Chapter 8 #2
“I’ll forgive the oversight,” he replied, trying to sound like he was equally amused, but he would never have requested spiked hot chocolate for his family.
He took the tray to where Ariadne, Acamus, and Medusa waited beneath a lighted tree and handed out the drinks.
“Where to now?” Dionysus asked.
“Should we walk through the garden and see the lights?” Ariadne asked.
Suddenly, his heart seemed to beat harder and slower all at once.
That was where he wanted to propose, somewhere deep in that maze of dreamy, glittering lights.
He wasn’t sure why he was having this reaction; it had been his plan from the start.
He guessed he thought they’d end the night there—on a high note.
He could suggest something else, but he’d rather honor her desire.
“Whatever you want,” he said, attempting to sound casual, but he’d started to sweat as the panic settled in.
Would she say yes? Or would he ruin their entire holiday with a single question?
He tried to remind himself that rejection was a reflection of her trauma, not her love and devotion, and that he would wait.
He would give her as long as she needed to make the decision.
Still, he hoped she said yes because one day, he desperately wanted to call her his wife.
Dionysus lingered behind as they started down the path, checking his pocket for the ring. It was something he’d done sporadically since he’d purchased it, a way to give himself some peace-of-mind.
Except this time, it wasn’t there.
That panicky feeling returned, but different now. It wasn’t born out of anticipation or excitement. This felt like losing control.
He checked his pocket again, though he knew it was futile. There was no chance he’d miss the box.
“Fuck,” he muttered.
“Di,” Ariadne called. His gaze snapped to hers. “Are you coming?”
He wanted to, with all his heart. She was so beautiful, eyes bright and cheeks flushed. He never thought they would be here, living in this moment, but she had made that possible. Words could not communicate the depth of his gratitude which is why he needed to find that ring.
“I have to make a call,” he said, holding up his phone. “Go ahead. I’ll catch up.”
Her smile faltered and guilt churned in his stomach.
He felt like he was disappointing her and Acamus, having promised an evening of family fun.
Part of him wanted to race forward and kiss her, reassure her he wasn’t running or abandoning them, but Ariadne nodded.
He watched as she turned, jogging to catch up with Medusa and Acamus before retracing his steps to the hot chocolate stand.
“Back again?” the man at the window asked, chuckling. He was jolly, like his greatest joy was standing in this little cabin selling cocoa. “I might have to cut you off.”
Dionysus offered an awkward laugh. “Actually, I was wondering if anyone had turned in a black box?”
He hesitated to say it was a ring. Knowing his luck, the shop owner would tell everyone within a twenty-mile radius what he was looking for, and Ariadne would find out he was planning to propose before he had the chance to ask.
“No, no black boxes,” said the man. “What did it look like again?”
“It was just black,” Dionysus said, not sure how else to describe a black box in any more detail than that. “And small.”
“No, I’ve not seen nothing like that,” he said. “I can ask Suzanne when she’s back from break.”
Dionysus started to thank him and leave when he said, “Hold on, before you go, let me write this down.”
“What could you possibly need to—” he started to say but stopped himself.
He means well, he heard Ariadne’s voice in his head.
He took a breath.
“It is a black box,” Dionysus said, the words slipping between gritted teeth.
“A…black…box,” the man repeated as he wrote with slow, deliberate strokes. “About how big, did you say?”
Dionysus made a square with his fingers and watched as the man attempted to copy the size onto his pad of paper.
“Is it jewelry?” The man looked up, meeting Dionysus’s gaze.
“Can you just contact me if you find it?” Dionysus said, offering a phone number he could text.
With that, he departed for the ice rink, frustration compounded by how long he’d been delayed.
In that time, anyone could have found the ring and pocketed it, a free and stunning Christmas gift for a mortal who was not Ariadne.
He rushed to the rink but saw nothing on the ice or by the benches where he’d put on his skates. The attendant at the counter was far less interested than the cocoa man, giving a flat “no” when Dionysus inquired about anyone turning in a black box.
“Can you let me know if someone does turn one in?”
“No,” she said.
Dionysus’s eyes narrowed. The urge to call on his magic surged. He was a second away from summoning his thyrsus.
“What did you say?” he asked, voice dark with the promise of revenge.
Her eyes widened, then she explained, “The park has an office for lost items. It’s by the entrance.”
