"I prefer to see it as working within my skillset. What about you?" she asked.
"I work at my uncle's shop. I make the potions."
"Ah, hence needing my help with one. I assume that means you're a witch." She took another sip of wine and set the glass down. She didn't let go of it and stroked the stem of the glass with her fingers in a way that made me think of how they'd run over my body.
"I am."
"That must be convenient."
"It is when I want to reach something down from a high shelf," I joked.
Hel laughed. "A joy indeed." She finished her wine and set the empty glass down. She reached into her bag and pulled out a card. "I don't say this lightly, because I already told you my rules about making things personal after one night, but you should make an appointment, and we can talk about your potion. But be warned, I don't start work until at least two in the afternoon."
I reached for the card, my fingers brushing against hers as I took it. I looked up and met her gaze, unsure what to make of what I was seeing there. "After two it is."
"Good. It was nice to see you again, Clara."
The way she said my name sent a pleasant shiver through me, but she didn't wait for me to respond and sashayed into the crowd in a way that would make anyone want to watch her, and me more than most.
It was going to be hard to be in any room with her and not want more, but I knew better than to break rules that someone like Hel set. It wouldn't be worth the broken heart.
Chapter 9
CLARA
The sun was shining and it was a beautiful day, though that did nothing to help with the nerves about my upcoming meeting with a certain goddess. I wanted to hear what she might have to say about my potion, but I also hadn't been alone in a room with her since our night together, and seeing her at the gallery had only left me with the memories of it playing through my head unlike any other hook-up ever had. As much as I wanted to just forget, it seemed like I couldn't.
Which was a problem when Hel had made it clear that there was nothing more than one night between us. I had to respect that.
When I'd looked up directions to her mortuary, I'd noticed a park nearby, and had decided to come early so that I knew I'd be on time, but also so that I could eat a sandwich while looking at nature. There really was nothing like it for refreshing the soul.
The leaves drifted in the light breeze, and I spotted a couple of squirrels running about. There was something nice and idyllic about it. If I worked around here, I'd be coming for lunch every day.
I found a bench under one of the trees and took a seat, leaning back and admiring everything around me. Some bees buzzed along the flowerbed opposite, going about their little buzzing lives. There were people around too. A woman with a couple of kids racing around her with far more energy than they had the right to, a man on the phone, and a somewhat familiar woman with a small grey puppy bouncing at her heels.
It took me a moment to put together what I was seeing, but as soon as I realised it was Hel, I got to my feet and made my way over. Maybe it was a bad idea when she'd made it clear that she didn't want anything personal between us, but it felt weird to watch her without letting her know that I was here.
I cleared my throat when I was close enough to get her attention and she looked up in surprise.
"Clara."
"Good afternoon."
"I wasn't expecting you for another half an hour."
A loud shrill bark came from the puppy beside her as he bounced up and down to get at the treat pouch in her hand.
"Oh, shh," she said to him.
"So, the goddess of death has a puppy," I said. It was a surprising revelation, but there was no doubt that's what the tiny creature by her feet was.
"He's a hellhound," she responded.
"A hellhound puppy."
She sighed and scratched the definitely-a-puppy behind his ears. "He's a hellhound. He respawns every fifteen years or so. You just happen to be catching him in his puppy-like phase. Don't let the demanding whines fool you, he's hundreds of years old and will growl if he thinks you're unworthy of his attention."
"Sounds like his bark is worse than his bite," I joked. "A bit like someone else I know."
