”

Hades covered his mouth with his hand.

“If we want to stop the volcano, then we’ve got to get...?”

“IOLAUS!”

Iolaus gave a little jump and finally turned his attention to Hephaestus, who looked nearly as startled by his own outburst as Iolaus did. Hephaestus cleared his throat and reined in his tone. “Where is my hammer?”

“It’s...it’s....”

Hades lost track of whatever else Hercules’ everdying companion was blathering on about. His gaze had become lost in the undulating pattern of shiny scar tissue that meandered down Hephaestus’ cheek, trailing along his thick, muscular neck, then wending its way, gossamer-fine, over his broad, sweat-slicked shoulder.

_____

“Call off your zombies!” Hercules held Persephone firm by her knucklebone-studded gauntlet.

“But Hercules,” Persephone whined, “Aphrodite was putting moves on my man.”

“Your man? Your man is the one I traveled to the Other Side to rescue you from...only to have you tell me he was ‘sexy’ and you wanted to stay. Your man is the one Demeter starved half of Greece to keep you from marrying. Your man--“

“All right, Hercules. I get it.”

“Do you?” Hercules spun Persephone around to show her the slower footmen of Aphrodite’s army getting their brains sucked out by crisping corpses. “Do you?”

“Oh, all right.” Persephone lifted her plump arms to begin the gesture that would release her dead army. But then she seemed to reconsider. “I was winning. You saw that I was winning, didn’t you?”

“Persephone.”

Persephone sighed and waved a hearty, two-handed goodbye to her smoking troops. “I was winning,” she muttered as they faded to a mist that whirled away into the gray, lingering smoke. Which parted as Hades stepped through, clapping his leather-gloved hands together, Iolaus trailing behind him.

“You were, indeed, winning.”

Persephone’s lower lip trembled. “Hades?”

Hades drew himself to Persephone’s side, taking her soft, pale hand in his. “I must say,” he murmured, low and sensual. “I’m impressed.”

“Oh, Hades!” Persephone moved to fling her arms around Hades’ neck, but he stopped her, placing one gloved finger against her lower lip.

“But however impressed I may be, that doesn’t change the fact that you were unfaithful to me.”

Persephone gaped at Hades speechlessly.

“Perhaps you should visit your mother early this year.”

“Hadeeees...” Persephone whined.

“Great,” said Hercules under his breath. “There go the seasons.”

“Yes,” Hades said, stepping away from Persephone and clapping his palms together. “That’s it. You’ll go live with Demeter whilst I decide if I’m going to take you back.”

Persephone thrust out her lower lip. “You’ll miss me when I’m gone. You always do.”

“Yes, yes,” Hades said, waving her away dismissively. “I’m sure I will. Oh, and when your half-year is over, be a good girl and bring that Autolycus fellow back to the Other Side with you.”

Persephone looked genuinely puzzled. “Who’s Autolycus?”

“Don’t bother being coy,” Hades replied. “I’ve made up my mind and that’s that. Now on to more interesting things.” He turned and gazed over the roiling, gray landscape “Isn’t that Hephaestus over there...raising his hammer over his head with that one great, burly arm...while the other one just hangs there, kind of...withered...?”

Hercules hardly had time to wonder why Hades’ voice had gone all husky, as Hephaestus’ hammer, wielded with the strength of a god, fell.

And the world went black.

_____

Birdsong. The sweet scent of lilacs. Sunshine on closed eyelids. Hercules kept his eyes shut as long as he could, in case it was all just some cruel, cruel dream.

But then a cold nose pressed into his cheek, and he decided it was much too lifelike, even considering Morpheus’ formidable skills.

“You gonna sleep all day?” said Iolaus, his breath tickling Hercules’ cheek.

Hercules cracked open one eye to behold an intensely blue sky dotted with clouds that seemed like he could reach out and touch them. “Where are we?”

Iolaus pulled himself closer, sliding his hand inside Hercules’ vest. At least his hand wasn’t as cold as his nose. “I dunno. But wherever it is, there’s a pond full of fish and not another soul around for miles.”

Hercules listened very hard. If there was another soul around for miles, he couldn’t hear it. “And nothing’s on fire?”

“Not yet,” said Iolaus. “But there is a nice big catfish in there with our names on ‘im, and plenty of dry kindling.”

“Huh.” Hercules considered. Maybe he and Iolaus had actually paid their dues enough to earn a day or two to themselves. After all, they had saved an army from the clutches of undead soldiers and presumably gotten Hephaestus to stop Olympus from turning into another Vesuvius.

He let the tension in his shoulders ease. It felt good. He rolled toward Iolaus and allowed his hand to graze Iolaus’ thigh while Iolaus stifled a giggle. “I can’t believe it,” Hercules said. “We’re actually...alone. Together.”

“Well, stop talking about it and do me,” said Iolaus, wriggling out of his tattered vest. “You’re just inviting someone to crash our party if you keep on bringing it up.”

Hercules eased Iolaus onto his back. He lowered his lips to Iolaus’, barely brushing them together at first, and then, as no one interrupted, growing bolder, firmer. Iolaus’ tongue darted out and Hercules smiled at the way Iolaus never could take his time.

Once they were both breathless and Hercules’ trousers felt several sizes too small, Hercules broke the kiss and pushed up on his elbow, staring down into Iolaus’ eyes. “Maybe it was all just a dream,” Hercules said as he started unhitching his waistband. “A really, really weird dream.”

Iolaus bit down on his lower lip, unsuccessfully trying to hide his grin.

“What?” said Hercules. “How do you know it wasn’t?”

Iolaus pressed his eyes shut. “Because your hair is just...atrocious.”

Hercules sighed and ran his fingers over the top of his head. “I’ll give you something to laugh about,” he said, pressing his lips to Iolaus’ grinning mouth as his fingers found the most vulnerable spot on Iolaus’ ribs.

The end