When he was finished, he stood back and admired his work.
Persephone would be proud.
“Wine?” Circe asked, having crossed the room to a cabinet crowded with bottles of varying colors and sizes.
Hermes narrowed his eyes, suspicious.
“You won’t turn into a pig,” she said. “I promise.”
“Then yes,” he said. “Don’t bother with a cup. I’ll take the bottle.”
He sat on one of the fur-covered lounges. He was exhausted and his body hurt, but he was proud of himself.
Circe approached and handed him the uncorked wine. He sniffed it before he took a large drink, appreciating the burn as it went down. He could even feel it in his nose.
“So, this is what it’s like?” Circe asked as she sat to his left, gaze traveling around her festive home. “Your holidays?”
“Yeah,” he said. “More or less.”
He wasn’t going to go into how it was different because then he’d have to acknowledge what really mattered. It wasn’t all the decorations or the food, the Christmas specials or even the lights. It was the time he spent with his friends.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, and he could tell she meant it.
“It is,” he agreed, handing her the wine bottle. “Thanks for not turning me into a pig.”
“Tomorrow is another day,” she said.
Hermes felt the blood drain from his face, but Circe laughed. Slowly, he joined her, but they soon fell silent again.
“I hope I haven’t ruined Christmas,” he said, then sucked air between his teeth as he took the bottle back from Circe. The blisters on his fingers throbbed painfully.
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah,” he said, shaking his hand as he took another drink. “It’s what I deserve.”
“You mean for ruining Christmas?”
Hermes nodded, staring into the fire.
“I wish I hadn’t,” he said. “I ruined everyone’s hard work for a pair of shoes, but nothing is as bad as not seeing my friends. I don’t know if Persephone has had the babies, if Hades has spiraled over becoming a father. If Hecate gave them the little winged sandals I got for the twins.”
“You do know babies don’t come out of the womb walking?”
“Of course I do. The sandals aren’t for walking,” said Hermes. “They’re for flying.”
“Someone should tell him,” Circe said.
Hermes looked at her, confused. She spoke like she was talking to someone, but they were the only ones in the room, save for her zoo.
“Tell me what?” he asked.
“Babies can’t fly fresh out of the womb either,” said a familiar voice. “Even divine ones.”
Then Hecate appeared in the middle of Circe’s home. Her cats didn’t even react to her presence, they just continued to slumber. Hermes straightened.
“Are you here to take me home?” he asked, heart rising.
The Goddess of Witchcraft tapped her jaw, considering. “I’m not entirely sure. What do you think, Circe? Has the God of Mischief learned his lesson?”
