He nods and we begin walking again. After a block, I can’t keep my questions bottled up any longer. “You say the people aren’t allowed here without an invitation, but Hermes and Dionysus were here not two days ago. Did you invite them?”
“No.” He makes a face. “There’s no boundary that can hold those two. It’s annoying as fuck.” His words say one thing, but there’s a certain level of fondness in his tone that has me fighting down a smile.
“How did you meet them?”
“It was less a meeting than an ambush,” he rumbles. He’s watching the street as if he expects an attack, but his posture is loose and relaxed. “Not long after Hermes took over the position, I found her in my kitchen, eating my food. I’m still not sure how she got past security. How she keeps getting past security.” Hades shakes his head. “Dionysus and I are familiar because distribution is something we both handle different parts of, but it wasn’t until Hermes that he started showing up outside business meetings, too. The man can drink like a fish, and he’s always in my goddamn fridge, eating my desserts.”
I’ve met both of them previously, of course, but unlike many of the other Thirteen, they don’t seem to care about politicking. At the last party, they were sitting in a corner and engaged in a rather loud running commentary critiquing everyone’s clothing choices as if they were on a red carpet. Aphrodite, in particular, had not been amused when they called her dress “a puffy vagina.”
Hermes is an ambiguous role. She’s a technical genius who handles all the security features in the upper city. It always struck me as strange that the Thirteen let her be so close when they guard their secrets like jealous lovers, but I’m one position removed. Maybe they understand something I don’t. Or maybe they fall victim to this glaring weakness in their defenses because it’s the way things have always been done. Difficult to say.
Dionysus? He’s a jack of all trades beneath the umbrella of entertainment. Parties and events and social positioning are his forte. And so are drugs and alcohol and other illicit entertainments. Or at least that’s the rumor. My mother has always gone out of her way to ensure we’re never around him, which is slightly ironic considering how she’s trying to effectively sell me to Zeus.
I shudder.
“Cold?”
“No, just thinking too hard.” I give myself a shake. “We live in a strange world.”
“That’s an understatement.” He guides me around the corner, and we walk in easy silence for a few blocks. Once again, it strikes me how comfortable people seem to be here. They don’t stare at Hades and me as we walk past, something I didn’t realize I missed. In the upper city, the only thing people love more than politicking and ambition is gossiping, and as a result, the gossip sites pay a pretty penny for pictures and news about the Thirteen and those in their respective circles. My sisters and I are constantly being photographed like midtier celebrities.
Here, I could be anyone. It’s incredibly refreshing.
I’m so busy contemplating the differences between upper and lower city that it takes me a good ten minutes to realize Hades is moving far slower than he would naturally. I keep catching him checking his stride. “I’m fine.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“No, but I’m pretty sure that old lady just lapped us around the block.” I point to the gray-haired Latina woman in question. “Honestly, Hades. My feet are doing much better. They barely ache today.” It’s even the truth, not that I think he’ll believe me.
As expected, he ignores my attempt to be reasonable. “We’re almost there.”
I fight down the urge to roll my eyes and let him lead me one more block into what appears to be a warehouse district. We have several areas like this in the upper city, large building after large building, all varying shades of gray and white. My mother is in charge of the one connected to the food supply.
Hades moves to a narrow unmarked door and holds it open for me. “In here.”
I take one step inside and stop short. “Wow.” The warehouse is one massive room that has to take up most of the city block, a divine space filled with fabric and clothing in every color and texture imaginable. “Wow,” I say again. My sisters would die to get a chance to peruse this space.
Hades speaks softly, the words designed not to carry. “Juliette used to be the premier designer for Hera—the one two Heras ago—but when she died, Juliette was a little too vocal about her suspicions of Zeus so he set out to destroy her business. She crossed the river seeking sanctuary.”
I drift closer to the nearest dress form, clothed in a magnificent red gown. “I saw Zeus’s oldest daughter, Helen, wearing something similar to this two weeks ago.”