The Deep End of the Sea, page 4
I’m given a half-smile. “It’s time I meet the Girls in person.”
I sputter out my laughter. “Most definitely not.”
He pulls my wine glass over and drains it. “Why not?”
“Are you serious?” How could he even thinking of such a thing? I lean forward, a hand used as a wall, safely barricading Mátia. “Hermes. We have no idea if the Girls are just as cursed as I am.”
“There’s a chance they aren’t.”
They like this idea, as they twist in frenzy, hissing atop my head. I tap on the mass with my free hand. Sorry, Girls. As much as you may want this, there is no way I am risking him. “There’s a chance they are.”
The hissing turns most decidedly toward disapproval.
“Thus, the experiment. I’d like to see them.” He flashes me that smile of his that I swear must charm the entirety of Olympus. It’s nearly impossible to resist it myself, but the image of his stone body in my temple knocks me back to reality. “I think they’d like to see me, too. It’s not fair that Mikkos gets to pet them when I can’t.”
One of the Girls sneaks her little head toward the edge of the scarf. I poke her back before she gets too far. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you sound jealous over this.”
He leans forward, tracing the bottom of the wine glass with a finger. “Maybe I am.”
I outright laugh now. A god, jealous of a blind mortal? Impossible. “Don’t be ridiculous. Didn’t you just say I had no reason to worry about your death? And here you are, tempting it to happen simply because you want to pet my snakes?”
Much hissing escapes my scarf.
He chuckles. “Okay, perhaps not pet—but I certainly would like to meet them.”
I reclaim Mátia and snuggle him closer. If he’s unable to see to reason, then I must be the one to put my foot down. “You’ve met them already. You just want to see them. My answer is no.”
He’s incredulous. “No?”
I’m firm. “No.” The Girls go limp against my skull.
He pours himself more wine in my glass and sips it slowly. I fully realize that he could force me to show him what’s on my head—I’m painfully aware of just how at the mercy of the gods I am—but I do not fear this from him.
From any of the rest of Olympus, yes. But not Hermes.
“Would you mind explaining why?” he asks me once he’s drunk half the glass.
I tell him the truth. “I won’t risk you.”
As disappointed as he is, I think he is pleased by this answer, too.
I did not tell Mikkos about Hermes’ petition for the Assembly to review my case before he left Gorgóna. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust my old friend—after all, he’s kept my presence a secret for years now—it was just ... I wasn’t ready to verbalize the possibility that Hermes has dangled in front of me.
But I think about it, constantly.
Over the next few days, I do my best to keep busy. I give my temple a thorough scrub down, making sure I dust each and every single statue on the isle. I attempt to train Mátia to use a litter box, although he is ferociously stubborn and prefers the small patch of grass just outside the south edge of the terrace. I graft several roses together in an effort to create a particular shade I’ve been dreaming of for years, a light maroon tinged with yellow. Mikkos is always able to easily sell my plants. I give myself a challenge and tackle yet another dialect; I practice Khoisan, the language of the Bushmen in Africa. The clicking sounds are difficult to form, but I am determined. Poor Mátia and the Girls are beside themselves as I converse in nothing but Khoisan for a solid two days. I bake like a madwoman, tweaking my recipe for chocolate chip cookies until I’m positive they could stand their ground in a baking competition. I give myself a new manicure every day. I rework a section of the garden on the north end of the temple, rearranging the plants and flowers until I’m satisfied.
I do not allow myself to consider just how horribly awry all this could go.
Hermes comes to see me two days before the Assembly is to meet. As he kneels to slip Mátia’s new nametag on his collar (which amuses me greatly, as nobody would ever be able to find his home if he got lost), I tell him, “If we are going through with this madness—”
He glances up at me. “Of course we are.”
“—then I have a few requests.”
Mátia scrabbles away, his bell jingling merrily against the new tag. Hermes stands up, smacking his hands together to loosen the white fur so freshly deposited on him. I can’t help but delight in watching this god treat my kitten like he were his own. “Let’s hear them.”
