Chapter Eleven
Ares laughed more that afternoon than he ever had. Marty, in his role as bakery tutor, alternated between a bossy teacher role, and then the next minute he was cackling at Ares’ efforts as if the whole world was laughing along with him.
While Ares could and did cook quite often for himself, especially when he was living on the Earth realm, he found doing it with somebody else in the kitchen was a lot more fun than he’d imagined. He had never baked anything before – he hadn’t seen the point – but Marty apparently loved baking. He also had a very definite way of doing things.
“You can't leave lumps in the icing sugar,” he said firmly when Ares was about to put their freshly made icing onto the now-cooled cake. “You have to cream it until it’s all the same consistency.”
Keeping his grin at the officious tone to himself, Ares beat the icing a little bit more before Marty covered the cake with it. It was the same when it came to the decoration part of the process. Ares carefully took out each walnut and went to imprint each piece onto the top of the cake, planning to make a uniform pattern.
Marty shook his head. “You’re doing good, babe, but where's the originality in that?” He took the packet from Ares and shook out a handful of the walnut bits. “If you hold them above the cake like this and then just sprinkle, look at all the amazing unique designs that the walnut pieces make in the icing. That's what makes the cake unique, because every time I do this on a cake, the pattern comes out differently. Can't you see it?”
Ares had to agree it looked a little eclectic. But he pointed to the pieces of walnut that hadn't made it to the cake. “What do we do with these? Just sweep them up and throw them in the trash?”
“Goodness, no. We don't waste anything in this place.”
Marty’s fingers darted out, quickly picking them all up. Scooping them all in his palm, he chucked them into his mouth. “See? No waste. That's another perk that I love when I’m cooking something. Hmm, now, what else can we have with cake?”
“Coffee?” Ares suggested. He thought that was the most logical thing.
But Marty was shaking his head again. “No, no. There are rules. We need to have something savory before we dive into the sweet stuff. That's the way it goes.”
Ares hadn't heard of that before, but he wasn’t going to object. Marty was so cute, taking charge of the kitchen. “I could click us up something. Anything you like, I can just snap my fingers, and it would be here.”
“That’s very sweet, but no, that's defeating the point,” Marty said. “In the time it takes for us to make sandwiches, the cake is tempting us. We’re anticipating it, so that when we finish our savory food, we’ll doubly appreciate the sweet stuff. Can’t you see how that makes perfect sense?”
Again, Ares had absolutely no idea what Marty was talking about, but he had to admit that the way Marty smiled, chuckled, giggled, and the lightning-fast way he moved around the kitchen was really, really entrancing in more ways than one. “Could I zap some sandwiches?” he suggested, because that cake did look really tasty and so did Marty.
But there was the Marty headshake again. “Part of the process is to go through each step so that you know what's in your meal. You don’t want any bugs or anything getting in between the bread slices.”
Leaning on the counter, Ares chuckled. “I can assure you I know everything that goes into my food when I zap things up to eat. In fact, I’d go so far as to guarantee absolutely not one bug’s toe lands on my sandwiches. How would they do that if the food is made with magic?”
Tilting his head, Marty was clearly considering what he’d said. It was an unusual feeling, being heard, but Ares liked it. “You’re probably right, but it's fun making your own sandwiches, don't you think? Like when you think of zapping up a sandwich, do you imagine big thick sandwiches or tiny little skinny ones? Do you imagine them rough cut, or do you conjure them up with slices of bread that are all exactly the same size? A sandwich is more than two slices of bread and a filling. It’s a statement you make to address your hunger needs.”
Is this guy for real? But Marty was completely serious, and as Ares really wanted a slice of that…cake…he made the sandwiches under Marty’s watchful eye. Apparently, butter needed to go right up to the edges of the bread slice, otherwise, crusts can end up dry and boring. Ares found out as well that Aioli helped increase the flavor of the butter if it was spread right over it. Ares admitted he’d never done that before.
“See, you’re learning to enjoy new tastes because you’re making the sandwiches yourself. How can you try anything different when you use your magical powers to create your food? You can only create the food you see in your head. You’ve never had butter and Aioli until now because you never thought of it. Shaved roast beef and some crispy lettuce is going to taste amazing with that combination.”
Ares could probably have debated that logic, but Marty seemed so thrilled that he was showing Ares new things, that he wasn’t going to argue. “Did you want me to wave up a coffee?” He wasn’t sure how Marty could come up with a unique combination for coffee, but anything was possible.
