Over the last few months, he had become one of her favorite gods. He was handsome, funny, and encouraging. Today, he was dressed like a mortal. Well, for the most part. He still looked unnaturally beautiful with his golden curls and glowing, bronzed skin. His outfit of choice was a pink polo and dark jeans.
“A...pickle?” she asked, confused.
“It’s an expression the mortals use when they find themselves in trouble. You haven’t heard of it?”
“No,” she answered, but that wasn’t surprising. She’s spent eighteen years in a glass prison. She hadn’t learned a lot of things. “What are you doing here?”
“Saw the news,” he said, grinning. “You and your boy-toy are official.”
Persephone glared.
“Man-toy?” he offered.
She still glared.
“Okay, fine. God-toy, then.”
She gave up and sighed, burying her face in her hands. “I’ll never be able to go anywhere again.”
“That’s not true,” Hermes said. “You just won’t be able to go anywhere without being mobbed.”
“Has anyone ever told you you’re not helpful?”
“No, not really. I mean, I am the Messenger of the Gods and all.”
“Weren’t you replaced by email?”
Hermes pouted. “Now who’s not being helpful?”
Persephone peered around the corner of the building again. She felt Hermes chin rest atop her head as he followed her gaze.
“Why don’t you just teleport inside?” he asked.
“I’m trying to maintain my mortal façade, which means no magic on Earth.”
She didn’t really feel like explaining that she was training to control her magic.
“That’s ridiculous. Why wouldn’t you want to walk down that enticing runway?”
“What about normal, mortal life don’t you understand?”
“All of it?”
Of course, he didn’t. Unlike her, Hermes had always existed as an Olympian. In fact, he’d begun his life the same way he lived it now—mischievously.
“Look, if you aren’t going to help—”
“Help? Are you asking?”
“Not if it means I owe you a favor,” Persephone said quickly.
Gods had everything: wealth, power, immortality—their currency was the currency favors, which were, essentially, a contract, the details to be decided at a future time, and unavoidable.
She’d rather die.
“Not a favor then,” he said. “A date.”
She offered the god an annoyed look. “Do you want Hades to gut you?”