💘 Mistress of Mystery, Magic & Moon
6LS13: Eros attempts to win himself a most formidable ally to ensure his victory: Hekate.
Previously on 6 LITTLE SEEDS:
Eros’ heart raced like his father’s snorting stallions down a mountainside with no reins, because he had lied to his mother.
He knew how to get into the Underworld. But getting past the King of the Dead’s alarms, past his armor, past his guard dog and harpies and Furies and more, first to even get near his prey, much less get an arrow of Fated Love lodged into the heart of that big grouchy, paranoid fiend, and then to get back to the Upper Realms in one piece?
He was going to need more help.
A lot more.
~From: Liar, Liar, In a Mire
—Start at the beginning
—Mature Content Warnings for this series
Also. Nobody calls Persephone by her true name. They call her KORE, “the Maiden,” and it’s pronounced like “ko-ray” or “kora” not like “core of the planet.” KLYMENOS is one of Haides’ gazillion epitaphs. It means “illustrious” (or depending on who’s grumbling it, “notorious.”)
EROS, GOD OF LOVE, MASTER MATCHMAKER, FRUSTRATED BALL OF SCHEMES
⛅️💘⛅️
Blood ran down each chin of her three bewitching faces. Her triple countenance stood back-to-back-to-back in a circle before the stone shrine. She closed all six eyes. Simultaneously, her three veiled heads tipped skyward. Basking in the dark-blanketed night under a barely crescented moon, she let out a chorus of enraptured hums at the offering he had left: the raw meat of a black lamb, smothered in honey and beetles. He had hoped that such a succulent treat would entice her to visit this crossroads momument.
It had worked. The moment the moon peeked over the trees, Hekate had appeared and removed the masks that shrouded her faces—maidenly, womanly, elderly—before indulging in the sacrifice.
Each of her mouths claimed one word to savor.
“Such…”
“A…”
“Delicacy.”
A devious grin crawled across Eros' tiny, cherub mouth. He zipped out from his hiding spot in the yew grove behind the shrine, then burst into adolescent vigor with a blinding explosion of his full wingspan. His golden-feathered gleam illuminated the wealthy cache that had been left for the Divine Sorceress by her many devotees hoping for safe passage—on these roads, and in the paths of their precarious mortal lives. Charms, incense, other rotting carcasses, gemstones, trinkets, bones, flowers all littered the altar.
Eros braced one big toe against the opposite ankle as he cast an appreciative eye over her forms. “Ah, my thrice-blessed beauty. I swear on my wings, you should be bathed in blood at every moment.”
Hekate still hadn’t opened any of her eyes. No doubt she had seen him coming the moment he began winging his way here. Her maiden form was, after all, prescient. The pack of black dogs that milled around her feet paid him no mind either, just licked blood from the ground. “You know you can’t sneak up on me,” her crone form snickered.
“You know I must always try.”
But each of her noses pointed toward one of the three roads that conjoined at this crossroads, just as each of her minds pointed in the direction of the past, the future, and the present moment. “Only that mischievous rascal Haides ever manages it,” her matronly form said, “but he cheats with his Helmet of Invisibility.”
At the utterance of that name, Eros shuddered, both delighted and unnerved. So few were bold enough to speak the Lord of the Underworld’s name with such ease, much less affection, which was the reason he had chosen her. Although she was not as timeless as Eros’ primordial essence, she was ancient, a Titaness of great privilege and esteem, so he lowered himself to his feet and lowered his wings in a deep bow. “Precisely the matter I wish to discuss with you, Mistress of Magic and Mystery, my Enchanted One, Darling of the Darkest Night.”
Hekate’s forms moved in triple synchronicity as she wiped the blood from her chins and sucked every drop from her fingers. Her middle-aged form said, “Keep the honey on that golden tongue, young Eros.”
Her crone form finished, “You know I am susceptible.” The deep seams in her face wrinkled with a sly grin that made his heart skip a beat and warmed his ichor.
He shifted his wings closed behind him to provide a glowing backdrop for his robust physique. “I do know, my luscious Spellweaver. Why do you think I ply you with such rich libations?”
Her maidenly form giggled and twirled a curl that had come loose from her silvery coiffure as she admired the Love God’s nakedness. Alas, admiring was all she would ever do, for Hekate was one of the Cosmos’ most steadfast virgins. A triply agonizing travesty for she was forever beautiful, frolicsome, beguiling, no matter the age of her countenance.
Often she hid her faces behind three identical golden masks and wore a spell that obscured any identifying marks between her visages. But when she removed the masks, her forms became distinctive by the length and condition of their pale yellow chitons, the maturity etched into their flesh, and the height at which they stood. Her womanly form was tallest, followed by the juvenile. The crone was stooped and patchy-haired, yet the most playful of them all—and somehow the most alluring, in spite of the missing teeth. Hekate hadn’t truly lost them any more than she had lost hair. Old age was merely her preferred visage for her Form of Past Remembering.
