A Touch of Chaos (33 page)

Hermes approached the door and glanced back at Dionysus before cupping his hands over the safe's keypad.

Dionysus rolled his eyes. “I'm not going to steal whatever's in your closet, Hermes.”

“If you could have stolen my winged sandals, wouldn't you?”

“To avoid you? Yes,” said Dionysus.

“Rude,” said Hermes as he turned the wheel, pulling open the door to reveal a massive closet with shelves upon shelves of shoes.

“Please tell me you only have one shoe closet,” said Dionysus.

“Okay,” said Hermes.

“Fuck me,” Dionysus groaned.

“Don't judge me,” said Hermes. “I have an obsession.”

“Don't you mean addiction?”

“Tomato, potato,” he said.

Dionysus's brows lowered. “Don't you mean to-mah-to?”

“No, I mean potato,” Hermes said. “They are two different things entirely.”

Dionysus rolled his eyes again. “Whatever you say.”

Hermes smiled. “I knew you'd see it my way.”

The God of Mischief sauntered into the closet to begin the search. Dionysus followed, eyes scanning Hermes's many and varied shoes. He picked up a pair of platform heels that were covered in gemstones.

“How do you wear these?” Dionysus asked.

“On your feet,” said Hermes.

Dionysus shook his head. “Real funny,” he said, putting them back on the shelf as Hermes snickered. “You know what I mean.”

“I will admit it takes talent,” he said.

“Don't you just fly everywhere when you wear them?” said Dionysus.

“That still takes talent,” Hermes said.

“It isn't a talent,” said Dionysus. “You are a god.”

“We'll see about that,” said Hermes. They continued to search the closet, but after a while, Hermes declared, “Well, they aren't here. We'll have to check the other closets.”

“The closets in your other houses or the closets in this house?” Dionysus asked. It was an important distinction.

“The closets in this house,” said Hermes. “If the shoes aren't here, then we'll have to check another house.”

Dionysus rubbed his face in frustration. “Why do I put myself through this?” he groaned.

“Because you secretly love hanging out with me,” said Hermes, sauntering past him. They left the pink room and entered a blue room, which was not among
the colors Hermes had mentioned earlier and only made Dionysus far more worried. When the shoes were not there, they moved on to another. This one was purple and had more than just shoes in the closet but still no winged sandals.

As more hours passed, Dionysus began to wonder if Hermes still had them and started to consider other options for reaching the island of Thrinacia. He worried that by the time he managed to get the shoes and bury the ophiotaurus, it would be too late to rescue Medusa, but he did not have many options. He did not have a monster that could fly, and one that could swim would be just as dangerous as sailing given Poseidon's hatred of him.

Even with Hermes's sandals, there was a chance he'd be shot down from the sky by pirates, but at least his odds of landing closer to Medusa were better.

Those were the thoughts racing through his mind as he sank to the bed in the green room and nodded off.

He wasn't sure how long he was out when he heard Hermes exclaim, “Yes!”

Startled by the sound, Dionysus shot up from bed. Through bleary eyes, he saw Hermes exit the closet carrying a pair of leather sandals with feathery wings. They were surprisingly simple given the mischievous god's penchant for extravagant things.

“I found them!” he declared, but Dionysus recognized another problem.

“Why are they so small?” he asked.

“They aren't
small
,” said Hermes, holding up the shoes.

“How big are your feet?”

“I don't know,” said Hermes.

“How do you—” Dionysus stopped himself. He had asked that question too many times already, and it never got them anywhere. “How am I supposed to wear them if they don't fit?”

“They're basically soles with string, Dionysus,” said Hermes. “Put them on.”

Dionysus took one and tried to slip his foot inside, but the most he got was his first three toes.

“Why are your feet so huge?” Hermes asked. Then he met Dionysus's gaze and raised a brow. “Is it true what they say about shoe size and dick size?”

“I'm not sure what they say,” said Dionysus. “But I'd really rather not talk about my dick with you.”

“Fine,” Hermes said, sniffing. “I was just curious.”

“Well, I need these fucking shoes to fit,” said Dionysus.

“Well, you have magic, idiot.
Make
them!”

“They are your gods-damned shoes. I can't change them!”

“You can add to them! Wrap vines around your fucking feet!” said Hermes. “Gods, and you think
I'm
stupid.”

Dionysus felt his face flush, though he wasn't sure if it was from embarrassment or frustration.

He sat both shoes on the floor and stepped on the soles. Vines sprouted from them and wound together over his feet and calves.

“There! Now stand.”

Dionysus did and was immediately thrown backward as the sandals flew out from under him. He hit his head on the bed as he went down. Luckily, it was soft, but
now he was hanging upside down, the wings of the sandals strapped to his feet beating furiously.

“What the fuck, Hermes! Tell them to put me upright!”

“I can't,” said Hermes.

“What do you mean you
can't
?” Dionysus snarled.

“They don't work like that. You have to learn how to balance, then you just glide. It's like skating.”

“I don't have time to learn how to fucking skate!”

“I suppose you don't have to,” said Hermes. “You can just fly all the way there like that.”

Dionysus gritted his teeth.

“Come on, big boy. Just treat it like a sit-up. Once you are upright, your weight will help you land.”

