The Search for Juno

Chapter III

"You're getting sauce on your chin," said Angie.

Hermes, savagely devouring a meatball sub while they sat beside the alley dumpster underneath the blazing Arizona sun ("This isn't the sort of conversation people should overhear," he'd warned her), nodded his thanks. Accepting the wrinkled napkin Angie offered him, he said, "So."

"So?"

He wrinkled the napkin even further and tossed it into the street, beside a sewer drain. Disgusted, Angie got to her feet, retrieved it, and tossed it back at him. "Don't litter," she said, folding her arms across her chest. "You asshole."

Hermes bugged his eyes in a silently defensive apology, and took another terribly messy bite from the sandwich. "So," he continued. "Let me get this straight."

Angie twisted the bracelets on her wrist, anxious. It was an impossibly stupid idea, she knew, but after hearing the utter hatred in Artemis's voice, she was out of any others. She couldn't just run away—that wasn't her speed. All of her life she had been taught to do everything but that. Doesn't matter if you're afraid, her mother told her once, working plaits into Angie's hair, the room smelling of coconut oil and mega-hold styling gel. You stand your ground. They move. Not you.

"You," said Hermes then, finishing the last of the meatball sub, "want to flip this entire thing around. Find another girl, call her Juno—your first name, but not the one everyone calls you—and send the gods after her instead."

Angie lifted a finger, expectant. "Not just—"

"And then," added Hermes, leaning forward, the sunlight glistening against his brown skin like morning sun reflected in the sea, "you want to find her and take all the gold for yourself."

"Yes! Exactly."

Hermes quirked an eyebrow.

Angie hesitated. "How about 80-20?"

Now his eyes narrowed.

"65...35?"

Hermes jutted his chin. "50-50 or it's a no."

"Fine," Angie yielded, and they shook on it. "You're a god, though. What the hell do you need gold for, anyway?"

Hermes jumped to his feet, a smile on his face so bright that it actually hurt Angie's eyes. "It would make my temple particularly shiny. I like shiny things."
"Weirdo..." said Angie, however trailing off when she realized that the mirth in Hermes's expression had vanished, leaving behind an air of obvious skepticism. Out of habit, she cast a minuscule glance down at her watch. Her break would be up soon, and if she was anything over a minute late returning to her post, her coworker could get suspicious. "Hermes?"

"You realize this is a positively psychotic idea, right?" he said, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans, which looked a little like they'd been robbed off of a homeless man. Angie sincerely hoped they were not. "I mean, let's just say this does work, and we end up getting the prize. How am I going to explain what I was doing working with a mortal?"

Angie considered it for a moment. "You could say I'm having your child."

Hermes flushed. "Angie."

"What? Don't you guys do that all the time?"

"Absolutely not. The world doesn't need another Hercules or a Perseus. Besides, not all of us are as promiscuous as my d—as Zeus," snapped Hermes, his teeth gritting. "Look—I'm serious, here. What's your explanation going to be?"