Such a fascinating sample of enticement. The God of Love surrendered to it any chance he could get, thrilled to be spellbound by such a unique being.
Her matronly head swiveled toward him, ever the voice of reason in their dealings. “And to what do I owe such rapt attentions from the Cherub of Love?”
"You didn't glance into the future to find out?" he said.
"You know I prefer listening to a supplicant's interpretations from their own lips."
His eyes shot open. “Oh, I'm a supplicant, am I?"
All six of her eyelids tightened. All three mouths challenged, "Are you not?"
His head tipped. "I suppose I am," he replied, for she also enjoyed watching someone try to lie—especially to themselves. Since he had desperate need of pleasing her this night, he mustered up every iota of reverent solemnity he possessed when he said, “Great Mistress of Crossings, I am on a delicate mission of which I fear only your six deft hands can ensure success.”
She smirked from three mouths as her maiden form sing-songed, “Flatterer.”
“Nay, Wise One. Fact. My mark is a most formidable and elusive prey. Only with your help may his heart be pierced—and healed.”
All of Hekate’s heads perked in intrigue. “Healed?” the matron said. “Well, you know I am even more susceptible to one in need of healing than I am to flattery.”
“Precisely why I’ve come to you.”
“Who is this poor wretch in need of my ministration?” the crone asked.
Eros pulled out the arrows he had chosen for the mission. He knelt to present them to her youngest form, palms up, head down. “I beseech you, Lady of Mysteries, peer into the future and tell me what you see.”
While Hekate’s maidenly Form of Future Seeing stood before him, the other two returned to their back-to-back circle. They shut their eyes and bowed their heads. Her youthful form stared skyward and stretched out her hands. The moment her fingertips alighted upon the arrow shafts, her midnight blue eyes swirled with clouds and then went black. Stars wheeled in the depths of them.
She gasped.
In an instant, her three forms converged into one. As she stared Eros down, the pack of hounds came to heel, ready to give chase at her command. She had donned her hunting outfit of short chiton, saffron cloak, and boots. Her visage shifted from youth through old age and back again like ripples on a river. She spoke with a triple-chorded voice, deep as earth, smooth as water, expansive as sky. “I See. I Remember. I Know what to do.”
The God of Love bowed again. “I knew you would.”
Hekate’s grin went wild, full of delight and hunger. “At last. He is ready. It is done.”
Eros’ heart fluttered to hear the confirmation of his words. It is done. If only I can secure her assistance with this one sticky, tricky piece. As Mistress of Crossings and guardian of ghosts, Hekate was one of only two beings in the Cosmos who had Olympian sanction to come and go from the Underworld at will. (Not counting Grandpapa Zeus. His word was Olympian sanction.)
Eros longed to soar jubilant loops in the air, but he rose to his feet and waited in quivering silence while the vision finished claiming her.
When the stars finally faded from her eyes, Hekate blinked rapidly as though awakening from a dream. Her conjoined countenance began its gradual shift from youth through old age once more. “So.” She folded her arms before her and narrowed her eyes in amusement. “The all-knowing, all-powerful, all-scheming God of Love is stymied.”
Eros bowed his head. “Yes, Lady,” he grumbled, unaccustomed to the squirming sensation in his guts and spine. It itched beneath his wing carriage. It niggled at the base of his skull. He knew what it was: ineptitude. The frustration born of his inability to devise a plan that didn’t involve his immortal flesh rent into three Kerberos-chomped pieces, sizzling at the bottom of the Pyriphlegethon. He had learned long ago that trying to hide such things behind bravado did not go over well with Hekate. “It’s the exit strategy," he admitted. "And…well…more so…”
“Penetration,” she purred, far too tickled for his liking.
He jerked his head aside, piqued. “Were I in my primordial splendor, I could accomplish this with ease.”
“But you are not.”
He glowered. “I am not.”
“Such are the limitations of the flesh, and yours is ever so delectable. What a lovely snack you would make for darling Kerbi. I do so love to watch him dine.”
“It’s not just him,” Eros snapped. “It’s the whole bloodless Underworld. A god can’t take a leak in the Lethe in that place without everybody and everything knowing about it—I mean, if gods ever took leaks.”
Hekate chuckled. “And even if the King of Shades did not eject you at your first fluttering across his threshold—”
“Or boot me into Tartaros just to watch me writhe.”
