Eros sighed, reaching over to squeeze his mum’s arm. “I’d much rather be here than there. Don’t you remember how dull Mount Olympus was when we left? I’d have given my bow and arrow to escape,” he said.
“I want to avoid Mount Olympus for as long as I live,” Aphrodite snapped. “But living on earth amongst mortals used to be fun. I could be myself, and everyone adored me for it.”
“Aphrodite has a point,” Apollo said. “Don’t get me wrong. I love making music, whether one person listens to it or one million. But an audience helps, you know?”
“I thought you did have an audience?” I asked. It seemed to me that Apollo was always DJing in clubs or playing at parties.
Apollo shook his head. “It’s nothing like the crowds I could command in the old days,” he said. “I’ve enchanted hundreds of thousands of people with one note. I’ve charmed audiences in Roman auditoriums, Viennese opera houses, and New Orleans jazz clubs. With one instrument, I could set up on any street corner, and hundreds would flock to see me in a matter of minutes, just by following the sound of my voice on the wind.”
Wow. I knew so little about Apollo’s past. I wondered if the rest of my family had such a cool history too.
“Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Apollo,” Athena said. “You can still make music without applauding, adoring fans.”
For the first time that evening, Apollo stopped smiling. “It’s more than not having a decent-sized audience. You know very well that I can’t make music like I used to. If I unleash the full extent of my skill around mortals, it will bring global attention and the Council would be on my back. You know Cranus is looking for any excuse he can get to take us down.”
“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Aphrodite said.
“I can’t perform to more than one hundred people, otherwise it risks exposure. Honestly, Helen, you’ve never heard me truly play. If the world saw my talents, I would have every human in the palm of my hand.”
Apollo looked so down in the dumps, it was hard for me not to feel sorry for him. But as someone with chronic stage fright, being upset about not performing in front of millions wasn’t something I could relate to.
“We’ve had this conversation before, my son,” Dad said. “You can practise all you like in Mount Olympus, a place where you can legally use your powers. But on earth, we must be more careful.”
Dad gestured to the fridge door, where he’d printed out a copy of the rules and stuck them on with magnets. Another reason why I can’t invite my friends over without a thorough tidying.
He cleared his throat. Aphrodite muttered “here we go” under her breath.
“Rule One: gods must not reveal their immortal identity for any reason.”
That made sense to me. Who would believe them anyway?
Dad continued. “Rule Two: gods must not use their powers to interfere with the fate of mortals for any reason. We must not grant mortals beauty, love, wealth, long life and/or happiness. We must not agitate wars, create natural disasters, and take sides in matters of international diplomacy…”
“Yes, Father, I know,” said Aphrodite. “We must keep our powers under wraps so we’re allowed to leave that toy town Mount Olympus. A terrible bargain, if you ask me.”
“Need I remind you, Aphrodite, that the rules are twofold? They prevent mortals from discovering our existence, and keep them safe from harm.”
“Ever since these rules got put in place, I constantly have to keep my talent dimmed,” Apollo said, pouting.
“So the rules weren’t always in place?” I asked.
Dad shook his head. “Sadly, Helen, the rules were established because they became necessary,” Dad said, looking at Aphrodite. “The Council at Mount Olympus felt we were intervening too often in human affairs.”
Aphrodite shrugged. “Honestly, it was just one little war! We all know what mortals are like with wars. They always blow over, whether we push them along or not,” she said. “And I, for one, was sick to death of that clothing ration. It was impossible to find stockings! Everyone was pleased when that world war finally came to an end.”
Dad pushed his spectacles up, brushing past his greying temples. “That’s not the point, Aphrodite. Humans must make their own mistakes, and there is little we can do to stop them.”
“Even if we watch them slowly destroy themselves and the planet?” asked Eros. “I’d love to help with more than litter-picking by the canal every other Sunday.”
Dad nodded. “It’s out of our hands. But there’s plenty we can do without resorting to our powers and exposing our immortal identity. Athena never takes on high-profile cases, for example. Aphrodite has turned down modelling contracts but her career as a make-up artist is thriving. And Apollo’s music must never reach a large audience. We all make sacrifices.”
Looking at the sullen faces around the table, it seemed like no one was thrilled with these decisions.
“And I suppose having dozens of half-mortal infants over the centuries doesn’t count, hmm?” Aphrodite said.
I rolled my eyes. I didn’t appreciate the thinly veiled reference to Dad’s (many) relationships with mortals. It made me uncomfortable to think about all the half-siblings I had that I’ll never meet.
Eros reached across the table to hold my hand. “And we’re so glad you’re here. Helen is my favourite child of yours by far.”
I smiled weakly. I appreciated Eros’s kind words (no one in this family has my back like him) but I still felt like an outcast. My family had these incredible gifts and talents. Gifts that made the world a better, more interesting place. They’ve lived for centuries and travelled to every continent. I’ve never even been on a plane.
I mumbled something about having school in the morning and excused myself for bed.
“Lights out by ten p.m., please,” Athena said. “It’s vital that your brain gets a full night’s sleep if you’re to perform at your best for school.” Ugh. Why are the gods in my family either indifferent to me or way into how I spend every waking hour? Maybe it was best if Athena didn’t live here. It would be like having a round-the-clock private tutor.
As I was leaving, Dad said, “Helen, don’t forget that I’m out on Tuesday night. It’s my department’s Christmas party.”
“Well, don’t expect me to babysit,” said Aphrodite. “I might have a date.”
“I’m not five. I can take care of myself for one evening,” I said. Besides, Aphrodite would be a rubbish babysitter. She’d have to think of someone other than herself for once. Not possible.
I woke up to a quiet house on Wednesday morning. Usually Dad is around before his lectures, making coffee, nagging, that sort of thing. But he wasn’t reminding me that I had to leave in four minutes while I brushed my teeth. Where was he?
Then I remembered. Last night was his work Christmas party! Maybe he didn’t even come home. He must have had a good night, then. Still, it wasn’t like him and I wondered where he was.
I told Daphne about it at morning break.
“He probably met someone in a bar, got too drunk to drive and went home with her,” she said.