“No,” said Hecate. “Because I have managed to stop them for hundreds of years by warding the Underworld…until you.”
Hermes was quiet as those words sunk in.
“Okay, well,” he said, searching for a solution. “Can’t we just send your lampedes after them?”
“You think my few lampedes can hunt hundreds of Kallikantzaroi above and below?”
“I don’t know! I am just trying to find solutions!”
Hecate glared and he knew what she was thinking. If you’d listened, we wouldn’t
“I am going to see to Persephone,” she said, her voice shaking, still furious. Hermes got the feeling she wasn’t going to calm down anytime soon. “While I am gone, you will clean this place up and you will do so the mortal way—without magic.”
“Isn’t that counterintuitive? I could clean faster with it which would be better for Persephone.”
“It is too late to worry over Persephone,” said Hecate. “The damage is done and your punishment begins now.”
The goddess vanished. Hermes looked at the bloody knife which he still clutched in his hand. “You know this would all be easier if MY ASS WASN’T FUCKING BLEEDING.”
A second later he felt something akin to a kick to his left butt cheek and found himself face-down on the floor.
He groaned as he rolled onto his back, nose aching, discovering, to his relief, that Hecate had healed him. Just to be sure, he wiggled against the hard marble and felt no pain.
Relieved, he sat up and a host of cleaning products appeared around him. The last of which fell into his lap—a pair of pink rubber gloves. He picked one up between his thumb and forefinger, scrunching his nose.
“But I hate latex.”
Chapter 4
Dionysus
Dionysus stared at the small tree in his living room until the colors blurred together, his mind occupied with thoughts of Ariadne, Acamus, and the weight of the engagement ring in his pocket.
He had picked it out a few days ago after visiting a jeweler with Naia.
Maenad, he had once called her and the other female followers of his cult, but he avoided that word now. It was too impersonal to describe his feelings toward the women who had cared for him during and after the curse of Hera’s madness.
They were his friends, and they’d died horrific deaths in the tunnels beneath his club.
All of them but Naia.
She is practical, his oldest friend said. She doesn’t want pomp and circumstance. Don’t overthink this.
But he was overthinking.
Ariadne might not require a ring, but she deserved one and he wanted to choose the best.
In the moment, he’d felt confident in his decision. He had chosen what Naia called a classic solitaire. He wanted this ring to represent the depth of his love, his endless devotion…now it seemed too small and simple to communicate those feelings.
Something tugged his shirt, pulling him from his thoughts.
He looked down to find Ariadne’s nephew, Acamus, staring up at him with wide, brown eyes.
“Uncle,” he whispered. “Hungry.”
He and Ariadne had been teaching Acamus to use his quiet voice, especially in the morning before everyone was awake.
He grinned at the toddler and lifted him into his arms. “You’re hungry? Well, what are you hungry for? We’ve got eggs.”
