Page 16 of Song of Memories

“Don’t worry about it.” Pan waved it off. Everything in him was shouting to tell Eurydice to leave Orpheus behind and don’t look back, but he knew she was confused and overwhelmed by the reunion. She didn’t need another opinion telling her what to do with her relationships. Eurydice was a strong woman; she’d figure it out.

She doesn’t know all her options, part of Pan’s heart chimed in. She doesn’t know how you feel about her. Pan throttled the notion and watched as Eurydice exhaled in relief at Pan’s response, clearly pleased he wasn’t judging her or Orpheus. Externally, at least.

“I should get going.” Eurydice pointed towards the door, throwing her small bag over her shoulder. “I’ll see you later, all right?”

“You always know where to find me.” Pan winked, leaning against the wall and snapping his fingers, causing the trellis to vanish. “Let me know where you want it, and it’ll reappear there.”

“What would I do without you?” Eurydice giggled happily, hugging Pan tightly. She released him before he was able to return the gesture, turning on her heel and running out of the house without looking back. Pan forced himself to exit through the back door, unable to listen to Orpheus bark any more commands at Eurydice. He disappeared through the trees, praying the sweet smell of Eurydice’s hair wouldn’t ever leave his senses.

9

Pan sought out Persephone again, and they continued drinking, drowning Pan’s sorrows in a never-ending amphora of wine. Pan appreciated many things about Persephone but her willingness to abandon the rest of her daily schedule for his pity party was one of his favorites.

By the time the soft, early rays of the sun were peeking through the high windows, Pan and Persephone were slumped over a pile of cushions, empty goblets scattered on the ground around them. Several nymphs had drifted in and out over the course of the night, which was typical to expect any time Pan was drinking, picking up their own goblets and delivering snacks to the now drunken duo.

Persephone slowly pushed herself up to a sitting position, pushing some of her mussed hair off her forehead. She narrowed her eyes as she blinked against the sunrise.

“Holy shit,” Persephone hissed, “why is it so bright? This is the fucking Underworld.”

“I don’t k-know.” Pan hiccuped, rolling over onto his back and kicking his legs out. “You’re the one who is in charge here.”

“I’m a figurehead.”

“Bullshit,” Pan scoffed, pressing his hands to his forehead and rubbing small circles around his temples. “I thought wine in the Underworld didn’t come with a hangover.” Pan looked at Persephone with an accusatory glance, but she rolled her eyes.

“That’s something Hecate does to the wine.”

“Remind me again why we didn’t invite her?”

“I think we did, a couple hours ago.” Persephone lay back down and snapped her fingers, turning the amphora of wine into water and downing several cups in rapid succession. Pan’s melancholy slowly trickled through his veins, mixing with the throbbing ache of the hangover dancing between his ears.

Persephone and Pan sat in silence, trying to finish off as much water as they could in a meager attempt to rid themselves of their headaches.

“Hecate,” Persephone shouted towards the ceiling. Pan immediately grimaced and covered his ears with his hands, groaning at the sudden noise.

“What the hell?” Pan snapped, and Persephone shrugged.

“Do you want help with your hangover or not?” Persephone raised an eyebrow, setting down her cup and crossing her arms over her chest. Pan opened his mouth to respond, but before he could get a word out, a dark red cloud appeared in the center of the great room. It started to swirl around in concentric circles, the crimson magic sparkling in the air, picking up speed until it became thick and opaque. There was a sudden burst, and Hecate stepped out of the pillar of smoke.

It was impossible to not look upon Hecate and be a little bit afraid. Pan had always assumed that was part of her charm. The goddess of witchcraft was a permanent resident of the Underworld, and while she often did her own thing, only Persephone was able to summon her just by yelling out Hecate’s name into the ether.

May the gods bless if a man ever tried to get Hecate’s attention that way. Pan shuddered at the thought.

Hecate started laughing as she took in the scene in front of her, grabbing the hem of her purple chiton as she stepped over several empty plates and cups.

“I do think this is the first time I’ve ever seen Pan, of all people, hungover.” Hecate conjured a mortar and pestle out of thin air and began pounding an unidentifiable mix of herbs while standing over the hungover deities.

“Excuse y-you,” Pan hiccuped, pushing himself up to a sitting position. “I’ve been hungover before. It simply doesn’t happen very often when you’re a god of the wild. Only Dionysus himself is supernaturally protected against hangovers.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Hecate grinned, leaning down and picking up two empty goblets off the floor. “Persephone, whatever did you do to this poor man?”

“Oh, don’t blame me,” Persephone scoffed, standing to her full height and wiping at a stain on her skirts. “And he only looks like a man right now.”

“I didn’t think you’d want hoof marks on your pretty floors,” Pan deadpanned.

“Hades is the neat freak, not me. It’s not like we can’t conjure it away.”

Hecate was shaking her head as she filled up two cups with the mystery mixture, looking around at the piles of cushions and dishes all over the great room.

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