She raised a judgmental brow. “Usually people get dressed or at least wear a robe.”
“What do you know about people, Hecate? Your idea of a good time is standing in the middle of the road at night.”
“It is a good time, depending on who comes along.”
Hermes lowered his brows. “Is that a sex joke?”
“Maybe,” she said with an amused curve of her lips.
He was about to demand details, but the goddess bent and opened a large velvet bag, unleashing a horrifying smell.
Hermes gagged and pinched his nose.
“What the fuck is that?”
“Shoes,” she said, nonchalant.
“Why?” Hermes sputtered.
“I am warding the palace against the Kallikantzaroi,” she said, throwing a pair of worn sneakers into the fireplace.
Hermes took a breath he instantly regretted, inhaling what he could only equate with rotting cabbage and maybe weird cheese.
“Hecate, you are probably the oldest witch in the entire world. You must have other ways to ward off the Kallikantzaroi.”
“Hades has forbidden garlic in the castle,” she said. “I’m afraid I have few options left. Besides, the more barriers and traps, the better. The Kallikantzaroi might look harmless, but they are wicked little?—”
Hermes did not hear the rest of Hecate’s sentence because she had just pulled out a pair of deep red lambskin boots.
He shrieked.
“Are those vintage Alitta platforms from Aphrodite’s Fall 2000 AT collection?”
Hecate paused, a boot in each hand. “I don’t know.”
“Gimme,” Hermes said, snatching them from the goddess. “Where did you find these?”
“I have been collecting old shoes for an entire year, Hermes, I couldn’t possibly tell you.”
“Old? These are vintage, Hecate,” Hermes said. “What else is in there?”
He took a step toward the bag, but Hecate pulled it away. “A second ago you couldn’t stand the smell.”
“I can handle anything for fashion.”
The Goddess of Witchcraft stared.
“It is approaching midnight and yours is not the only room I must ward against the Kallikantzaroi,” said Hecate. “If I let you look in this bag, you must promise to burn what you don’t take.”
“I will,” he said.
“I need you to promise, Hermes.”
“Fine,” he snapped, but there was silence.
Hecate waited.
And waited.