Marty surprised him this time by agreeing to the zap. “I tried making coffee this morning, but it had a strange taste. I’m not sure how to use that machine yet, but I’ll learn.”
Sitting around the table enjoying a simple meal of sandwiches with the promise of cake to come was the best meal Ares had ever had. As they ate, Marty chatted about all sorts of inconsequential things. It was like his brain zipped and zapped from one topic to another, which Ares found fascinating.
He was also conscious of the fact that he was going to have to explain to his little raccoon why he hadn't claimed him…yet. He knew that for shifters, that was a big deal. There was a part of him that thought he needed someone to slap him around the head. Why did I think I could just set him up in a house and then never see him again? Ares knew from spending a mere hour in his mate’s company that it was definitely not enough.
“Do you know anything about me?” Ares tried to keep his tone casual, as if it was no big deal. “You know, anything about me as Ares, the God of War and Courage in the Greek Pantheon?”
“Gosh, you’ve lived such a long time,” Marty said. “Didn't gods appear before people? That’s so mind-blowing. You've seen everything that people have gotten up to over the years. Although I think that would be quite difficult too, because how on Earth could you remember everything? I think my brain would explode with all that information.”
“Most gods don't bother with things happening on Earth much anymore. We’re under a non-intervention rule. We can’t change anything for anyone in life anymore – except mates,” Ares added quickly. “So, gods went off and forged lives of their own.”
“I’m glad.” Marty nodded. “Gods probably get lonely the same as everyone else. They deserve lives and families and fun times.”
I really want to believe that. “The issue, and something that I’m worried about with regard to us, is that there were a lot of stories written about the gods, and most of them weren't true. Certain ancient scholars wanted to create order among the gods people worshipped, but it’s not like they interviewed anyone before publishing their stories.”
“Oh wow, wouldn’t that be funny.” Marty tapped the table and did an enticing jiggle. “Just imagine someone shoving a microphone in your face and saying, ‘Excuse me, Mr. Ares, but where were you when life was created?’ I mean, what could you say?”
“There’s a reason people don’t know about our true existence,” Ares agreed. “Some things are meant to be a mystery.” I’m going to have to tell him. “The thing is, a lot of these stories talked about siblings getting married and a lot of relationships between gods, assigning them personalities when they really didn’t know us at all.” Ares looked down at his plate, toying with the last of his crusts. “The stories written about me are not very complimentary.”
“You do seem really worried about that. My raccoon is telling me so.” Marty laughed. “I really don't think that stories written by someone else, especially if they're not remotely true, would impact the way I thought about you. Why would you think that? Don't you treat people the way they treat you?”
Ares had to stop and think about that for a moment. “I have a feeling that, yes, I probably do, but the issue with that is that most people don't treat me very well at all, so therefore…”
“Ooh, you're one of those grumpy bastards then.” Marty burst out laughing all over again. “Tell me that’s true.”
“It’s probably true.” Ares tried to explain. “The problem with the Pantheons, the group of the gods, is that they're like a dysfunctional family.”
“Goodness, you don't want to get me started on dysfunctional families,” Marty said. And then he quickly stopped himself and added, “Sorry. Go on. You're explaining about your family.”
“Actually, I think I’d rather hear about yours.” Ares tried to think how to put it. “My parents had, have always had a very volatile relationship. They are not married, obviously. However, my parents are considered the Father and Mother of the Greek Pantheon. Zeus impregnated my mother, who may or may not have been Hera. But Hera was Zeus's wife, or she was known as Zeus's wife, again, with the fictional stuff, but Hera is the Mother of the Greek Gods.
“Anyway, Hera has also had children without Zeus, and Zeus has many other children, but then I think because Hera hated Zeus, I was always hated by Hera. By the same token, I was also hated by Zeus, which may or may not have had anything to do with Hera. To be honest, I can't think why that happened. I don't remember any specific incident, but it might have been because of Athena, although, again, I’m not sure. It's just that…”
Marty cut him off, reaching over and patting his hand. “You don't have to explain any of that stuff to me. I have seen people hating another person simply because they've got a hair out of place,” he said softly. “It really doesn't matter why people feel the way they do – that’s on them. What’s important is how that makes you feel.”
