Chapter 3
Hermes
For the last two hours, Hermes had soaked in the bath surrounded by candles and the scent of lavender which he’d taken from Hecate’s garden when she wasn’t looking.
Having spent the entire day outside in the cold, battling the God of the Dead and his idiotic brother, Apollo, he had needed some time to unwind.
He stretched, naked, ready to dry in front of the fireplace and go to sleep.
He opened the bathroom door, letting thick clouds of steam into the adjoining room when he saw a dark figure and screamed.
“Oh, calm down, you silly scaredy cat!”
“Hecate?” he asked, squinting through the mist.
“Why are you naked?” she asked.
“Because I just left the bath!”
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.
“Fine,” he said again. His mouth watered as he rehearsed the words in his head. “I…prom…mise.”
Hecate raised a brow. “Want to try that again?”
Hermes sighed. “I prom…I prom…ise…I promise.”
Hecate lowered her head and narrowed her eyes. “You had better mean it, because if you don’t, you will ruin Christmas not only for the souls, but the entire world,” she said and then vanished.
Hermes stared at the spot where she’d been, quiet as he processed what she’d said.
“She is so dramatic,” he muttered to himself before pouring the contents of her bag on the floor, gleefully shifting through the pile of old, smelly shoes.
A few things happened at once, all rousing Hermes from his deep sleep.
First, he felt cold. He reached for his blanket but found it wasn’t near. Instead, his hand brushed several strangely shaped things. That was followed by a musty, sour odor that made his stomach turn. He tried to bury his face in the crook of his arm to escape the smell, but then he heard a sound.
It was an incessant thumping and squeaking.
He tried to cover his ears, growling in frustration, assuming Hades and Persephone were fucking next door.
“I don’t know if it’s safe to go at it that hard, Sephy!” he yelled.
It was then he heard a cynical, little laugh.
He opened his eyes, instantly remembering what he’d forgotten—to burn the shoes.
“Fuck!”
He sat up on the hard floor, heart pounding as he came face to face with several small, hairy gremlin-like creatures.
Three were bouncing on the bed, two were throwing his newly acquired Alitta platforms back and forth while balancing on the lampshades flanking his bed.
Another was swinging back and forth on the crystal chandelier above him.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
Hecate is going to kill me, he groaned, balls shriveling at the thought. She’d probably castrate him unsedated, as was her preference for punishing men.
He scrambled to his feet just as another sound drew his attention. It was a loud splash that came from the bathroom.
He raced into the adjoining room to find the bathtub and sink overflowing. The Kallikantzaroi had turned them into pools, using baubles from the mini tree Persephone had left in his room as flotation devices. They’d also torn the soles and laces out of a few shoes and constructed slides and swings.
“Fuck!” he shouted even louder.
Behind him, there was a loud crash. He whirled to find one of the lamps on the floor, shattered.
Hermes growled and summoned his staff, the caduceus. At the sight of the rod, twined with two snakes, the Kallikantzaroi screeched, clamoring over each other for the door.
At least they recognize when they should be scared, Hermes thought, grinning malevolently. In a golden blaze, he swung his staff in a wide circle, magic building, bursting from the top…
But nothing happened.
His brows slammed down as he shook the rod and tried again. The magic raised the hair on his arms, an electric charge that built and released, barreling toward the tiny creatures huddled against the wall…
And nothing.
“What the fuck,” Hermes snapped, exasperated. His staff was supposed to put people to sleep, but for some reason, it wasn’t working on the gremlins.
The Kallikantzaroi let out a peel of high-pitched laughter. Hermes ground his teeth and wielded his staff like a bat, swinging at the horrible creatures.
They let out a chorus of shrieks and bolted out his bedroom door which he had not realized was open. In the back of his mind, he wondered just how many of these fucking creatures were now roaming the halls of Hades’s palace, though he quickly pushed that thought away.
He could fix this.
Right?
Hermes chased the Kallikantzaroi down the marbled hallway, but slipped. His caduceus went flying as he landed hard on his back in a pool of…he paused to sniff the air…baby oil?
So they had left his room while he slept and used his stash.
Motherfuckers, he growled, sitting up quickly as the small hairy creatures skated away with ease.
He got to his feet and summoned his wings, flying down the corridor. He caught up with the gremlins as they rounded the corner, into the foyer of the palace, when he froze.
It was a mess.
The trees Persephone had worked tirelessly to decorate the day before had been knocked over. The garland was broken, and the beads, ornaments, and lights were scattered across the floor. Jagged pieces of glass made for a treacherous crossing.
Sephy would be devastated. Hermes’s heart deflated.
Then he heard the distinct sound of clattering silverware.
Anger renewed, he took off, soaring toward the dining room where he slammed into a strand of garland the Kallikantzaroi had stretched across the door.
