Hades, Lord of the Underworld, lies facedown on the padded massage table. The massage room is swathed in black with silver, gold, and white accents, just for him and Persephone. The battery-operated CD player plays an opera. I don't know which one. If I had to guess, probably Perséphone by Stravinsky.
Hades looks like he's sculpted out of black marble. Living black marble. He lies with a sheet draped over him. Persephone is pure golden beauty, lying facedown with a dark sheet over half her body.
"Hades?" I say tentatively.
He grunts as a giant works the stiffness and tension from his muscles, whatever remains from the mineral soak he and Persephone just enjoyed. The smell of massage oil awakens my senses. Hades seems blissed-out.
"Hades," Persephone says sleepily. "Van is talking to you."
Hades grunts again and lifts his head. "What is it?"
"I need to ask you about a possibly deceased soul," I say. "Tina's mother, Jocelyn."
