The Search for Juno

Chapter XVIII

For a long time, Angie stood stock-still. Tires still pummeled the asphalt behind her, Hermes writhing on the ground as Clio murmured empty comforts at him. Yet, Angie was in her own little world, a safe little world, where none of this was happening at all.

"Angie." It was Clio's voice, sharp, returning her to her senses.

"What do we do?" asked Angie after a beat of hesitation. Every time she looked at Hermes he seemed to grow a shade paler, till his skin was just a shock of white, threaded with bluish veins and beaded with sweat. "Is he going to die? Can he...can he die?"

Clio raised an eyebrow. "If anyone should know the answer to that question, it's you."

"Shit," said Angie, because though she didn't want to admit it, Clio was right. "It's that damn hitchhiker, isn't it? He did this to him."

Clio combed her hair behind one pointed ear, a pensive frown forming on her face. Before she could reply, there was a loud, unpleasant hacking sound that Angie realized a second later was coming from Hermes. Ignoring their vibrant protests, he struggled first onto his elbows, then his palms, coughing up spittle into the dust.

His mouth moved, but Angie scarcely heard anything.

"What?"

He looked at her, eyes bloodshot. "Achlys."

Angie blinked at him for another moment, then said again, "What?"

But now Clio's eyes were wide with a sudden realization, her shoulders trembling with something...something Angie thought was fear. Angie hadn't known the nymph very long, that much was true, but she had known her long enough to know that fear wasn't something Clio displayed often.

"I don't like the look on your face," Angie admitted. "No, God, no. Is it something bad? Did he say something bad?"

"Achlys is one of the primordial beings," Clio explained, patting Hermes on the back as he doubled over, dry heaving once again with a violent gasp. "Created even before Chaos, they say. She's mist, eternal night, misery, and...poison."

All of Angie's limbs felt cold. "Are you saying that weirdo hitchhiker was the goddess of poison?"

Clio shook her head. "I would have known. More importantly, Hermes would have known. It's more likely that Jacob got something from her. Her breath, for instance. She isn't called the mist of death for nothing."

Hermes was moving again, dragging himself upright like a zombie from the grave, each of his movements colored by a nearly undead lurch. Angie, her heart clamoring in her chest, shot to her feet, propping him up. "Hermes, what the hell are you doing? You should rest, while we figure this out—"

He shook his head. "I need to go...need to...go..."

"'Go?' Go where?"

Slowly, Hermes dropped his index finger, pointing at the ground. "My...uncle."

Angie quickly scanned her vague knowledge of the Greek pantheon's family tree, then locked eyes with a startled Clio. "He doesn't mean..."

"Hades," said Clio. "That's exactly who he means."

They left Hermes in the safety of the parked car with a water bottle and a towel and stood a safe distance away, heads ducked, to discuss.

"I just don't think it's a very good idea to go traipsing around the Underworld right now. If ever."

"True," allowed Clio, nodding her head, pearl earrings glinting in the sunlight as she did. "There's also the question of whether or not Hades would even be able to help. He's a very busy god."