By the time Eros had gone for the day, Loki was emotionally exhausted enough to retire early and to sleep for a thousand years, but there was a call he needed to make first. Not wanting to get up from his couch, he waved a hand over the coffee table before him, and a cordless rotary dial phone appeared. Loki chuckled to himself, as this was his version of a mobile phone.

Gods could manage communication without phones, but phones were easier than a summoning circle, classier than a bowl of blood, and more private than both. One could choose not to answer a phone. Magickal communication, however, went right into one’s head, and an ignored call, rather than resulting in a voicemail, could result in nosebleed, headache, blurred-vision, dizziness, and other ailments best fit for a pharmaceutical commercial.

Loki dialed 4. The rotary wheel clicked as it unwound back to center and connected the lines.

The voice on the other end said, “We appreciate you choosing Grim Enterprises. This is Patrice. How may I direct your call?”

“Thanatos, please.”

“Who, sir?”

Loki grunted. The man had a million names, and liked to change them frequently. “Death, Grim, Reaper, Malak al-Mawt, your boss!”

“And who may I say is calling?” She sounded bored.

This was the sort of excessive corporate order that Loki couldn’t stand, and he let out a frustrated sigh. Maybe he should have called him the old-school way. “Loki. Just Loki.”

“One moment please…” There was smooth jazz holding music, then, “He’s out at the moment. I’ll take a message and have him call you back. Would you like to leave your name and number?”

“No…” Loki rubbed his forehead, knowing damn good and well the bastard just didn’t want to talk to him.

“Oh… Okay…,” said Death’s secretary, lifelessly. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

He disappeared off his couch, and materialized himself in front of Patrice’s desk.

She was still on the phone. “Hello? You still there?” she asked the silent phone.

“No.” Loki buttoned his blazer. “I’m not there. I’m here, and you can tell the prick I’m going to show myself in.”

In shock at his appearance she scrambled to page Death’s office, but Loki’s long legs were at the door before she connected. As he turned the stainless handle and stepped into Death’s office, he could hear the intercom buzz.

“Loki’s coming in, sir,” came Patrice’s voice from the speaker of Death’s phone.

Death looked at Loki, then at his phone in steaming rage.

“God damn it, Patrice! What are you even good for?” Death growled. He picked up the receiver and slammed it back down on the cradle.

Death’s office was white. The floors, the ceiling, and the walls were all glowing with radiant white light, and the god wore an all-white suit. Death was taller than even Loki. His hair was so blond, it too was nearly white, and his eyes were ice-cold. The left was green, the right blue, and they could burn you with their frigid intensity.

“Loki, please, come in and explain to me why you even bothered calling in the first place. Don’t tell me it was because you know that I’m a very busy man, and that you wouldn’t want to bother me if I was busy.” Death’s voice was always a low whispering hiss, like a winter wind.

“You’re always busy,” Loki retorted, sitting down in a white chair in front of the glass desk. “This is important.”

“Everything I do is important, which is why I must prioritize, which requires scheduling and delegation. What you think might be important, I have to work into my schedule of always-important matters, which is why I would have called you back at my earliest convenience.”

“And when would that be? A literal eternity from now, when everything is dead in the universe except you?” Loki crossed his ankle over his knee, “No. I don’t think so. I find it best to hound you mercilessly until you give in long enough to tell me to piss off.”

“Very well then. Piss off.”

“Can’t. This is important. This is about Cupid.” Then he corrected, “Eros.”

Death sat back down at his desk and made himself busy shuffling papers, “What about him?”

“He’s in.”

“In what?”

Loki’s head fell back, “Will you pay attention? You’re not as good at multitasking as you might think.”

“Well, why would you think I have any interest in a pissant like Cupid?”

Loki found himself offended by this, and readjusted uncomfortably. “Because he’s a Primordial.”

“And? We already knew that.” Death dialed Patrice’s intercom. Before she could say anything, he said, “Reschedule tomorrow’s appointment with Alec.”

“There won’t be an open date for another three months,” she said without concern.

“What a shame.” Death’s tone was flat, but he smiled and hung up. He looked back up at Loki, “What were you going on about?”

Loki’s index finger tapped against the arm of the chair. “Eros. Primordial. Pissed. Fates. Helps our side. Organizing my collection. Good?”

“Fine, fine.” Death waved a dismissive hand as he opened his laptop.

Irked to a precarious level, Loki stood and made for the door.

“Wait.” Death’s eyes snapped up from his screen. “What was it you just said?”

Loki spun on his heel to face Death. His lips were pressed tightly together to hold back profanities, and he inhaled sharply through his nose. “About… Eros?”

“No. Not just that.” Death’s brow was pulled together, then he snapped his fingers, “Your collection!”

