Chapter 17

I’ve never been a particularly reckless person. I’m the safe boredom over dangerous fun type. I prayed for change. For something new. And then a god answered, and everything stopped making sense.

When Apollo leads me past Hermes’s door and I see the tennis shoes still discarded at the entrance, a horrible sort of realization dawns on me.

I don’t want to be safe. I want to be free from whatever strings he’s attached me to.

He went to Hera. He asked to be ousted from the Pantheon. For me. That’s not a small deal. That’s everything. I’m not worth that. I’m not the kind of person people give things up for. I don’t want to be.

Maybe if I give him a reason to believe I’m not worth it, he’ll go back and demand his place back. Maybe those dark circles under his eyes will go away. Maybe the lines of his muscles will come back, and he’ll look less like a walking corpse and more like the boy who showed up in my kitchen and insulted my taste in clothes.

He’s trying to give up everything for me. All I’ve given him is extra stress and a reason to think he needs to change. He doesn’t. He’s far from perfect, but he’s trying. That’s more than I can say for myself.

Dionysus’s door is lined with all sorts of vines and fruits, mostly grapes. God of wine. I guess it tracks.

The interior of his room is even more intricate. Red velvet furniture, fur carpets, walls painted all shades of deep red and ash brown. It feels like I’m walking into the back room of a strip club.

The nakedness supports that feeling.

Oh my god, there’s so much naked.

I don’t know what they’re supposed to be. Some look like women, some look like men with the legs of animals, and all of them are… very excited to be here.

Apollo doesn’t even flinch at the sight. I wish I could disappear. Maybe safety isn’t such a bad idea after all.

His hand on my back is the only thing keeping me from bolting. He’s not warm like Hermes. He’s hot. Like sitting in the sun for too long hot. It’s comfortable in a way I can’t rationalize, but I don’t think I need to.

“Don’t worry,” Apollo says lazily, the formality in his voice from before completely gone. “Dionysus’s domain is his alone. Anything that happens within these walls will stay here.”

That sounds ominous. Suspicious at the least. I don’t know what he means, but I don’t like it.

The door closes behind us, and I immediately spot Callie in the corner, arguing with some kind of animal legged man. Her eyes flick up to me, and the anger wipes off her face immediately as she offers me a small wave.

I’d go over to her, but I can’t move. If I walk away from Apollo, what are the odds I get consumed by whatever divine orgy is brewing?

Thankfully, she seems to notice my trepidation and splashes her wine in the animal man’s face, then strides over to us.

She’s in an elegant red dress, the front V carved all the way down to her belly button, showing off the lines of abs. I never got the chance to see how beautiful she is. She truly looks like she belongs here. Must be nice.

“I didn’t expect to see you here.” Her smile is damn near radiant. Her hand is freezing when she grips my arm. “Where’s fuck-face?”

“Who?” I glance back at Apollo, who just offers a little reassuring quirk of his lip. His hand is still hot on my back.

Callie rolls her eyes and crosses her arms in front of her chest. “Your man. Is he actually doing his job for once?”

I’m no expert on human cadence, but something tells me she isn’t a fan of Hermes.

“I haven’t seen him since this morning,” I answer truthfully, feeling a nervous twist in my belly. “Why?”

Her eyes crinkle the same way Sophia’s used to. That fake, condescending smile. I can’t tell if it’s directed at me or the thought of Hermes.

“Just making sure no one’s here to ruin the party,” she says with too much pep. “Speaking of which, why are you here?”

Right to the point, I see.

Apollo’s hand trails up my back, leaving a shiver of goosebumps as his fingers trace my spine. “I’m showing her around,” he answers for me, his voice trilled with something deeper. Something that sounds like it could be dangerous.

As he steps closer, his hand grips my shoulder, his arm slung around my back. How did I completely fail to notice how tall he is? He’s, like, damn near freakishly tall.

I’m not short at a completely average 5’6. Hermes is maybe three or four inches taller than me. Apollo has at least a foot on me. The side of my head tucks under his armpit as he pulls me against him.

He smells like oranges and cedar. I like it a little too much.

If he notices the way I very not-subtly inhale the scent, he doesn’t show it.

Callie’s smile broadens as her eyes dance between us.

“Well, it’s good to make friends around here.” She motions behind her, toward what appears to be a fully stocked bar of wine and liquor, everything from Captain Morgan and Barefoot to things I can’t even begin to pronounce. “Dio is off doing something I don’t want to think about, but I’m pretty good at mixing drinks, too. Wanna get drunk and talk about how shitty our boyfriends are?”

Yes. No.

I glance at Apollo again. I don’t know why. I don’t need his permission. I don’t even know him. Even so, he quirks an eyebrow and tilts his head in Callie’s direction.

“I’ll track down Dionysus.”

He squeezes my shoulder one last time before stepping away. I miss the warmth immediately.

I’m still in the dress from last night, and suddenly aware of just how horrible I smell. Oh god, I smell like vomit and sweat and my ass is barely covered and I’m not wearing underwear.

