Ryuu. Peter. Ryuu. Peter.
I torched the flower garden with fire so hot that they had to have seen the twenty-foot tall inferno from the mansion. Within seconds, only scorched dirt and rock remained of the pristine landscaping. Birds squawked in terror, and all squirrel chatter ceased. I looked up, ready and waiting for an alarm to go off or a dozen werewolves to attack me.
Instead, I was immediately blindsided by a tackle that was so abrupt and violent that it knocked the wind out of me and yanked me completely off my feet. In fact, I had apparently been banished from the Earthly realm through an invisible Gateway because the splendor of Chateau Falco winked out of existence, replaced by a world of blinding blue light. I didn’t even have time to shout before I was forced to slam my eyelids shut to protect my corneas from imploding.
God must have heard my cynical thoughts.
I struck the ground and…
I bounced. Confused, I squinted my eyes open right before I hit another patch of spongy ground, only to feel even more confused. It was a cloud. I gasped in alarm as I finally came to a gentle stop, but I struggled to catch my breath due to the air being thinner at this elevation. What the hell was I doing up in the damned sky? Had Phix kidnapped me?
I lifted my head to see a stranger seated on a throne made of clouds. “Don’t shoot the messenger…god,” the handsome man said, flashing me a playful wink and a debonaire grin of perfectly straight, white teeth. His eyes were the color of melting gold and he wore a stark white toga.
I scowled, rising to my feet and clenching my fists. I recognized that voice, but the toga would have been enough to name him true. His ankles sported shining tattoos of golden wings. I stared as the tips of the wings peeled away from his flesh like gold leaf foil, coming to life in a rhythmic flapping motion that sounded like a dagger’s whisper in a dark hallway in the middle of the night. “Hermes,” I muttered with as much disrespect as I could manage.
He nodded, pompously. “You didn’t come to my meeting with the other two Horsemen about Nate Temple.”
“I was binge-watching Buffy while eating a pint of Häagen-Dazs with my fingers. I like to pretend one of my hands belongs to Spike and the other to Angel, both of them taking turns feeding me,” I said in a flat tone.
He pursed his lips, unimpressed. “What were you doing at Chateau Falco?”
I folded my arms. “What were you doing at Chateau Falco?”
His shoulders hitched up defensively and I realized I had struck a very sore spot. “Guarding the place, obviously. Now, here is what you’re going to do—”
“Where is Nate?” I asked, interrupting him. Whatever was bothering him, Aphrodite’s warning was playing on repeat in my mind. Hermes was involved. Somehow.
He narrowed his eyes dangerously. “He is off on a side quest, as far as I know. Any other stupid questions, or are you ready to listen?”
I thought about it for a few seconds, glancing left and right at the clouds. “What kind of cloud is this?” I asked, absently. I’d never paid much attention in whatever class had categorized such things.
He frowned, glancing down at the clouds with a frustrated look. “How the fuck should I know what kind of goddamned clouds these are? Do I look like the god of goddamned clouds?” he demanded, flustered and agitated.
I nodded, pensively. Time to press the attack, I thought to myself. “Exactly. I mean, what kind of idiot would abduct me and bring me into a realm he didn’t control? A realm where one of his fellow Olympians might hold greater sway and be able to overhear.”
His golden eyes flashed, actually seeming to glint. But there was a very real sense of fear buried under all that anger, despite him doing his best to hide it. He hadn’t considered the risk I’d brought up—which was incredibly stupid of him, all things considered. Aphrodite had made a similar mistake. Were the gods really so alarmingly aloof? Had they been elite for so long that they had lost their survival instincts?
“I’m not here to discuss secrets,” Hermes growled, aggressively. “I’m here to tell you—”
“Oh, but I have plenty of secrets, HERMES!” I shouted, cupping my hands around my mouth to let his name carry far and wide through the skies. “SECRETS THAT OTHER OLYMPIANS MIGHT WANT TO KNOW!” There wasn’t an echo, obviously, but my voice rang out like a bell, making Hermes twitchy.
“You’re bluffing,” he said, sounding as if he was trying to convince himself. “I am the god of commerce, so I know how to spot a woman who is overselling her wares,” he said, with hollow confidence.