Her head dipped in concurrence. “Upon discovering that he is your target, he very well might. I’m sure your gilded tongue, of any Olympian’s, could woo the Tormentor into an amicable state. He might host you for an evening’s entertainment, give you a tour of the sights. If you pleased him greatly, perhaps he might even let you leave. But from the millisecond he is alerted to your presence in his realm, he will remain armored until he ushers you out the gate with his masterful grin affixed to his most formal face. He will never willfully allow you to pierce his heart. I have foreseen it.”
Eros crossed his arms and hunched. “I don’t need prescience to know this. Oh-no, oh-woe, can’t have anything slipping out of his death-grip on control. And that armor he wears was fashioned by the Divine Smith himself. I have no weapons against that. This is why I came straight to you, Great Lady.”
“You always did possess more wisdom than both your parents combined.”
Eros shrugged with a conceding gesture. “That’s true.”
Hekate’s gaze took on the faraway luster of imagining. The sound she made was more exhilaration than exhalation. Then she giggled. “Oh, what a brilliant quest. Our dread growly king…all grown and married.”
Eros’ wings brightened, along with his smile. “Then you’ll assist me?”
She reached out, palms up. “For this venture? I offer you all the power of my six hands.”
Eros didn’t hesitate to grasp ahold.
Another pair of hands extended from her torso to cover his. A third set reached up to cradle his face. “As you said, I am the only one who can accomplish this. But it will require deft machination and—”
"Careful contriving," he finished, thrilled to repeat his mother's words.
As Hekate traced his jawline, she wore a conniving grin to rival any that had ever graced the Temple of Love. “We will need Hermes as well."
"Oh? Mmph. Very well.” Not surprising that an undertaking of this magnitude would require both Mistress and Master of Crossings. Hermes was the only other deity who had been granted unlimited travel sanction, so he could transport the souls of the deceased into the Lands of the Dead, as well as correspondence between On High and Below. "Then should I tell Grandpapa what we're up to? I mean, Hermes is his personal messenger."
"Do not utter a word to anyone in the Upper Realms, especially Zeus On High."
“You don't think Hermes will blabber to him?"
Since Hekate had shifted into her crone form, her laughter shot out in a crackly squawk of hilarity. "Hermes may wear the flawless face. But he is far more Prince of Robbers and Tricksters than he is the Thunderer’s running boy." Her silver lashes batted around those mystical midnight orbs as she melted into her matronly visage. "Trust me. He'll do anything for me."
Eros nodded with a racing heart. I understand the notion. Oh, how stunning she was when in pursuit of a desire. Such a vision of singular focus with an irresistible smile and ever-changing allure. The God of Love stroked her pinky fingers with his thumbs, gifting her with a surge of pleasure, gratitude, worship. She hummed and drank it in the way she had the blood. Then she drew him closer to place the softest kiss upon his nose.
His wings popped open, a nearly involuntary response which made both his cheeks and aura blush. Heart racing, mind hoping, he kept his feathers’ radiance at a sultry glow that matched his voice. “Such a difficult quest needs to be led by a huntress with the keenest vision and the craftiest solutions.”
“Flatterer,” she said, a murmur this time.
His eyelids grew heavy. Finding himself in a gradual fall toward her, he whispered, “Yes.” The sound was raw with his desire. His whole being vibrated with it. His rod pulsed with need.
She halted him with a forefinger to the sternum and one look, playfully stern, yet demanding that he respect it.
He groaned. His head rocked forward into a bow and he grinned, chastened, obedient, even more aroused from her denial. After all these centuries, he still wasn't fully accustomed to the way bodily lust could string him up and play him like a lyre. Such delicious torment. Which was why he allowed himself full abandon to play with it in her presence—because she was safe. She would never tell him to put his jewels where his jaw was, so he fed upon the delirium of his own desire until his luminescence lit up the countryside all around the shrine.
Another of her fingers came up under his chin to lift his head until their eyes locked once more. When she smirked, her expression radiated hunger, but not for him. “The Underworld looks forward to working with you, little cherub. The Host of Many A Ghost will never see this coming.”
“Of course he won’t, my honeyed lamb. He doesn’t possess your gift of foresight or my omniscience.” He punctuated with a double-flex of his pecs.
She chortled. "Ah, yes, the body-bound primordial who is so all-knowing that he had to ask a lowly chthonic lurker how to solve his problems."
Eros narrowed his eyes and mashed his lips together with a growl. "Being body-bound presents certain...restrictive issues. But I knew exactly where to go for the solution, didn’t I?"
Hekate split back into her triple visage and raised all her hands, palms up. Her eyes twinkled like six devious stars in the night sky.
"That..."
"You..."
"Did."
Up Next: Our intrepid matchmaking team draws back and lets fly:
🌚 Haides Rising; Haides Falling
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