“Yes, well, you see, that was part of the problem,” Ares admitted. He actually found Marty really easy to talk to, perhaps because Marty didn't appear to have any preconceived notions about the way he was supposed to be.
Ares thought about what Hermes had said, about how he really hadn't been worshipped and therefore, very few people had misconceptions about him or any perceptions at all. Emboldened by that idea, he continued, “The problem is that the issues between Zeus and Hera caused a lot of problems throughout the Pantheon.
“If Zeus was on one person's side, then Hera hated them. If Hera liked somebody, Zeus hated them. It was very petty, it was because of that, though, that when I saw you in the garden helping yourself to some vegetables which I now realized was for food that you really needed, I knew you were my mate because you carry a light with you...”
When he saw Marty's look of confusion, he added, “All gods recognize their mates when they see them, almost immediately, because that person carries their own personal light show – a light show that only that specific god can see. Night or dark room, day or in a brightly lit room, it doesn’t matter. That special person is lit up for the god to find. I saw you in your raccoon form the garden, surrounded by that light, and knew you were my mate.”
“Wow, my own light show,” Marty said, giggling his cute heart out. “I can’t imagine what that must’ve looked like. And my raccoon was being so stealthy as well, totally not realizing he was lit up like a disco ball. I was terrified when I saw your camera lights come on, but you already knew I was there.”
“I did turn those camera lights off the second night, but yes, you could still be seen.”
“Oh no. Don’t say things like that. My raccoon is super proud of his sneaking skills.” But Marty was still chuckling. “As far as my raccoon and I are concerned, the lights didn’t come on because I was moving lightning fast across the garden.”
“Hmm. While you were naked. I did notice.” It was Ares’ turn to chuckle, although he sobered up fast because he knew he still had so much more to say. “The thing is, most people in the Pantheon hate me, and some have had good reason.”
He swallowed the lump when he thought about Aphrodite. “Others not necessarily so much. For many, it's just a habit or their way of showing an allegiance or whatever else. But I've gone through a few horrific things through my time because of that hate, although I will say nowadays most of the gods just ignore me.”
Pushing his plate aside, Ares picked up his coffee mug, staring into the dark brown liquid. “I didn’t want to consider a world where my mate might hate me, too. I doubt I could handle that.”
“Sugar snaps and corn cobs. Oh, my goodness,” Marty said. “Me, too.”
“What the fuck? The gods hate you, too? Why?”
“Not the gods, well, I don’t think they do. I’m sure gods don’t know me at all. But people. I really, really, really wanted to find my mate, but then what if that mate rejects me the same way everybody else has done? I mean, you talk about dysfunctional families. You've seen nothing unless you've lived in a family of raccoons where you've got twelve siblings and they're all freaking fighting and carrying on, and you're made to be the scapegoat just because you think about things a bit differently. Like maybe I wanted to be kind one time or maybe I wanted to share food instead of grabbing it all to myself and everything else, but my gods, I was hated so badly.”
Ares felt his heart ache at the passion in his mate’s words. But Marty hadn’t finished.
“It was worse when I was driven out of my family home, and I had to make my way in the world. I couldn’t find a boss who would understand me. They had rules that they thought I knew when they hadn’t even told me what they were. And then, this one time I tried to rent a room…”
Marty shook his head. “That was awful, so I ended up sleeping outside. And in the end, it was easier to live by myself in some private little place and not interact with anybody at all because it hurts right here.” Marty thumped his chest. “I know how you feel because it hurts when you're shunned, you're pushed away, and you never know why.”
Ares covered his mouth with his hand. “Hades’s Garden. That’s what I did to you when I stuck you in this house and left you. I am so sorry. Will you ever forgive me? I’m truly sorry. I didn’t know.”
“You didn’t reject me. We can call it” - Marty thought for a moment – “it was you being considerate, letting me sleep, and then getting caught up with something else, but you arrived back here eventually. Does that sound right?”
“I appreciate you reframing things that way. Thank you.”
“You’re not off the hook yet,” Marty warned. “The outcome of this debate will depend on if there are any lumps in the icing before we talk about forgiveness.” Marty's eyes were twinkling as he reached for a knife to cut the cake, but Ares knew he had to stop him.
Putting his hand on Marty’s, he said softly, “I hate to do this, especially when you and that cake have been tempting me for what feels like hours. But I have to tell you about Aphrodite before we go any further. I don’t want you to hear the story from anyone else, and you deserve to know.”