The Deep End of the Sea (13 page)

“That old dog,” I marvel. I’m utterly pleased to see my friend so happy. He looks content—like he isn’t sick, like life is fine and that he has many more days of hanging out in bars and drinking with younger women in front of him.

“Are your duties with Lady Medusa finished for the night?” Hermes calls out. I’m surprised to find Kore standing like a silent sentry in the background; I had no idea she was still here.

She inclines her head. “I have yet to get her ready for bed, Lord Hermes.”

He disentangles his fingers from my hair and stands up so he can face her. “You are dismissed.”

But Kore does not leave. “I do not intend disrespect, but I am to remain with the lady at all times.”

What? I blink and try to focus on her in the distance. She’s ... what. Even supposed to
sleep
in here with me? Because I am not okay with that. Not at all.

“Um,” I begin, but Hermes is already talking.

“You can inform your mistress that if she has any quarrel about you leaving tonight, she can take it up with me. You may come back in the morning.”

Kore’s eyes widen, but she nods once and then leaves without another word.

“Are you hungry?”

I stare up at him in amazement. He’s really asking me if I’m hungry after that?

“Don’t look at me like that. It was Persephone’s idea. She can go overboard on these things.”

I struggle to sit up; he attempts to help me, but I wave him away. My muscles ache, but I manage to do it. “Am I a prisoner here?”

He does not hesitate. “Absolutely not.”

I rub my eyes. It still feels so surreal not needing my glasses when I talk to him. “What are you not telling me?”

His lips purse together before he turns away to pour a glass of water. “There are many things I’m probably not telling you.” He hands me the glass. “But I could probably say the same of you, too, considering I’ve never met a more secretive person before.”

“And yet, you know me better than anyone else.”

“Thanks to the stars above for that. Is that a no for dinner?”

I let out an exasperated laugh. “No food, thank you. Will they be upset with me for not coming downstairs?”

“Of course not.” He pours himself a glass of water, too, but does not drink it. “Do you like it here?”

I glance around me—the overly opulent suite I’ve been given does not feel like home yet, despite my kitten and my best friend filling it. “It’s quite nice.”

“Quite nice,” he repeats.

I attempt to stand up but my legs immediately give way. He’s across the room in a flash, lifting me up into his strong arms once more like I weigh nothing. Not that I’ll say it out loud or anything, but being here in his arms is beyond wonderful. “It takes time,” he tells me as he carries me over to my bed.

I can’t help but wonder if he’s referring to the concept of home or walking.

I’m laid gently down, the covers tucked up around me. It’s a gesture so unbearably sweet and foreign to me that my eyes prickle at the same time my stomach fills with those incessant wild butterflies that have begun to plague me in his presence lately. I’ve read about butterflies in stomachs, of course—but I never knew they could be so strong and uncontrollable. And why they could possibly infect me when I am with my best friend.

But this is not something I can talk to him about. Instead, I wait until he’s done to ask, “Can I tell you something?”

He surprises me by joining me on the bed; only while I am snug under the covers, Hermes lies on top of them, his hands folding across his chest. “Always.”

Why am I so nervous and delighted all at the same time that he’s lying here beside me? I force my gaze to the ceiling above us. There are lovely frescos there, depicting everyday life in ancient Greece, little things that I missed out on and only got to learn about thanks to books and stories. “It’s different than I thought it would be.”

He waits patiently.

“And harder,” I admit.

His answer is quiet. “Change always is.”

“Whether it’s wanted or not, how do you find best to face it?”

His head tilts toward mine; the pillow under us shifts. We’re so close right now that I feel a bit delirious. “The only way I can. I keep moving forward.”

I nod, folding my own hands across my chest so they mimic his. “Although, as a god, surely change must only come about when you want it.”

An exhaled ghost of a laugh proceeds, “You know me better than that. Change happens to us whether we like it not. Sometimes it’s for the good, sometimes for the worse, and sometimes, you have no control over it, despite just how desperate you may be to do so. Yet, it is in all our natures to try to bring about the change we wish for.”

I roll my head so we’re now facing one another. I do know him, which is what confuses me all the more about the surges of lightheadedness that rock me to my core lately simply by looking at him. This is my friend. My best friend. He is a god, and I am an ex-monster. It is not like we are anything else, or ever can be.

Where are these thoughts and feelings coming from? Are they something that was always there, but muted by my monstrous physiology? Or is this something entirely new? Because part of me wonders right now what it would be like to touch his dear face. To purposefully kiss his cheek like he did mine, back on the island.

To press my mouth against his, to discover if kisses can be as sweet as I hope and have dreamed about, especially since the only ones I’ve ever experienced were markers of pain.

I blink at the onslaught of heat that rushes my cheeks. He and I ... for years we have known each other. Talked to each other. It must be the exhaustion that’s confusing me. Because otherwise, I am the most foolish girl to ever live.

I shove an unwieldy mass of hair back off my face. “Are there things in your life you have no control over?”

“Of course,” he tells me softly. His green eyes are so intense as they meet mine.

The little butterflies that emerged from their cocoons for the first time in my chest yesterday now swarm frantically, forcing me to avert my attention once more to the scenes above us. I am reminded of a picture I once saw, of the annual Monarch butterfly migration to Mexico, and of how there would be so many of those little creatures brimming the air that magical orange-gold was the new color of sky. I always yearned to someday lie beneath those wings, and now they are here, beating in my chest so strongly I wonder if a hurricane could brew.

I pray that he cannot hear my heartbeat matching their wings.