“Treat it like a sit-up,” Dionysus mocked, yet he tried, tightening his abs and swinging up. The first time, he only made it halfway, the second a little farther. His third attempt had him doing a complete flip.

“Fuck!”

“You almost had it,” said Hermes.

“I know I almost had it, Hermes! I don't need your commentary!”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “I'm just trying to be helpful.”

“Well, don't.”

“Fine. You
suck
at this.”

Dionysus's frustration grew. For a moment, he just hung there and ground his teeth so hard his jaw hurt.

Then he took a deep breath.

“I'm sorry, Hermes.”

There was a long beat of silence.

“You've got this, Dionysus.”

The god nodded and tried again. He fisted his hands, tightened his core, and swung. Once he was upright, he held out his arms for balance. His legs felt wobbly, and his whole body seemed to vibrate with the beat of the winged sandals, but he was on his feet.

“Yes!” he hissed before he lost his balance and fell again. “Fuck. I am done!”

Dionysus used his magic to unlace himself from the sandals. When he did, he crashed to the ground, not realizing that he was no longer positioned over the bed.

“Stupid fucking sandals,” he muttered as he got to his feet and snatched them from the air where they were still fluttering. “How do you make them stop…flying?”

As soon as the words were out of Dionysus's mouth, the wings stopped flapping.

“Just like that,” said Hermes.

Dionysus glared. “You mean you can tell them to stop flying but you can't tell them to put me on my feet?”

“Yes,” said Hermes.

“I hate you.”

“Don't hate me. I'm just the messenger.” Hermes paused and chuckled. “Get it? Because I am the Messenger of the Gods.”

Dionysus glared.

Then he vanished, but not before Hermes shouted after him. “Wait! Take me back to the Underworld!”

Dionysus appeared on the coast of the Mediterranean Sea.

The sun was rising, casting rays of orange and yellow over the calm surface of the water. Always beautiful and mostly warm, it was hard to imagine the evils that took
place on the water, but it was a lawless place ruled by a ruthless god.

Dionysus put the sandals on the sandy beach and stepped into them, bearing down as the vines twisted around his feet so they wouldn't fly out from under him again. When he was ready, he lifted his heels and stuck out his arms to steady himself as he rose into the air, the wings pumping hard and fast.

His heart beat hard in his chest, and sweat beaded across his forehead. Shakily, he lifted his hand to wipe it away before it dripped into his eyes. He would never admit it to Hermes—though he didn't need to, his struggle was obvious—but
fuck, this was hard.

Hermes had always made it look so easy, gliding through the air in a flash of blinding gold light. Dionysus moved at the speed of a snail. At this rate, he'd make it to Thrinacia in a week, and Medusa would be long gone and likely dead.

Gathering his courage, he did as Hermes had instructed, tilting his body forward slightly. He could feel the wind pick up around him as he moved faster over the ocean, the colors blending together into a seamless shade of blue. The longer he moved at one speed, the easier it was to accelerate, and soon he felt as though he were sailing.

He started to laugh, filled with triumph, and then he lost his balance and tumbled into the sea, inhaling a mouthful of salty water that burned his throat as he surfaced. How was he supposed to get to his feet again? There were no rocks or islands for miles, and time was running out.

“Fuck!” he screamed as he wiped his eyes. “I fucking hate everything!”

He moved to float on his back and stuck his feet into the air. The wings on Hermes's scandals fluttered wildly and Dionysus found himself being carried through the air upside down with his head in the ocean.

He tried to get to his feet, but he struggled to breathe as salt water went up his nose and into his mouth. The drier the wings became, the higher he rose until he was finally out of the ocean, but by then, he was too tired to try getting upright, and he resigned himself to simply hanging there.

Until he noticed a high wave rushing his way.

“Gods fucking dammit,” he said, his strength suddenly renewed, but when he found he could not right himself, he resorted to shouting. “I know you can fucking hear me!” he yelled at the shoes. “Fly higher, you idiots!”

But they did not listen.

The first wave hit, barreling into him with such force, it stole his breath. In the short reprieve before another came, he yelled again.

“You're useless! Just like your owner!”

The second wave was jarring, and he could not hold his breath through it, the water burning as it slipped down his throat and into his lungs. He coughed violently, unprepared for the next wave, and as the water surrounded him, he knew for certain that he was going to die. It did not matter that he was a god and could heal on his own. The sea was all-consuming, and he could not breathe in this dark and violent place, could not take the pain searing his chest and swelling in his throat—and then suddenly, a strange calm came over him, and he felt nothing.

For a few sweet moments, he was simply…
numb
.

But then he surfaced as Hermes's sandals carried
him above the fierce waves. Dionysus inhaled a painful breath, choking as he vomited water. He wanted to curse the shoes, but his throat hurt too bad to speak, so he just hung there as the ocean churned beneath his head, and he fell into unconsciousness.

It was a horrific smell that roused Dionysus. When he opened his eyes, he came face-to-face with the cockeyed gaze of a sheep.

“Baa!” the animal shrieked at the same time as Dionysus screamed. He clamped a hand over his mouth, both to shut himself up but also to keep from punching the sheep. Though the urge was still there.