Garden of Stars

By Jessica Noelle

“Hades, why was my mother even in New Orleans?” Persephone’s gentle voice tickled Hades’s ear as she threaded her arm through his.

Crowds upon crowds pulsed near them, swaying to jazz music. The sweet aroma of beignets swirled through the air, only adding to the nausea swelling in Hades’s stomach. His uneasiness grew, and anxiety tightened around his heart. Glittering Mardi Gras lights dimmed the night sky and obscured the stars.

Hades fought back his panic and pulled Persephone away from the floats’ trumpets and the raucous throng tossing beads and toward an alley that led to his real destination. A spark of excitement zinged through him as he anticipated her reaction; it was as if he had been shocked by one of his brother’s lightning bolts, but that thrill laced with nerves as the music crescendoed and the mass thronged the streets, drawing closer to Persephone and him. He drew a breath and forced himself to answer Persephone.

“Demeter said she was in one of the gardens working on creating a new grain. Something about owing a dryad a favor for helping her with Olympus’s harvest last month?”

“That does sound like Mother.” Persephone sighed, conjuring a flower with a flick of her free hand and tucking it behind her ear. “I still don’t get why we couldn’t bring Henri on this trip.”

Hades raised an eyebrow, knowing Persephone would be able to make it out even in the darkness. “You mean our son who is currently sending a message to his best friend? Our son who was quite insistent that he stay home and play with our three-headed dog?”

He didn’t voice the real reason they were in New Orleans—no reason to spoil the surprise.

She laughed and pulled him toward the music of a nearby float. Hades tensed, trying to move back to the shadows, but Persephone resisted. She snatched a beaded necklace from the air and placed it around his neck.

“Hades,” she chided, her voice calm and reassuring. “It’s okay.”

But it wasn’t.

The noise threatened to overwhelm him. People moved ever closer to him and Persephone, congealing around them like an invisible net. His breathing quickened.

Please, back to the shadows. It’s where I’ve always been. The dark is where I belong. The thought echoed in his head, and his hands trembled.

Persephone took his winter-cold fingers in her warm-as-spring hands and squeezed reassuringly, sensing his thoughts.

“I wish everyone could see your light the way I do, my love.” Persephone stood on tiptoes to brush a soft kiss on Hades’s cheek. Neither your father nor your past define you, dear.”

Hades gave a bark of nervous laughter and ran a hand through his hair, and the image of their son doing the same thing flashed through his mind. “I guess a couple centuries of being alone in the Underworld left me with a few bad habits.”

It was Persephone’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Even though that was a millennia ago?”

“Being swallowed as a newborn might not have helped.” Hades tried to keep his voice light while guiding Persephone away from the blaring French horns and toward their real destination.

“Oh, Hades.” Persephone’s voice was quiet, warm. “You never have to be alone—never have to go through any of that again.”

She leaned against him. As always, her presence reassured him that he was out of danger. That he was safe. He could step out of the dark and live with the same joy Persephone did. The joy that came every mortal spring as flowers bloomed, the joy he heard in his son’s laugh and saw in Persephone’s smile. He could hear her heartbeat as she leaned against his chest, the sound of it as familiar to him as his own, could feel the warmth radiating from her skin, could see the blossoms spring from the asphalt with every step she took, could smell their fragrance wafting through the air from the blooms she’d woven in her hair. He focused on those sensations and on Persephone herself while she deftly turned the conversation to other topics, another way she pulled him away from the worst parts of himself.

“Should we invite Mother to dinner next week?”

“If that’s what you want, we can.” Hades pressed a kiss on Persephone’s forehead.

“We can have pumpkin soup.” Roses bloomed from the ground beneath Persephone’s feet, responding to her joy.

Hades laughed, and the knot in his chest loosened. “That sounds wonderful.” He shifted to block her view of the regal arch that led into a garden filled with hyacinths, petunias, and daisies. “But I must confess, Persephone, I haven’t been entirely honest.”

“No?” Persephone tilted her head so she met his dark brown eyes with her vibrant green ones. “And what have you been hiding?”

“This,” Hades told her with a smile. He pulled her into the garden. The night sky twinkled over the blinding Mardi Gras’ lights, and the faint harmonies of the blues spiraled in the air.

“A replica of the Garden of Stars on Olympus,” Persephone breathed, taking in the star-dusted flowers. “But no stars can be seen with Mardi Gras lights?”

“Zeus and Demeter helped me,” Hades told Persephone. He didn’t say what she already knew—that they couldn’t visit the actual garden since the nymphs still feared him, that they couldn’t visit Olympus since he was an outcast there. “I-I know this garden is your favorite place on Olympus, and I wanted to make this evening magical for you. It’s the anniversary of when I first began to court you all those years ago.”

Persephone gasped, her eyes alight with joy and wonder as fireflies flicked around them. The remnants of Hades’s panic fled like cobwebs, replaced by his joy at Persephone’s reaction.

Hades offered his wife—how he loved getting to call her that—his hand.

Smiling, she took it, and they waltzed to the music of their own hearts, melded with the familiar polyrhythms of jazz.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jessica Noelle is a writer, dreamer, reader, and believer. She loves Jesus, playing with her dog, and spending time with her friends and family. She is a Marvel junkie and loves drinking large cups of hot tea. She believes that hope, faith, and a good story are some of the most powerful things in the world.

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