“Second chances are just that, Dusa. They’re chances. There are no guarantees in outcomes, even for the gods. My uncle ...” He clears his throat. “Or my sister—I am sure that they could never have guessed that you would, one day, be laying in a bed in Hades’ house as a treasured guest, nor could they have ever seen that you and I would become ... friends. And yet here you are—here
we
are—and you are now in possession of that second chance you never thought would come. Of course it is different than you thought it’d be; imagine how omnipotent you’d be if you could have successfully predicted the true outcome of all of this.”

Friends. Yes ... we’re friends. Exactly. And that reminder is enough to quell the uprising in my chest, even if done in an irrational sense of disappointment.

Despite my fatigue, we end up talking for hours more, just like we did back on Gorgóna. There’s a comfort there, in having familiarity in the midst of upheaval. And when I fall asleep, he is still next to me, his eyes drifting shut, too. And I am glad for it.

“You’re not even
trying
. I’ve seen better efforts from a dead centaur.”

I scowl at Tele from the treadmill he has me jogging on. It’s been forty-three minutes since I first stepped foot on this torture device. Despite my ponytail, sweat plasters my hair down against my face and soaks my shirt. I feel as disgusting as I do tired.

“Five days ago,” I gasp, “I didn’t have legs.”

“That’s a pitiful excuse if I’ve ever heard one.” He perches on the handrails of the treadmill next to me like he hasn’t any further cares in the world than needling me. Which, maybe he doesn’t, because I’m apparently his only client at the moment and he’s basically living and breathing Operation: Medusa’s Legs.

I push myself past the pain for another seventeen minutes before he lets me shut the demonic machine off. And to think people thought I was a monster. This thing has probably tortured more people over the years than I ever did back on Gorgóna. But if there’s one thing I learned from being around Telesphoros, it’s to never show weakness. He feeds off it like the vampires I’ve read about in books.

Despite Kore’s numerous warnings to do otherwise, the physical therapist has taunted me, ridiculed me, pushed me to numerous points where I’d been perilously close to breaking down in tears (which, thankfully, I haven’t yet), and took great delight in my pain. And yet, here I am, five days after being given legs back, and I just ran an hour. Granted, I’m struggling to catch my breath and I collapse onto a bench within a minute of stepping off of the treadmill, but I have to give it to him. His methods are effective.

“You resemble a drowned rat,” he muses, hoping over to where I’m sitting. I’ve got my head down as I search the room for proper air to breathe.

Kore clucks in disappointment nearby. Unless Hermes sends her away (which he tends to do whenever he’s around), she’s my shadow. And, as much as I believe I might like her, I’m tired of the hovering. Like right now—there is no need for her to say anything. Was Tele out of line? Yes. Does he know he’s out of line? Absolutely. Will her disappointment change his behavior? Absolutely not. So far, the only thing that does is whenever a god comes to visit. Persephone tends to stop by at least once during my daily five-hour sessions, although normally earlier in the day. She’s a total creature of habit, I’ve learned, who has a daily routine she’s loathe to deviate from. So, from ten until ten-fifteen each morning, Tele changes his personality to impress his employer.

But Persephone isn’t here right now, and Kore is nothing more than an annoying fly to him. “Gee, thanks,” I tell him once I’m positive it won’t sound like I’m still gasping.

He drops down next to me on the bench. “Sweating profusely like you’re doing isn’t very attractive; although, I suppose it’s a sign you got a decent workout.”

“Flattery gets you everywhere.”

“You reek, too.”

Kore throws her hands into the air; her disgust with him makes me laugh. Tele laughs, too—that awful bray of his that fills the gym until Hades walks in the door. And then his laughter stops entirely.

This is the first time Hades has visited since I’ve been working out with Tele. While I do see the Lord of the Underworld daily, it’s usually in the evening at dinnertime. He’s been nothing but polite with me, just as welcoming as his wife, but the fact is, he’s intimidating as all hell.

Tele stands up and proceeds to immediately bow; Kore curtsies low. Both keep their eyes on the ground.

As for me, I’m in that awkward position where I’m not sure if I ought to curtsy or not. So far, nobody has expected me to. Persephone has strongly encouraged me to treat them as family, and that as such, I do not need to hang on typical reverences normally bestowed upon them. And yet, this here is one of the three most powerful and important gods in Olympus. So I stand up, ready to curtsy despite my sore legs.

Before I can, though, Hades comes over to where I am and sits down on the bench, patting the space next to him. Far be it for me to disagree. I sink back down, folding my hands on my lap.

He scratches at his five-o’clock shadow before giving me that sinful smile of his. “I had a few minutes free and wanted to check on how things are going in here.”

I glance quickly over at Tele, who, for the first time since our meeting, radiates uneasiness. Is he afraid I’ll tell Hades just how much he teases me on a daily basis? I decide to set an excellent example and go easy on him. “Good, thank you. I just got finished with a run.”

“Excellent.” Hades leans closer and I’m no longer pulling air into my lungs—his fingers brush up against my cheek for the briefest moment before he leans back. “Smudge of some sort,” he tells me, holding out his thumb.

Nervous laughter releases the apprehension I’d just held in. “I apologize for looking such a fright.”

“Nonsense. You are lovely as ever.”

Such lies, but he seems so sincere I can’t help but blush in gratitude.

“Now that you’re running marathons,”—he pats my knee—“Peri and I were thinking that we could all go out for dinner tonight if that’s all right with you.”

Leave the villa? And he’s asking
me
if it’s an okay thing? I’ve spent years in isolation; the last week has brought me more people to interact with, but thankfully in moderation. But to be out and about within a larger population? Just thinking about it fills me with equal parts dread and elation. “In Olympus?”

He chuckles. “That was the thought. We figured it would be best to stay close to home in case you were fatigued from all the hard work Telesphoros is no doubt putting you through.”