Loki buried his feverish hands into his pockets. He tried to compress himself in every single way, but he was about to bust like a pierced pressurized canister. “This meeting had absolutely nothing to do with my collection.”

“Yes. It did. Eros is organizing that catastrophe! He should be given a medal.” And then, as an aside to himself, he said, “I’ll send him a fruit basket. Are you paying him? Doesn’t matter. Uh… good. I’ll stop by to see it soon. I’ve always wanted to buy this or that off of you, but I never wanted to step foot in that junkyard you call an office, and you never had a catalog. Is he making you a catalog? Because he should. It’s impossible to do business without a catalog.”

“Yes.” Loki blinked, “He is making a catalog and more importantly, he’s joining our free will campaign.”

Death gave him a patronizing look. “Why do you keep mentioning that? You’ve already mentioned it five times.”

“Making sure you heard me,” Loki explained.

“That’s why I’m sending him a fruit basket.”

Loki tutted, “Uh. No. No, you said you were sending him a fruit basket for organizing my collection.”

“Same thing. No one would organize that monstrosity unless there was something in it for them.”

Loki’s mouth opened to protest but couldn’t find words, and Death was already paging Patrice. “Send Eros a fruit basket for joining our cause and for generously donating his time to help the... less-fortunate.”

Loki’s jaw snapped shut.

“There. Anything else?”

Loki forced a smile. “No. This has been such a fruitful meeting.”

“Happy to help.” Death was already back to his paperwork, and the fuming Loki showed himself out.

***

Eros stepped out of his flat the next morning to find a fruit basket on his doorstep. The vibrant purples, greens, and reds contrasted against the neutral colors of the hall. He placed the basket on the black countertop, and examined it, and saw there was a bottle of champagne worth a thousand demonics nestled amid the figs and blackberries.

After deciding it was unlikely to be cursed, he reached out and took the card off the edge of the rim. He took in the rich texture of the cardstock and the eloquent gold foil design that said In appreciation on one side. On the other side it said, For joining the team and for helping those less fortunate - Grim ENT.

Getting a fruit basket from Death seemed like an omen, given that it was fruit from the garden that in one myth brought about Death’s very existence.

Eros wasn’t sure how true any of the myths were, given that no one could agree on any of the gods’ origins. In Greek myth, Death was the son of Eros’s sister, Nyx, and the twin brother to Hypnos. But this isn’t exactly true. Though Hypnos and Thanatos were twins, they were also once the same being.

Time, myth, and truth are fluid concepts. Eros’s memories of back then were tainted with the stories humans made of the lies gods often told. And Eros didn’t really care what the truth was.

Hypnos, Sleep, Dream, was a suspicious character, whom all the gods brushed off as an inconvenience. He was a drunk, a druggie, a Cheshire-Cat, and Eros’s oldest, occasional lover. Hypnos appeared at inopportune times to solicit riddled advice, offer backwards directions, and spout unwanted truths. The Dream King also looked identical to Death, the only difference being his eyes. Opposite of Death, Hypnos’s left eye was blue, and his right eye was green. He also wore a black, leather trench coat, as opposed to Death’s all-white suit.

But therein was another Death origin story. He was the ArchAngel Death, Azreal, Malak al-Mawt of the Celestial Kingdom.

Personally, Eros imagined Death was something Primordial, more so than even himself. Humans and other mortal creatures are not the only things that die in the universe, after all. Gods die too. Eros had decided Death’s existence wasn’t dependent on any of them. Death was there at the beginning, and Death would be there at the end.

The way Eros figured it, the very moment the Cosmos came into being, Death stalked after it because anything born must die, even existence itself.

Destruction is in the very essence of creation.

But after everything in creation is gone, only Death would remain.

It was a grim enterprise, indeed.

Eros clenched his jaw, straightened his shoulders, and did not eat of the fruit basket.

He strode out the door to head off to work. It had been so long since he had a purpose outside of a holiday that didn’t bear his name - Valentine’s Day. Having something greater to do outside of himself was empowering, was meaningful, and that was dangerous - to them.

He met Loki in a little town called Rose Noire just south of Old New Bedlam. The town was brick and tudor, and the cafe where they met sat opposite a cemetery gated by an elaborate metal arch. The gate read Black Rose across the top in metal script. Loki had called Eros earlier that morning and asked him to join in on a sales call before heading to the townhome.

He saw Loki sitting in the cafe’s outdoor seating area as he approached. The ice giant sat ankle over knee reading a newspaper, and he was chewing the corner of his scarred lower lip. Eros briefly pondered what it would be like to have your mouth sewn shut.

“Loki,” Eros said once he was within earshot.