It stole his breath, as he folded forward and then fell on his ass.
Between the momentum and the oil, he found himself sliding across the marble floor, over the broken baubles, until his back hit the wall.
“Ouch!” he hissed, face hot with anger as he rose to his feet.
This time, he teleported, but as soon as he appeared in the kitchen, something wet hit him in the face, blinding him. He swiped at his eyes and found that it was cream and custard.
They’d pied him.
His eyes narrowed on three of the Kallikantzaroi who stood on the kitchen island, laughing.
Hermes snapped, summoning his caduceus again.
The Kallikantzaroi split up, running in different directions, but Hermes managed to hit one, hurling the sharp-teethed creature into the upper cabinets of the kitchen.
He whirled toward another as it raced across the counter, sending plates of powdered cookies, cloche-covered cakes, and sweet breads to the floor, smacking the gremlin just as it reached the end of the island. It landed with a thump in the sink.
Something hit the back of his head. He turned, only to be pelted in the face. He stumbled back, catching the offending weapon in his hands, only to discover his favorite holiday treat.
He gasped. “Not the melomakarona!”
Across the kitchen, a group of Kallikantzaroi had gathered on the counter, uncovering dishes of sweet treats to use against him. Another squadron was on the floor, holding gleaming knives, forks, and spoons.
“Where did you all come from?”
A garbled sound hailed from one of the creatures who had decked himself out in armor made from aluminum lids. Hermes didn’t know what he was saying, but he could guess based on the exaggerated intonation and what followed.
“Attack!”
A wave of gremlins rushed him. Hermes widened his stance, preparing for the onslaught. He had fought gods, giants, and monsters—creatures ten times the size of these motherfuckers. He could take these tiny, hairy, sharp-teeth—
“Ouch!” he howled, as something stabbed him in the ass.
He whirled, moving to rub the spot, only to discover a knife still lodged in his actual butt cheek.
He twisted, staring in shock at the gleaming, black-handled blade. That was until he felt another sharp stab in his ankle.
“Motherfucker!” He roared, kicking and swiping at the Kallikantzaroi as they jabbed their utensils and lobbed cookies and pastries at him.
He tried to fight back, but there were so many, climbing his wings and robe, and they fucking bit.
“Someone…fucking…help…me!” Hermes cried, still struggling with the gremlins. As soon as he spoke the words, he regretted them. He would take the Kallikantzaroi gnawing at his leg for the rest of his life over the version of Hades that walked through the door.
He was angry—no, furious.
Hot.
But furious.
And naked.
Very naked.
Hermes’s stomach dropped when he felt Hades’s magic permeate the room. It was heavy and tasted metallic, like blood on the tongue.
The blood wasn’t Hades’s. It was Hecate, who appeared suddenly, commanding in a dark voice, “Lampedes!”
Suddenly, there was a bright flash of light and the Kallikantzaroi screamed.
The smell of singed hair and burned skin filled his nostrils and tightened his throat. He coughed, eyes watering. Then the light dimmed and he blinked, trying to clear his spotted vision, only to meet Hades and Hecate’s fierce gazes.
He offered an awkward laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.
“‘Tis the season?”
Hades growled and Hermes sensed it was the end.
He didn’t exactly hate the idea of dying by Hades’ hands, though he’d have preferred a choice in the method. He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting.
“What happened?”
Hermes knew that voice, and his stomach turned as he opened his eyes. It was the moment he’d been dreading since he saw the foyer.
Hades turned to reveal Persephone who had come into the kitchen behind him. She looked so small and bright beside her hulking, brooding husband, dressed in pink satin pajamas.
Her gaze swept the room and then Hermes saw it—her lip quivered.
Oh, no.
“I’ll fix it!” he said, desperate to keep her from crying, but it was too late. Tears streamed down her face. She swiped at them, but eventually gave in to the sobs.
Hades put his arm around her and glared back at him.
“I think you’ve done enough,” he said, before ushering Persephone from the room. “Come now, go back to bed. We’ll fix it all by morning.”
“It is morning,” she said miserably.
Hermes’s chest ached and his shoulders slumped forward with the weight of his guilt.
Hecate stood opposite him, arms crossed over her chest. They were of equal height, but he felt small beneath her gaze.
“Is that a knife in your ass?” she asked.
Hermes craned his neck, realizing he’d never pulled the blade out. He did so now, inhaling between his teeth. He tried to draw on his magic to heal the wound, but found he couldn’t.
His eyes widened. “Hecate—”
She’d taken his magic.
“You promised,” she hissed.
“I didn’t mean—I fell asleep!” he exclaimed, waving the bloody knife around.
“What you meant doesn’t matter. You have unleashed a plague upon the world.”
“That’s a little extreme, don’t you think? The Kallikantzaroi always enter the Upperworld.”
“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.”