Chapter 10 #2
“Olympians After Dark,” he repeated. “It’s a spinoff of Titans After Dark and that was a spinoff of Primordials After Dark. They’re TV shows.”
Circe just stared.
“It’s like a play,” he deadpanned.
“Why did you not just say that?”
“I’m not used to having to speak like it’s the eighth century.”
Circe glared. “These…video plays—”
“They’re called television series.”
“These television series are about the gods?”
“Some of them,” he said. “There are TV shows about everything.”
Circe was quiet, considering.
“Am I…in these TV shows?” Her voice was low, eyes downcast as she focused intently on her task.
Suddenly he realized why she’d asked. It wasn’t conceit or worry over how she was portrayed. She wanted to know if the world had forgotten about her.
“Well, yeah,” he said. “You’re a lot of people’s favorite character.”
“Tell me more about these…video play—”
“Just call them shows,” Hermes interrupted before diving into a recap of his favorite episodes, with a particular focus on Circe’s representation.
By the time they finished the garland, Hermes’s thumb and forefinger were blistered. He moved on to hanging the pinecones and dried oranges and figs, filling the tree until it was bursting with decorations.
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?”
“I am not so certain he can learn lessons,” said Circe. “But he is apologetic.”
“I can learn lessons,” Hermes argued. “I learned how to dig a million holes with my hands, I chopped down a tree, I made garland! Those are lessons!”
“Those are skills, Hermes,” said Hecate.
“It’s called a synonym, Hecate!”
“Only if you squint, Hermes.”
“I am squinting!”
The goddess pressed her lips together to keep from smirking. “Lucky for you, I overheard your monologue or I would probably leave you here for another week.”
“First, it’s rude to eavesdrop. Second, please take me home with you. I miss my friends, and I don’t want to miss the arrival of the twins. Plus, I need a manicure.”
He lifted his hands, wiggling them at Hecate.
“Perhaps I can help,” said Circe, summoning her wand and waving it at Hermes’s hands. They were instantly clean, perfectly filed, and polished.
Hermes made a sound in the back of his throat, mouth agape. “I thought you lost that!”
Circe shrugged. “I lied.”
“You saucy wench,” Hermes replied. “Were the Kallikantzaroi even here?”
“No. The cats got a little feisty,” she said. “It ended up being the perfect ploy for what Hecate needed.”
Hermes looked from one goddess to the other. “I think I’ve been outdone. I will have to relinquish my title as God of Mischief.”
“I am certain you will find a way to live up to your name, Hermes,” said Circe. “I give it about an hour.”
Before Hermes could offer an indignant response, Hecate spoke.
“Bring the jaws, Hermes,” she said and vanished.
“I’m still mortal!” he said, surging to his feet, feeling a hard kick to his ass. Before he could hit the floor, his wings unfurled and he found himself hovering a few inches above the ground.
A laugh bubbled in his throat, and he soared upright, pumping his fist in the air.
“Yes! I’m back, baby!” he cried. “Keep ’em in, Sephy, cause I’m coming!”