The Cult of Dionysus

Apollo

Being productive.

Ugh.

It's such a human concept. It implies you have limited time (LOL) and have to work hard to make something happen (double LOL). I mean, perhaps if you were laboring away for years writing an opera about the glories of Apollo, I could understand the appeal of being productive. But how can you get a sense of satisfaction and serenity from preparing food? That I do not understand.

Even at Camp Half-Blood I wasn't asked to make my own meals. True, the hot dogs were questionable, and I never found out what sort of bugs were in bug juice, but at least I'd been served by a cadre of beautiful nymphs.

Now I'm compelled to wash lettuce, dice tomatoes, and chop onions.

"Where does this food come from?" I ask, blinking tears from my eyes.

I'm no Demeter, but even I can tell this produce is fresh from the earth, probably because of the amount of dirt I have to wash off.

The thought of Demeter makes me think of Meg, which might cause me to weep even if I wasn't already afflicted by onion fumes.

Calypso dumps a basket of muddy carrots in front of me, and Calli does the same with avocados, grinning wildly, either at her avocado haul or my misery. Probably both.

"Emmie's got a garden on the roof." Calli says. "Greenhouses. Year-round growing."

"You should see the herbs—basil, thyme, rosemary. It's amazing." Calypso adds.

Emmie smiles. "Thank you, dears. You two definitely know your gardening."

I sigh. Now those three are bonding. Soon I will be stuck between Emmie and Calypso discussing kale-growing techniques, Leo and Josephine waxing poetic about carburetors, and Calli probably doing both. I can't win.

Speak of the daimon: Leo bursts through the door next to the pantry, holding aloft a wheel of cheese like a victor's laurel crown.

"BEHOLD THE CHEDDAR!" he announces. "ALL HAIL THE CHEESE CONQUERORS!"

Josephine, chuckling good-naturedly, lumbers in behind him with a metal pail. "The cows seemed to like Leo."

"Hey, abuelita," Leo says. "All da cows love Leo." He grins at me. "And these cows are red, man. Like...bright red."

That definitely makes me want to weep. Red cows are my favorite. For centuries I had a herd of sacred scarlet cattle before cow-collecting went out of fashion.

Josephine must see the miserable look on my face.

"We just use their milk," she says hastily. "We don't butcher them."

"I should hope not!" I cry. "Killing red cattle would be sacrilege!"

Josephine doesn't look properly terrified by the idea. "Yeah, but mostly it's because Emmie made me give up meat twenty years ago."

"It's much better for you," Emmie chides. "You're not immortal anymore, and you need to take care of yourself."

"But cheeseburgers," Jo mutters.

Leo plunks the cheese wheel in front of me. "Cut me a wedge of this, my good man. Chop-chop!"

I scowl at him. "Don't test me, Valdez. When I am a god again, I will make a constellation out of you. I will call it the Small Exploding Latino."

"I like it!" Calli pats my shoulder, causing my knife to jiggle. Leo beams at the idea.

Does no one fear the wrath of the gods anymore?