The Search for Juno

Chapter XXXIII

Everything was too bright.

The heavenly guards tossed Angie into a room that glowed gold and white, so ethereal that every surface seemed to bleed divinity. She caught herself against a frigid marble floor, letting out a gasp of both surprise and pain. She was thinking, I'm so screwed. She was thinking, Mom, Dad, Clio, I'm so sorry. She was thinking: Hermes. Where are you?

She lifted her head, staring right into the eyes of the King of the Gods himself.

She remembered, vaguely, what Hermes had said about him: that despite his inherent inability to keep it in his pants, Zeus was a decent guy. As Angie studied the god before her, however, the assertive set to his broad shoulders, his eyes that flashed yellow and white, like lightning immortalized within his irises—she could only hope Hermes was right.

Zeus and Angie were not alone. Leaning against Zeus's throne was Poseidon, a devious smile playing at his lips, and in the throne beside his was a stunning woman, crown of gold balanced upon her head, whom Angie could only assume was Hera.

Angie turned her head. A row of lavish seats lined either side of the throne room, occupied by the other Olympians. She recognized some of them, or at least believed she did: Apollo, looking aloof, Aphrodite, picking at her nails, and Athena, her hair in a long braid down her shoulder, studying Angie from beneath a carefully risen brow.

Hermes was missing, as was Artemis.

Angie swallowed around the knot in her throat, meeting Zeus's eyes instead.

"Do you understand why you're here before us today, mortal?" Zeus asked. His voice was thunder, each word a loud, echoing reverberation that rattled Angie's eardrums.

Angie dragged herself to her feet, not wanting to grovel about on the floor for a second longer. Hermes wasn't here. As much as she ached to know why, or where he was, it didn't matter. This was something she'd just have to take care of herself. "Because I, a mortal," she said, "humiliated the god standing beside you, correct? And you just can't let that slide. What a number that would do on your terribly fragile pride."

Poseidon seethed, his teeth gritting. "Listen to her, Zeus. Can you believe this?"

Zeus shushed him. "Poseidon, everyone is tired of you. Please shut up and let me handle this."

Poseidon sputtered, but obeyed.

"You murdered Poseidon's human incarnation, a form that takes centuries to take up in the first place," Zeus went on, worrying at the grayish-white beard that clung to his chin. "And as if that were not enough, you then conspired with the god Hermes to frame someone else for your crimes. What do you have to say for yourself, Juno Nohl?"

Hera flipped a sea of tightly coiled hair behind her shoulder. "And to think she has the audacity to bear my name, too. That's a crime in itself."

"You're the birth lady, aren't you?" Angie said, her eyes flitting to Hera's for a moment. "Motherhood, marriage, and all that? I didn't get to pick my name, you know. Like, that's not how that works. Thought you knew."

Hera jumped to her feet, eyes flashing, but Zeus waved her off. "Hera, not now."

"Don't not now me, you sniveling, unfaithful—"

The remainder of the insult was swallowed by the thud of the throne room doors striking the wall. Jolting, Angie whirled around.

No words could describe it, really: the rush of warm euphoria that shot through Angie's veins at the sight of her. Clio, her Clio, in that chiffon dress the color of dewy grass, her hair stark black, tumbling in gentle curls down her shoulders, her chin lifted and her eyes blue—so, so blue. Three little words swelled in Angie's heart at that moment, but stopped short of her mouth. Holy shit. Do I mean that?