Callie clicks her tongue once Apollo’s out of ear shot. “Dude,” she whispers, her voice dropping an octave as she leans close, “he’s so hot.” Her hand is on my arm again. “Why the hell would you go after someone like Hermes when you have Apollo throwing his gorgeous self at you?”

I don’t get the chance to answer—not that I even have an answer—before she’s pulling me behind her, off toward a dark wooden door in the corner of the velvet room.

Behind the door is a room that feels far too domestic to exist here. A queen sized bed adorned in sheets of blue and silver, a cheap looking black dresser with a missing handle, a vanity with a mismatched stool, and a little photo of a family of five.

Callie releases her hold on me and steps inside, her hips swaying with each step. “Dio helped me bring all this here,” she says with a wide smile, holding her arms out. “A little slice of home.”

She perches on the stool at her vanity and gestures toward the dresser. “There’s normal people clothes in there. We’re probably around the same size. Feel free to grab something less gaudy.”

Stolen story; please report.

I can’t move.

This is so… normal. It’s not mine, but it feels like something I left behind. It feels like home.

Callie glances back at me as she applies a fresh coat of deep red lipstick to her plump lips. “What’s up?”

“This is all yours?” I ask, feeling my face begin to crumble as I watch her top off her makeup.

Her eyebrows scrunch inward. “Yeah.” She turns back to the mirror and watches me in the reflection. “Didn’t you bring anything?”

A humorless breath of a laugh escapes my lips. A bed and dresser and vanity. A photo of her family. It’s so simple, so little. It’s everything.

Callie clears her throat, and I snap my attention back to her. “I… brought a duffle bag.”

For a second, she looks like she’s going to laugh. I’d probably laugh at me, too. She thought ahead, she came here with intent. I just packed a bag and said fuck it.

She doesn’t laugh. Instead, she just offers a sympathetic smile and stands again, crossing the room to grasp my hands.

She pulls me fully into the room. It smells like spring in here. Like grass and trees and flowers.

Her hands finally release me once we’re standing in front of the dresser. She runs a finger along the edge of the splintered wood then pulls a drawer open.

“Us normies have to stick together,” she says softly, all the conviction from earlier gone as she pulls a few sets of clothes from the drawer. “Dio would lose his mind if I let you stand around and stink up the party.”

Her shoulder bumps mine as she hands me a comfortable looking matching shirt and pants. “The shower is right through there.” She motions toward a white door on the far wall. “I’ll wait for you to get out, then we can go do something actually normal, like day drink in the garden or carve our initial into an ancient, maybe sentient, tree.”

I force a cough to hide the sudden springing of tears behind my eyes. I don’t know when kindness became so painful.

“That sounds nice,” I choke out before she turns back to the vanity.

“The body scrub in there is heavenly,” she says offhandedly as she goes back to her makeup at the vanity. “I picked it up at a little market a few weeks before I got here. I’m pretty sure it’s made with real strawberries and coffee grounds.”

I make my way toward the bathroom with feet that feel heavier with each step. I should thank her. I don’t think I can. I might start crying again if I open my mouth.

I wonder if Hermes is still waiting for me to come back. I don’t know if I will. I don’t know if I can forgive him. I don’t know if I even have anything to forgive him for.

Setting the clothes on the sink, I strip off the almost-dress. The mirror reminds me I haven’t eaten in almost two full days. I look like a damn corpse. All pointy ribs and hollow collar bones and knees too big for my legs.

I wonder if immortality keeps the gods from looking like me. There wasn’t any food at the table last night. Maybe they just don’t need to eat.

My black hair is turning wiry from the lack of washing and my skin has a layer of dried sweat that makes it stick in all the wrong places. I need a razor, too. I brought one, but I’m definitely not going back to Hermes to grab it.

Hairy legs it is.

The bathroom is surprisingly mundane. I imagine Callie didn’t bring an entire shower with her to Olympus, so maybe Dionysus had it built for her when she got here. Must be nice. Hermes didn’t even clean his room for me.

Not that he should have. In fact, I appreciate that he didn’t. But seeing how comfortable Callie is here makes me feel like I’m doing something wrong. She looks like she belongs more than Hermes himself does. Maybe that’s why he got so attached to the idea of me so quickly. If he can’t belong here, he thought he could with me. Someone who doesn’t belong anywhere.

I watch the tears drip down my cheeks and don’t wipe them away. I let them fall from my chin and trail down my chest.

I think I’m a failure.

If I can’t be comfortable enough here to just exist, how am I supposed to be able to convince someone like Zeus to do anything? Maybe I don’t need to. Maybe whatever Hermes started with Hera will pan out and everything will be okay.

Yeah, right. Like things ever go the way I want.

Finally scrubbing a hand over my cheeks, I turn to the shower. Maybe some hot water will clear my head.

It doesn’t.

I spend way too long standing under the flow of scalding water, letting my skin turn bright red and pruned. If there’s one good thing about Olympus, it’s their hot water heaters. I could stand here forever, and I think the water would stay hot.

My hair takes three rounds of shampoo to get it fully de-greased. The body scrub does, in fact, smell like strawberries. It leaves me feeling like a grumpy newborn. Soft skin and a bad attitude. Maybe I can make that my brand.

