Part 76 (1/2)
”Some of them, yes.” She grabbed a handful of cutlery.
”Like in myths and stuff?”
”Post-myth but essentially, yes.”
”Forks go on the left.”
”I know that.”
Holding a baking sheet of potato wedges roasted with lemon and dill, Dean turned and looked thoughtfully down at Hermes. ”You're the guy on the flower delivery vans and stuff? The real guy?”
Hermes smiled and spread his hands. ”Guilty.”
”How come you're taking these retired G.o.ds on this road trip, then? Aren't you retired, too?”
”To answer your second question first: not as long as I remain on those flower delivery vans. As for the first bit, they were bored and I'm also responsible for treaties, commerce, and travelers. In the interest of keeping peace in the family, I try to get some of them out every year. This year, we've just finished a color tour of Northern Ontario. Zeus took a million pictures, most of them overexposed, and any leaves that weren't dead when we arrived were as soon as Hades finished admiring them. Now, if you'll excuse me...” He stood and twitched at the creases in the front of his khakis. ”... I'd best wash the road dirt off before supper.”
”Hermes.”
One step from the door, his name stopped him cold.
Claire stepped in front of him and held out her hand. ”Before you go, maybe you'd like to return the b.u.t.ter knife you slipped up your sleeve.”
”That I slipped up my sleeve?” He drew himself up to his full height, the picture of affronted dignity. ”Do you know who you're talking to, Keeper?”
”Yes.” The missing knife flew out of his cuff and landed on her palm. ”The G.o.d of Thieves.”
Hades and Persephone were first down for dinner. Trailing half a dozen multicolored gossamer scarves, white hair swept up and held by golden combs, Persephone appeared in the dining room as though she were entering, stage right, and announced, ”It feels so nice and homey to have an attendant spirit, doesn't it, dear?”
Murmuring a vaguely affirmative reply, Hades came in behind her, brus.h.i.+ng the ends of scarves out of his way.
Behind the Lord of the Dead, looking perturbed, came Jacques. As G.o.d and G.o.ddess took their seats, he wafted over to the kitchen. ”I am not a servant,” he muttered as Claire folded napkins down over the baskets of fresh garlic buns. ”Pick this up, put that there... Who does she think she is?”
”The Queen of the Dead,” Claire told him. ”Not that it matters, you're noncorporeal, you can't touch anything.”
”The things they have, I can touch. And also, I cannot leave them. I come when she calls. Like a dog.”
”Jacques, get that scarf for me.”
”What do I say? I am to fetch, like a dog.”
”Jacques, do hurry, it's on the floor.”
He paused, halfway through the counter and turned a petulant expression on Claire. ”For this, I deserve a night of flesh.”
Claire shook her head in sympathy as the G.o.ddess called for him a third time. ”Perhaps you're right.”
”I am?”
”Jacques, my scarf!”