The Search for Juno

Chapter XXI

When Clio woke up, sitting up and glancing around the room, she found Angie passed out in her own bed, snoring quietly. Sharply, Clio looked away, remembering with an uneasy haze the gingerly brush of Angie's hand along her cheek, the way Angie had promised her, I'm right here.

Her face was starting to warm at the thought of it when there was a brisk knock on the door. Not wanting to disturb the still-sleeping Angie, Clio gathered herself, strode to the door, and opened it just a peek.

She nearly keeled over when she saw it was Hades himself, in a tapered, navy blue suit with his hands shoved impatiently in his pockets.

Clio was suddenly very self-conscious of her wrinkled pajamas and tousled hair. Her voice low, she began, "M-Mr. Hades—"

"Hades is fine," he whispered back, then leaned close, straining to get a glimpse into the room. "And why are we whispering?"

"It's Angie," Clio said, stepping out into the hall. She edged the door shut behind them both, peering up into the god's wan face. "She's still asleep and I don't want to wake her. Is everything alright, Mr—oh, excuse me—Hades?"

"Oh, perfectly," he replied, an odd, chipper little smile playing at his mouth. "I was just coming to tell you both that Herm-Herm regained consciousness just now. Would you like to see him?"

The infirmary was a pinched, square structure beside the Palace, carved with alarming precision out of the cave's side. Clio followed close behind Hades as he brought them to the door, nudging it open with his shoulder. "Herm-Herm? There's someone here to see you, kid."

The smell struck Clio first: a strange concoction of herbs—the names of which even she couldn't exactly place—and cleaning solutions, all with a fine lace of blood underneath. The lights above her were a bright, glaring white, as were the walls, the ceiling, the tiled floors. Hades led her through the central aisle, either side of which was lined with simple wire cots; in the very last bed on the right was Hermes, propped up on a mountain of pillows, his head turned in the direction of a small television mounted on the wall beside him.

At the sound of Hades's voice, Hermes turned, gold eyes shimmering with relief when they landed on Clio. "Clio! Oh, thank goodness. Are you okay?"

Clio just blinked at him for a moment, then let out a brief, surprised laugh, resting on the bed beside his. "That's what I should be asking you, silly."

"I—" He frowned, sitting back against his pillows. Though his skin was slightly sallow and his hair was dark with sweat, he seemed almost completely returned to his normal, pre-Achlys self, the only evidence of their harried arrival a tear through his shirt where the nurses had likely cut it away. "Fine. I guess you're right."

Silence passed.

Clio cocked her head. "Well. Are you?"

"Oh yeah! Yeah, I'm fine. Still a little nauseous, but seeing as I'm no longer dying, I consider that a win."

"You're much too reckless, Herm-Herm," Hades scolded, leaning against the front of the bed frame. "How'd you even get yourself wrapped up in this, anyway?"

Clio watched Hermes's face as he considered it, but all that changed was a slight furrow to his brow before he shrugged and said, "If I didn't take a stand, no one else would. That's it, really."

Hades squinted at him, perplexed. With a sigh, however, all the tension flooded from his shoulders, and he turned back for the infirmary's exit. "This is why you're my favorite nephew, I guess. Don't move a muscle, you two; I'll go get Angie. There's something all of us need to talk about."