“You sure about that, Hermes?” I asked, softly.
He hesitated for a moment, and then nodded stiffly to try and make up for it. “We have never crossed paths, but your story is well-known to my fellow Olympians. I don’t know why any of your secrets would be of any special significance to me, specifically,” he said, licking his lips warily.
I grinned. “Exactly what I thought. Now I know everything I need to know about you, bud.”
He blinked, narrowing his eyes. He opened his mouth and then hesitated, replaying our conversation in his head to make sure he hadn’t missed something. Then he surprised me by closing his eyes and taking a long, measured breath.
I didn’t trust it one bit, readying myself for round two. But when he opened his eyes, the way he looked at me almost made me feel like…he was an entirely different person than a moment ago. A flash of light at his side revealed a tall, ridiculously ornate golden scepter. Two huge, serpent-like dragons spiraled around the staff from base to tip, and their dragon wings flared out at the peak in four different directions at seemingly perfect ninety-degree angles. The wings looked sharp and sturdy despite their decorative beauty, so the weapon looked more like a four-directional scythe. The danger was hidden beneath the ergonomic beauty. I narrowed my eyes, realizing the dragons looked eerily similar to Qinglong. The Caduceus didn’t have serpents around it; the legendary staff glorified the carcasses of Asian dragons.
His face had drastically changed into a blank, appraising mask, and I realized that he was studying me in such a clinical manner that it instantly made me feel…icky. It wasn’t so much that he looked like a psychopath or anything, but that he had so efficiently categorized every single element of me and my life in those few seconds that I felt like I’d caught a stranger watching my childhood dance recital tapes. Ones that even I hadn’t ever seen. It was an all knowing…well, godly look. His face was entirely blank, processing what he’d seen in me, but his eyes were calculating and feral, wild and primal.
Not violent, just hyper-natural. The lion didn’t hate the antelope. But he would eviscerate it all the same.
I suppressed a shudder that threatened to make my knees buckle. Keep the resting bitch face in place, girl, I told myself with more confidence than I felt. It’s all you’ve got. Olympian Psycho just saw your business card and you used a better font and texture than his.
“What could you have possibly learned about me from our conversation so far?” he finally asked in a cold, derisive tone.
I chuckled. “Your reaction was one of fear, thinly veiled by hubris and pomposity. Those things don’t work on me, by the way,” I suggested in a stage whisper. “I’m not trying to blackmail or extort you. I’m telling you that I have valuable information, but you are so paranoid that you instantly assumed—and partially believed—that I might have some dirt on you. If you were confident and in control of whatever shit show you’re running with my friends by telling them you’re working with Nate, you would have plopped your ass down at the negotiating table and started haggling with me about how much my secrets might be worth. You, the god of commerce, just missed out on a deal because you are paranoid and afraid.” He had frozen completely still and was staring at me with a shocked look on his face. “This is the part of the negotiation where you deny my assertion and make a lowball counteroffer. Something disrespectful to make me angry and desperate—”
“I know how a fucking negotiation works!” he sputtered, outrage
d as he thumped the ornate staff into the cloud at his feet. Then he closed his eyes and took another calming breath. “I am not confident that you have any valuable information, but I am impressed with your ability to infuriate a man for no other reason than to feel a little more important about yourself.”
I winced, shaking my head. “That…was not a good negotiation tactic. You know, I really thought you’d be better at this.”
He gritted his teeth and curled his lip up in a snarl. “We. Are. Not. Negotiating!” He hissed. “I am here to tell—”
“I KNOW THE OMEGABET AND I AM A MEMBER OF THE MASTERS—”
He lunged for me with the Caduceus, snarling, his face a rictus of panicked rage.
32
But I’d been waiting for it, purposely antagonizing him into this exact scenario. I side-stepped, called up my Silver claws to bat aside his golden scepter, and then I stomp-kicked him in the ankle wing—hard. I hammer-fisted the back of his neck—not wanting to actually stab him with my claws—as he tripped and stumbled past me. The unanticipated, powerful blow sent him slamming face-first into the cloud.
