The Search for Juno

Chapter XII

When Angie came to, there was a soft bed of dewy grass beneath her and a beautiful woman above her.

Angie was sure she was in heaven. Nothing else could explain the innocent, girlish way the woman blinked at her, her eyes round and monolidded, yet a bright, pearly blue. Her face was young, covered in sun-kissed freckles from forehead to chin, lips full and heart-shaped. The woman moved a hand to sweep her dark hair aside—

Angie screamed and rolled away from her. "Your ears!"

"Angie, chill," said Hermes. Angie whipped her head around; behind her, he was staggering to his feet. Though there was dirt and asphalt smudged across his clothes, he was otherwise unharmed. "She's a wood nymph. In case you haven't noticed, we're..."

Angie sat up, casting a harried look around her. She didn't remember them being anywhere near a forest, and yet all she saw now was green. The three of them lay in a spring meadow, a few yellow daisies popping up across the field, a thick band of ancient oak trees lining the clearing. The air was clean, gentle. Everywhere smelled of moist earth and vibrant flowers.

Hermes was kneeling beside the nymph now, head bent low in concern, but the nymph flinched away when he reached out a hand.

Angie watched them until the confusion brimmed so fiercely within her that she could not contain it any longer. "Okay," she announced, still kneeling in the grass. "One of you is going to tell me what's going on here, right? I mean—wood nymphs? Forests in the middle of the fucking desert? What is all this?"

"You were very hurt," said the nymph. Her voice struck an instant calm within Angie, stilling her frustration. It was a wind chime: as sudden as it was soothing. "When I found you both, you were very hurt. I brought you here to this forest so that the trees might heal you."

"The trees might...yeah. Sure. That makes sense."

"Thank you," said Hermes, and though he said it to the nymph, he glared at Angie as he did. "I'm very grateful. What did you say your name was, again?"

The nymph blinked. "I never told it to you in the first place, Hermes, God of Trade, Thieves, Wealth, Luck, Langua—"

Hermes coughed. "Okay, yes, yes, I'm all of those things. You can stop now. So what's your name?"

The nymph's small face turned a subtle shade of red. "Clio," she said.

"Clio?" Hermes repeated, his face bright with recognition. "Like, the Muse?"

Clio shook her head with a little sigh, as if this were a correction she was tired of making. "No, I'm afraid not—though she is my namesake. You know the true Muses, don't you? Your friend Apollo brought them up."

Hermes frowned, suddenly bashful. "I've met a few of them, yes. Though all they did was throw books at me."

Clio laughed. "I see Apollo has taught them well."

Angie struggled to her feet. Her head was still spinning a bit, her legs achey underneath her, but she was stunned to find those were the worst of her injuries. "Lovely to meet you, Clio," she said, touching the small cut at her lip that hadn't been there before a bunch of boars had sent the Jaguar rolling, "but Hermes and I sort of have places to be. Where's the car?"

Hermes started to protest, but one sharp look from Angie silenced him. He let out a sad exhale.

Clio stood. All the nymphs Angie had ever seen in those old French or Italian paintings were always scantily dressed, but a modest, knee-length gown hung off Clio's shapely form, a diaphanous, light mint green material that swayed about like water each time she moved. What a life, Angie thought. To have pointy ears and wear flowy dresses and prance about in a forest all the time.