I rub the back of my neck; all this cleaning has left me sore. “I am concerned about what will happen to Mátia if things do not go my way.”
“Things will not—”
I hold a hand up. “I would prefer you to take care of him, but I realize you have quite a busy life. So, if you are unable to do so, will you assure me that you’ll find a proper home with people who will spoil him outrageously?”
Hermes’ eyes—greenish-blue today—track over to where Mátia is, now climbing into his bed for what must be his fourth nap of the early day. “You have my word that he will live the very best of lives.”
Relief swamps me. He’s only been in my life a short time, but that little kitten and his welfare have become crucial to me. “As we discussed before, Mikkos isn’t in the best of health.” I bite my lower lip, hating that I even need to broach this subject. “I did not inform him of what is happening this week. He texted me yesterday that he is heading to Corinth for the next month or so with some friends. If—” I stop, as the words are too difficult to get out.
So Hermes gently finishes what I started. “I will do as I’ve done for years; I will continue to watch over Mikkos and assure he is well taken care of.”
My eyes widen behind my glasses. “You have?”
“Of course I have. He is your friend, and I will be forever grateful for all he has done for you.”
I’m not sure how to even process that, even as something tightens and swells all at the same time in my chest. So I busy myself with straightening a pile of books on a nearby table. “I’ve left him a recording, just in case. It’s in my room, next to Niki.”
His smile is tempered. “Duly noted.”
I take a deep breath. “That brings me to my last request. Gorgóna is home to more than just Mátia and me. I would ask you to ensure the isle’s inhabitants will be taken care of, as well.”
Most people, I think, would roll their eyes at such a request. But not Hermes. His response is just as steady as the god I know him to be. “Of course.” He takes a step closer to me. “I know you are worried, Dusa, but I promised you before—I will fix this.”
He cannot make such a promise, not when it comes to the whims of his father and the rest of the Assembly.
“Now, as for Mátia, I’d already planned on us taking him to Olympus with us. The stars above know what trouble the little dude can get into while we’re gone. He’ll stay with a favorite aunt until we’re done with the Assembly. Is this all right with you?”
It is more than all right.
His sunny smile reemerges; if I’d been wearing pants, he’d be charming me right out of them with just such a sight. “I would have assumed you’d already have the place fully packed up. Did I not send enough boxes?”
I’d woken up to a stack of boxes, bubble wrap, and tape in the entryway at the beginning of the week with a note urging me to pack up, but the more I considered doing so, the less certain I became of its necessity. Chances are, I will be back right here in a week, having to unpack all of these boxes anyway.
I move past him to readjust the direction a nearby urn faces. “I am sure you did. Also, thank whoever it is you sent this time for not coming past the entryway. I appreciate it.” Most of the people Hermes sends with my items remain unseen to me under cloak of darkness and sleep. As curious as I’ve been to their identities, I’ve never built up enough courage to meet them face-to-face.
He stops me—another hand on my arm, and I am paralyzed by this. It’s the second time now he’s touched me, and I long to melt in the sensations of his warm skin against mine. He acts as if he’s not disgusted by this act, although I figure he must be. The skin on my arms, a mixture of both human and reptilian textures, disgusts even me, and I have to live with it. “Dusa, please be assured I am prepared to go as far as needed to ensure that justice is yours. I’ve already discussed your case in depth with a number of the Assembly members who have agreed to side with me—not as a favor,” he adds, no doubt seeing disbelief crease my forehead, “but because they, too, believe it to be the right course of action. My sister and uncle are not nearly as popular within the Assembly as you might assume.”
I stare down at his hand, so strong and beautiful and smooth against my slightly scaled and hideous skin. My heart races until I’m dizzy. He’s not even shuddering. His hand is still there.
“If your inclination is to leave everything behind, then that is your right; I will support you in this. But I know many things are of great sentimental value to you, collected over the ages. If you wish to take them with you, I will happily ensure they safely reach you, wherever you choose to live.”