And then he sunk through the clouds, disappearing below.
I drew my katana, leaving Ryuu’s over my shoulder. I began to laugh, huskily, spinning in a slow circle. “Marco!” I hooted, relying on the reflex instincts Ryuu had bludgeoned into me in the event Hermes tried to blind-side me again. “Come on! You’re supposed to say Polo!” I explained.
Hermes slowly rose up through the clouds, studying me from a safe distance with a thoughtful frown. His hovering skills were clunky and inconsistent because the ankle wing I’d kicked hung limp like a wet dishrag. “Polo,” he said in a dull, lifeless tone.
I smiled. “There it is.” I kept my sword between us. “Now, are we ready to have a reasonable talk or are you going to continue trying to godranize me?”
“Godranize?” he asked, furrowing his brow as he slowly settled his feet back onto the cloud.
I nodded. “It’s like patronizing, but…godlier.”
He studied me, curiously, and I could have sworn he was fighting back a grin. “Ah. I call it godsplaining.” He flashed me a roguish smile. “It’s like mansplaining but, you know.” He winked, holding a hand out as if to emphasize his awesomeness.
I smiled back, nodding. “That one is better,” I admitted. Then I regarded the Caduceus in his other fist. “Lose the stick and I’ll put my sword and claws away.”
His eyes tightened ever so slightly. “The Caduceus is not a stick. It is a powerful magic wand.”
“Then expelliarmus, Hermione.” He stared at me, obliquely, not catching the reference but knowing it had been rude. After a few moments, the staff winked out of existence and he spread his hands to show he was unarmed. “Truce?” I asked him.
He nodded, but he swept his mercurial gaze over the clouds as if making sure we were still private. “Truce. My ward should prevent any eavesdropping, but only for a short while. A very short while. Straining it with certain…topics and phrases,” he said, meaningfully, referring to my Masters and Omegabet shouts, “is not advisable. For either of us. Had I anticipated this lengthier conversation; I would have put it in place before you opened your mouth.”
I nodded, sheathing my sword on my back and retracting my claws. “Then maybe you should have started negotiating sooner.”
He grunted, shaking his head. “Perhaps,” he admitted. Then he let out a deep breath and a throne of clouds rose up behind him. “You are much more perceptive, and infuriating, than I imagined you would be,” he said, smiling to show me that he meant it as a compliment. Between one second and the next, his white toga evaporated and he was wearing pale blue, almost white jeans, and a deep V-neck tee that showed off surprisingly well-sculpted pecs. He sat down, reaching down to massage his ankle where his injured tattoo wing was tucked back against his skin.
“Make me one of those thrones, FedEx guy,” I said, frowning at the lack of additional seating. He belted out a surprised laugh and then waved his hand. A cushy cloud rose up behind me and I noticed that the seat was perfectly sculpted for my specific tushy. I shot him a suspicious glare and he grinned wolfishly, leaning forward. “Someone else is very perceptive as well,” I scolded.
He shrugged, unashamedly. “Ya got me.”
I sat down and crossed my legs, and the two of us started an elementary school staring contest. “Do angels hang out up here?” I asked, glancing out at the blue skies.
He thought about it for a few seconds. “I would imagine so. Why?”
I swept my gaze in a three-sixty, verifying we were alone. “They’re actively trying to kill me, so we both have need to make this conversation brief.” I settled my eyes back on him to see a troubled look flicker across his face. “How’s your ankle?”
He grunted, checking the skies uneasily. “It’s fine,” he grumbled. “So, what was the point of your little show? Did you think that since my sweet sister made you some clothes that you could bully other Olympians with impunity?”
I shook my head, caressing the fabric of my thigh with a smile. “They’re really fucking nice, right?” I asked him. “I was a ten before, but these things make me a twelve, easily.”
He rubbed his chin, assessing me with a wry smile. “Maybe a seven. Eight, tops.” I scowled and he leaned forward with a triumphant smirk. “Taste the hubris,” he whispered, drawing out the S like the Skittles slogan.