Loki immediately released his lip. “Good morning. Have a seat. I already ordered for you. Coffee’s still warm. Have you eaten?”

“Uh… No.” Eros took off his coat and put it on the back of the chair before he sat. “I haven’t. But, I’d just as soon not eat at all. I received a fruit basket from Grim Enterprises, and it rather put me off.”

Loki snarled, “Don’t remind me.”

Eros raised his coffee cup. “Were you the less-fortunate the card was referring to?”

Loki groaned, and folded his newspaper up more times than was necessary. “Anyway, I told him briefly about you, and that you were organizing the collection. It was a short disaster of a conversation, which resulted in your fruit basket.”

Eros scoffed, “How impersonal.”

“Death isn’t personal,” Loki deadpanned.

Eros gave him a small smile for his joke, and that was all.

Loki continued, “He said when you’re… when we’re through organizing the collection, he’ll drop by to see it. He wants to buy bits and bobs off me... He wants a catalog.”

“A catalog?”

“One cannot do business without a catalog,” Loki said flippantly.

“I see. Fine… we can make a catalog, but in the business of fighting Fate, shouldn’t these various artifact collections be communal?”

Loki laughed. “We’re an army of islands.”

“That’s absurd.” Eros slammed down his coffee cup, “Shouldn’t this be obvious? You need to combine forces! This is the Fates we are talking about here!” He leaned into the table.

Then, he caught his anger and glanced around for the three gray women watching him. Even as he did it, he knew how ridiculous it was. They didn’t need to be present to see. They didn’t even have eyes.

“It is,” Loki agreed, “but that’s the way of it. We’re all fighting our own predetermined path. Really, the whole thing is absurd, but we do it anyway, for the dim chance of freedom.”

Eros looked into his milky coffee and quoted, “Therefore he gives Man hope. In reality it is the worst of all evils, because it prolongs the torments of Man.”

Loki made a dramatic face, “Nietzsche? You’re a Nihilist?”

“No,” Eros said pointedly, “but I was there when Zeus made Pandora’s jar and put Hope inside, and Nietzsche said it best. Zeus is a wanker.”

“No, I think you said it best just now, and that seems to be the case with most big gods, don’t you think? They’re all big wankers.”

Eros’s youthful face lit up in amusement for a brilliant second, and then it reflexively set like someone had closed the door on the sun. “When’s our appointment?” Desire smoothed out a wrinkle in the linen tablecloth.

Loki noted Eros’s recurring turnabouts, but chose not to comment, instead saying, “We can finish our coffee. There’s no rush. The Vampire King, Victor Devereaux, is a lenient man. He likes to take his time and would appreciate us doing the same.”

Eros went back to drinking his coffee.

“So, while we’re still on the subject of philosophy,” Loki began, “what do you think happened first, gods or man?”

“Gods. Obviously,” Eros answered. “Why would you even ask something like that?”

Loki grimaced.

“What? You can’t be serious!” Eros blurted. “You think man came first?”

“I think there’s no way to tell, really. Chicken-egg metaphor.”

“That’s ridiculous. I was there. I remember when Prometheus made his clay figurines, and when Hephaestus molded Pandora. Gods came first. ”

“If you’re going in Chronological order. Chronologic- Chronos, god of time, but we know there are other ways to look at time. Time can be rewritten. You, for instance, are no longer considered Primordial. Your chronological order has been rewritten.”

“Yes, but-”

“Magick can implant memories, not necessarily time itself. But, you could have been created yesterday, with your entire previous experience planted in your head to make you think it’s been aeons, when it hasn’t. You’d never be the wiser. Our relationship with these human beings- we’re reliant on them, on their souls, on their belief in us. Our existence is hinged on their belief. That is why Fate is so strong and why Death isn’t going anywhere. Did you know the humans made a movie about him where he was portrayed by Brad Pitt?”

“Really?” Eros hardly looked amused, his mind still reeling from Loki’s creation theory.

He made an affirmative noise and added, “In the movie he had an unhealthy obsession with peanut butter...”

“There’s a flaw to your argument,” Eros said, “among the many that it possesses. I’ve been documented in human mythology since well before the common era.”

Loki flailed his hands around, “When I said yesterday it was an exaggeration for illustration. But, the point still stands. Your memories of human creation could be false, implanted by human collective subconsciousness for their own mythological explanation.”

“Well, if they made us, who made them?”

“Evolution? Chicken. Egg. Cosmic Egg.”

“You’re ridiculous.” Eros deadpanned.

“Eh. Off to see the Vampire King?” Loki stood with a comic grin.

“Every word you say only illustrates my point. Your entire existence is ridiculous.” Eros sighed and drained his coffee, and they headed off towards the mansion down the road.