A knot forms in my throat, forcing me to cough a few times to clear it. “And ... Gorgóna?”
He still hasn’t removed his hand from my arm—in fact, his thumb is now tenderly moving back and forth, leaving me even more light-headed. No wonder people in books and movies crave this; the mere gentle act of skin on skin nourishes the soul like no words or thoughts ever could. “I will leave that decision up to you. It can stay here, hidden—a retreat, if you ever do wish to come back, or it’ll never to grace the earth again.”
Part of me wants nothing better than to see this bloody isle as scorched earth, but another knows this is home. It’s been both my haven and prison.
“I’m not ready to make that decision yet,” I whisper.
“You do not need to.” He steps closer still, and I can smell the detergent used for his clothes, lingering traces of soap on his skin, and a hint of plain old Hermes. It is my favorite smell in the entire world, more so than any of the flowers I’ve ever grown. “Would you like help packing?”
I know his eyes can’t meet mine, not like I can with his, but, as always, I get the feeling like his pierce right through the dark plastic, straight into me as I stare up at him. “You seem so confident.”
The smile gracing his lips grows until it nearly blinds me. “Is that a yes?”
It is hard to wade into the unknown, but I do so for my friend. “Since when do the gods do such mundane things as pack up a monster’s temple?”
He finally lets go of me, so he can stride over to where I’d left the boxes. I try to ignore just how bereft this loss of skin against skin makes me feel. “Since right now.” And then, over his shoulder, “Don’t you dare call yourself that again.”
I don’t know how it happens, but between the two of us, the temple gets packed up in a matter of five hours. While there are things I’m more than happy to leave behind, I decide to box them up to donate to shelters in Athens. Who knows? Maybe somebody unpacking them will realize their value and make a tidy profit for their organization after auctioning them off. At least, this is what I hope will happen. I offer to make Hermes my special spaghetti, which I know him to love, but he informs me he’s late to a previously scheduled appointment. I tap down the disappointment toward his leaving, making sure he sees nothing but my gratitude over a job well done. But when we reach the entrance to the temple, I do the unthinkable: I reach out and touch him for the first time ever. Just a few fingers against his shoulder, but suddenly I’ve just stepped off a cliff and am soaring through the air, into the unknown after drowning in the deep sea for so long.
“You are the best kind of friend,” I tell him.
He doesn’t say anything, just studies me with those chameleon eyes of his. They’re green right now, a beautiful light green that I lose myself in. Before I know it, he leans down and kisses my cheek. It isn’t a quick one like before, when his lips pressed quickly against my temple. No, this one lingers for a several heartbeats, rendering me dizzy and elated all at the same time. “Sweet dreams, Dusa,” he murmurs. “I’ll be back for you and Mátia early Saturday morning. Dress warm—we’ll be flying to Olympus, and the air can be chilly up high.”
He’s gone in a rush of wind that sends the gauzy tunic I’m wearing fluttering around me. Angrier than normal waves crash against my shores, sending sharp sprays of water inland, but I don’t care that I’ve possibly infuriated the bastard trapping me out here once more.
Because, for the first time in a long time, hope floods throughout my soul.
“Are you ready?” Hermes holds his hand out for mine to take. He says we’ll fly to Olympus, but from how he’s described it to me in the past, I know we’ll be travelling there through a portal he opens in the air above us.
My fingers tighten around the handle to Mátia’s carrier. I’d lain awake all night, pondering just this question. Am I ready? I’ve had over two thousand years to be ready. Yet, here I am, about to head to Olympus and face my fate, and I still don’t know if I can offer an honest response to that question. I’m numb and excited and scared and hopeful all at the same time.
No matter what, though, I trust him. He has yet to lead me astray.
So, I put my hand in his and let him take me away from here, from all that I’ve known for the majority of my life, praying there will be time soon enough for answers.