My scowl cracked and I burst out laughing. “Okay. I’m finished. You?” He nodded, leaning back in his throne with some of his recaptured dignity. “The Nate working for the Olympians story doesn’t pass the smell test,” I said with a shrug. “Your media team—which is you, messenger god—tried to sell a fact-checker’s wet dream.”
He frowned, clutching at his chest in mock pain. “Hypothetically,” he began, his face telling me that he wasn’t being hypothetical at all but rather covering his ass for the benefit of his eavesdropping ward’s endurance for sensitive topics. “Perhaps it was precisely the message I wanted spread. One might say I was disappointed to see that the audience members were too stupid to catch onto it.” His gaze bore directly into mine and I felt my fangs instinctively pop out at the severity of the unspoken menace in those Olympian eyes. “Until now.”
I focused on keeping my fangs out of sight as I nodded, thoughtfully. “You wanted everyone to call bullshit, but no one did. What’s my prize?”
“Respect.”
I pursed my lips in displeasure, considering his words. After a few moments, I felt my fangs retract. Why send a message you wanted others to debunk? He wanted something but had been unable to openly state it. “What’s your angle?”
“Hmmm. I was just being a dutiful son, doing as commanded. One must never disobey a parent, after all.”
I studied him, analyzing his choice of words. If I was to believe the Olympian—which Aphrodite had encouraged me not to do—then the story was summed up in simple terms. Hermes had been told to give Nate’s allies a bullshit story about his whereabouts. Hermes had crafted the story in such a way as to be easily debunked, but the Horsemen debunking committee was run by optimists like Gunnar and Alucard. Until the cynic from Kansas City arrived at Chateau Falco, in which case Hermes had immediately and secretly kidnapped her to try bullying her into another command.
And if he’d been waiting for someone to see through his bullshit story, waiting to abduct them to a secluded area, then he likely had some important information to relay to that person.
The question that I wanted to know was whether the command Hermes had tried giving me a few minutes ago was another load of crap or not. If Hermes meant Nate harm, he wouldn’t have wasted the energy for these schemes. Which Olympian parent was calling the shots here? Zeus or Hera? And why were Aphrodite and Hermes playing games rather than collaborating. She had told me that Nate’s execution was scheduled for tonight, and that it would disrupt the Omega War. Was the messenger god trying to expedite that—heh—or delay it?
It hit me like a lightning bolt—which was a terrible metaphor after considering Zeus as the big bad.
Hermes was being watched, and much more closely than Aphrodite. Chateau Falco was likely also under surveillance.
I focused back on Hermes, thinking furiously. “Well, I am awfully busy with fighting angels and demons and Nephilim. I only came to Chateau Falco to express my displeasure and report a package that was stolen from my doorstep. Maybe you should give me that command you started to say a few minutes ago. That way I can get around to utterly disregarding it and back to focusing on more important things,” I said, shaking my head no to contradict my words. “Like my missing package.”
He grinned and then winked. “Right. I’m sorry to hear about your shipping dilemma. If there is anything I can do to resolve it, I will. Most of these delivery men mean well, but there is always a bad apple who ruins it for the others. Now, as to my problem, I am merely executing the orders I was given. I would encourage you to respect Nate’s professional wishes—as his colleague, of course. I imagine he is merely doing what he believes best, and your unconditional support would be the most helpful thing you could provide him until he is finished. Tonight. After that, none of this will matter.”
I swallowed, trying to pick apart his words and read the multiple layers of subliminal messaging. There were so many freaking ways to interpret it, which was the entire point. Was he telling me to stand true to Nate’s typical stance—destroy absolutely everything in his way? To do as a fellow colleague—a Horseman—would do? Or was Hermes telling me to stand back and that Nate had it all under control, but to be ready to swoop in as backup? Either way, he’d basically admitted that Nate was scheming, doing what he believed best. But…what did that mean, exactly?
And that Hermes was executing orders before Nate finished his job tonight, which sounded suspiciously like Aphrodite’s warning that Nate would be executed tonight. Hermes was trying to warn me or let me know he was working with Aphrodite. But…could I trust him? What if he was lying to make it look like he was on Aphrodite’s side?
Trinity: Feathers and Fire Book 9 Page 18