Callie gave me a matching beige set of waffled fabric. The shorts are a little baggie around my thighs and the shirt’s a little empty around the chest, but it mostly fits.

It’s nice to be back in normal clothes after that joke of a dress. Still no underwear or bra, but honestly, I barely need one.

When I step back into Callie’s room, she’s changed into jean shorts and a red crop top that shows off her abs. Her dark brown hair is pinned back with a claw clip, and her makeup is flawless.

“Ready to hit the road?” she asks, nodding her head toward the door. “You look like you could use some fresh air.”

“I think I went through multiple lifetimes of hot water,” I respond, raking a hand through my damp hair. “I think my lungs are gonna explode if I don’t get out of here.”

She grins then crosses the room to push the door open.

Immediately, my senses are overwhelmed.

Burnt honey, tobacco, cedar. The smell is intoxicating.

Smoke billows around the room, but not upward or lingering like I’ve seen in the past. It curls and licks at the walls, then disappears.

Something in me wants to run. This is too familiar. I’ve walked in on my mom smoking too many times to remember. I remember the smell all too well. Like fireworks mixed with charred silicone.

This isn’t that.

I inhale deeply, feeling the smoke fill my lungs. It tastes like wine.

My eyes flutter shut as I let my body relax into the feeling. Hermes would be losing it if he knew I was inhaling random god smoke. Good.

“What is this?” I ask, my voice lost somewhere between my brain and my body.

Callie’s cold hand on my arm snaps my eyes open. She’s looking at me with an amused expression, one eyebrow raised, the corner of her mouth pulled into a smirk.

“Opium,” she responds, then mimics me with a deep inhale of her own. “Delicious, isn’t it?”

When I exhale, a puff of smoke erupts from my lips. “Strange,” I retort, watching the smoke coil around my hand as I wave through the cloud.

“You want some?” she asks, stepping out of her room and into the party. “If opium’s going around, Dio’s back. I’m sure he’d be ecstatic if you wanted to stick around.”

I really shouldn’t. Like, objectively should not. I’ve seen what addiction does to people. I’ve seen how drugs can make someone a ghost.

My mom isn’t the exception. She is the epitome of what happens when someone gets lost in themselves. I could easily become her if I’m not careful.

But shit. Can a human even get addicted to god drugs? Do they even affect us the same way normal human drugs do?

I could just try it. One time won’t hurt. Probably.

“Is everything okay?”

Somehow, I wandered out into the room of nakedness. Apollo’s warmth presses into me as he steps closer, his fingers ghosting over my arm, now covered in goose bumps.

Blinking up at him, I try to clear the fog from my brain. The smoke is heavy, distorting the bodies around us as they…do whatever they’re doing.

“I think so,” I mumble, my throat tight with the taste of something fruity. “Where’s Callie?”

His eyes flick to the other side of the room. I follow his gaze to see Callie sprawled on Dionysus’s lap, his hands everywhere inappropriate.

So much for a day of normalcy.

Apollo’s lips pull into a smile that looks like an apology. “Dionysus has a tendency to do that.”

I pull my gaze away from him to stare down at my bare feet. “So I’ve heard.”

“Do you want a drink?” he asks, reaching his arms up to pull his hair back. The muscles in his arms flex deliciously as he ties it in place.

“No,” I respond truthfully. The thought of alcohol feels a little too much like I might do something I’ll regret. The opium smoke is still swirling around in the air.

I shouldn’t be here.

With his hair away from his face, I can see the differences between him and his brother more clearly. Apollo’s features are sharper, the line of his jaw more defined. He’s truly a beautiful man. Maybe it is a shame I met Hermes first.

Oh my god, what is wrong with me?

Shoving my hands under my arms, I focus on the feeling of my teeth grinding as my jaw clenches.

I am not doing this. I am not thinking about how easy it would be to walk away from Hermes and toward his brother. I am not thinking about how much Hermes tried to get under my skin when we first met. And I’m definitely not thinking about the way Apollo looks at me like I’m anything but expendable.

I don’t know Apollo. He shouldn’t look at me like this. It doesn’t make sense. I guess none of this makes sense.

But, when he reaches for me, I find myself leaning in. I let his hand trail up my arm and wrap around my shoulder.

“Have you been to the pool of sunlight yet?” he asks, his voice like the crackle of a campfire in my ears.

I lean against his hard chest. It’s the opium. It has to be. I’ve never thrown myself at someone like this before. I don’t even know if I want to. I just want to not think about Hermes.

“I haven’t been anywhere.” I fall into step beside him as he leads me toward the exit. “Just here.”

“Then, I’d be honored to be the first to show you around.” I don’t even try to hide the blush on my cheeks as his chin grazes the top of my head. I can feel the smile in the way he exhales. “You smell like strawberries.”

The last time a guy commented on the way I smell, Hermes threw a shirt at my face and said my clothes smelled like dirt.

It probably doesn’t mean anything, but it feels like everything. Maybe I just want to be with someone who doesn’t look at me like I’m going to fall apart.