I think my heart is going to burst right out of my chest and onto the exquisite tile floor below me.
I am in the waiting room outside of the Great Assembly Hall, and the receptionist sitting at a behemoth of a desk is studying me with what I can best describe as trepidation. I get it. I really do. But I’ve done my best; I’m wearing my wrap-around sunglasses and the Girls are firmly ensconced in their favorite silk scarf, one Hermes brought us back from Paris in the 1950s. We had a talk this morning about them being on their best behavior, and even though they’re snakes, I have confidence in that they understand the importance of helping me out. I have two extra pairs of sunglasses in a satchel I’ve brought, alongside another scarf. Currently, nobody nearby has anything to fear from me.
I can only hope that this remains the case. And that the same is offered in return.
I’ve been in the waiting room for nearly seven hours as the Assembly discusses my case. You’d think there’d be swank, comfy furniture here in Mt. Olympus, and maybe there is elsewhere, but in here, there’s nothing I can relax upon. Regular, narrow chairs are worthless when half your body is snake-like. I wish for a chaise, but then I chastise myself for unnecessary greed. The Assembly is already permitting me to be here to witness their decision; this is rarity and privilege enough. It’s not often they reconsider the actions of their members.
The receptionist, a stern-looking satyr, clears his throat. “Do you mind if I ask a question?”
This startles me, even though I’m the only other person in the room. Even still, I offer him what I hope is a friendly smile. “Go for it.”
“How many people have you killed?”
My thundering heart sinks; the Girls hiss angrily. I find my hands instantly go to my glasses, to check if the strap holding them in place is still firmly attached. “I don’t know.” The words stumble out of my mouth; I am the world’s worst liar, or so Hermes often tells me. Because I do know how many people have perished because of me: sixty-three souls over two thousand years. And I know each and every one of their faces better than I know my own.
The Girls press soothingly against my skull; I soak up their sympathy, even if I know it’s misplaced. Because I am a killer. And even though I wish desperately I could undo each and every one of those deaths, and none of them came about from purpose, there is no two ways about what I’ve become.
“Huh,” the satyr grunts, clearly skeptical. But then the intercom on his desk beeps. “The Assembly has finished reviewing your case. You may go in for judgment now.”
I pat my scarf again and check the knots. Even though it’s been less than a minute since inspecting my glasses, I confirm they’re not budging, either. Then I head to the door that the satyr is holding open.
“Good luck,” he says before disappearing behind the closing door.
In front of me is a long hallway resplendent with mosaicked scenes. Predictably, it showcases the greatest hits of the Assembly’s achievements. I find myself smiling at the ones that show Hermes—even in tile and glass, he is as wonderful and heroic as always. A few feet later, I flinch when I see Poseidon with his trident. I beat myself up over how he still has that power over me. I’d thought ... two thousand years have passed. I shouldn’t react so, should I? Stars, what will it be like when I’m to stand before him in moments, face to face? I haven’t seen his face in person in millennia, yet he has been a thorn in my side every single day. His waters, churning around my isle, remind me how he’s trapped me; his rejection of any suicide attempts in the seas proves lingering control. Every single day, his presence has tormented me in one way or another.
I’m ready to be done with him.
The Pantheon opens up before me, and it is a good thing I’m wearing sunglasses, because it’s so dazzlingly white it threatens to blind me. A semi-circle of raised thrones rings the room, each seat tailored specifically to the god or goddess who reigns over it. Instinctively, I seek out Hermes first, who sits three down on the left of the front and center Zeus. My friend gives me a supportive smile, like he knows my eyes are upon him even though the glasses are so dark nobody could see beyond the carefully constructed mirrored plastic.
I quickly do a mental checklist of what I’m allowed to do in here: 1) stay silent, unless spoken to; 2) show no outward emotions; 3) keep any answers brief and to the point; and most importantly, 4) tell only the truth. Zeus can always pinpoint liars, and he is notorious for denying mercy to those who set out to deceive him.