“Next time, lead with that,” Dionysus snapped, storming off to the office, though when he arrived, he was disappointed to find no one had turned in his missing ring.
He grew anxious. A lot of time had passed and Ariadne, Acamus, and Medusa were likely already halfway through the garden.
Still, he wanted to find this ring—needed to find it.
He decided he’d leave the park and make the short walk back to the theater, thinking he may have dropped the box during the whole Janet debacle, but it wasn’t there either.
“Fuck,” he snapped, pausing in front of the darkened stage, pinching the bridge of his nose as he considered his next move.
He would have to buy another ring and that meant a longer wait. What if he couldn’t find the same ring? He’d have to settle for another, and what if it didn’t feel as perfect as the one he’d lost?
He needed to call Naia, but as he stepped out of the theater, he halted, surprised to see Hades across the street. His hands were deep in the pockets of his coat, and his head was down. He did not look particularly pleased, though that was not unusual.
“Hades?” Dionysus called, watching as the God of Death paused, head snapping in his direction.
That was how Dionysus knew Hades was distracted. He’d been able to surprise him.
“What are you doing here?” they asked at the same time.
“You first,” they said in unison again.
“I—” they each began and paused, their lips pressed flat, frustration tightening their jaws.
Hades scraped the ground with his boot. “I came above to hunt for screws.”
Dionysus tilted his head. “Screws?”
“Persephone has insisted we should use our hands to assemble everything for the babies. I am doing my best to honor her wishes, but last night I noticed I was missing screws for the crib.”
“And you decided to come to the hardware store?”
“Yes. Is there something funny about that, God of Madness?” Hades’s voice was gruff, a reflection of his frustration.
“No, I admire the commitment.” He paused and then added, “Would Persephone know if you just…manifested the screws?”
“I prefer to do as my wife has requested,” he said. “She is carrying my—”
“If you say offspring—”
“Offspring.”
Dionysus cringed while Hades eyes glittered with amusement. “If you really cared for Persephone, you wouldn’t use that word for your children.”
Hades eyes narrowed. “What are you doing?”
“Well, this is my theater,” Dionysus said, gesturing behind him.
Hades stared, able to see that he was lying. Dionysus sighed, scrubbing his face with his hand. He had yet to tell anyone other than Naia about his plans to propose.
“I lost something,” he said. “I was retracing my steps.”
“Did you lose something or was it taken?”
“It was in my pocket,” Dionysus said, defensive. “I think would know if someone stole it.”
“You were at the council meeting,” Hades said. “You heard Hermes let the Kallikantzaroi into the Upperworld.”
Suddenly, Dionysus realized Hades wasn’t trying to insult his instincts.
“Motherfucker,” he muttered.
“They have wasted no time wreaking havoc,” said Hades, grimacing. “And the night isn’t over yet.”
“I thought they only stole children,” Dionysus said.
“Apparently not,” he said. “Though perhaps we should be grateful they have only taken trinkets.”
That was true. He would rather one minor inconvenience over the terror of losing Acamus. Still, he wanted his fucking ring back.
“Does Hecate know if they keep the things they steal?” Dionysus asked.
Hades stared at the god. “You think they have a horde of some kind?”
“Why else are they stealing things?”
“They are mischief spirits. It is in their nature.” Hades paused and then added, “Little bastards.”
Just then, they heard a metallic thump followed by the strained mewl of a cat.
Dionysus and Hades exchanged a look before Dionysus crept along the sidewalk and peered down the nearest alleyway. From where he stood, he could see two pairs of glowing eyes. One set was green, the other red.
Dionysus’s brows lowered as he realized what he was witnessing. A Kallikantzaros riding a cat as though it were a horse. The gremlin itself looked as though it had been rummaging through the trash and was decked out in Christmas scraps, wearing tinsel garland like a scarf.
“What the fuck,” Dionysus muttered. Then several things seemed to happen at once. Hades manifested in the alleyway and snatched the strange duo. The cat and gremlin screeched so loud, Dionysus thought his ears were bleeding.
“Ouch! Motherfucker!” Hades bellowed and dropped the cat who bolted down the alleyway with the Kallikantzaros.
Dionysus attempted to block the creatures from exiting, but they slipped between his legs and darted into the night.
He whirled and followed.
“You know, you could have just snatched the Kallikantzaros not the fucking cat,” said Dionysus as Hades caught up with him, boots pounding the crisp pavement as they went.