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The piercing cold of his gaze made my breath seize in my lungs.
“I am not a man, as you insulted me earlier. Iamthe god of thieves, which means I may do with them as I please. I may do withyouas I please.”
Hermes turned from me to face the boatman in the distance, dismissing me as I sucked in a breath. He put a firm hand on my back and urged me toward the shore. “Charon, I have a passenger for you.”
The figure turned to face us. Unlike most men in the mortal realm, Charon wore a chiton that draped to the ground; its sooty color matched the dreary surroundings. Around his shoulders hung a chlamys, but the odd garment had excess fabric that surrounded his head. It shielded enough of his face that his features were cloaked in shadow. Only his eyes could be seen, glowing from within. They were silver. The center had a thin golden ring, barely visible from the distance. The outer edge of his iris was bronze, containing the silver between the two warmer metal tones. They almost looked like coins in his eyes, as if obols themselves had settled within his body.
“Thatone is alive,” he said in a bored rasp that slipped out between glinting, white teeth. Four of them were fang-like, elongated with sharp points—two from the top row and two jutting up from the bottom.
Hermes shrugged. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
He stared at Charon, seemingly awaiting a response, but the Ferryman watched us in silence.
Dionysus finally broke the quiet with a huff. “Hermes, I’m leaving.”
“Fine, Dio.” Hermes bunched his hands into fists at his sides with an exasperated sigh. “She’s your problem now, Charon, at least until I return for her. I’m sure you’ll be a good host.”
With that, they were gone.
The conviction of my precarious fate settled into my body, every muscle screaming at the weight of the burden.
I had to steal from a fanged psychopomp—probably dying here by his hand—or return to the mortal realm a failed thief awaiting death.
Charon
Hermes and Dionysus.
I barely tolerated most visitors, wishing instead to be left to my work in peace, but those two… every interaction with them was my own sisyphean trial.
Hermes, in particular, constantly badgered me while escorting souls. If I didn’t know better, I would think he was trying to provoke me—such an effort would be a fool’s errand.
Most of the gods respected the Underworld and left us to our work, but these particular gods ignored the rules of this domain, flitting about and pilfering souls from beyond the Styx or dropping off living mortals.
We had a system in the Underworld. The living had no place here, and souls on the other side of the Styx were to remain there.
And yet, there she stood.
A livingmortal.
I perused her from within my cowl, knowing she wouldn’t be able to make out my face. The woman glared at me with dark brown eyes. The color matched the carefully braided hair around her crown. Lips pursed in disapproval as she took me in. Her scorn was misplaced; I wasn’t the one to abandon her. It wasn’t my fault she was here.
We might as well get to the crux of the matter.
“What noble quest are you after?”
She blinked at me, her glare turning owlish.
“Noble? I would hardly call my purpose here noble. I’m not on a quest. I’m just… here.” She threw her arms up and spun in a circle. “In the Underworld. At the whims of a precocious god. Because Hermes is an asshole!” The last bit was shouted as if the god himself would hear it.
He might. But it was more likely he wouldn’t. If he did, he wouldn’t care.
“It is not my purpose to look after mortals.”
“Well it wasn’t in my plans to visit the Underworld, either.”
I huffed. “That is not my fault, and also not my problem.”
I turned towards the water. The lull of the river should’ve been enough to muffle my awareness of her presence, but no. Soft, sandaled steps grew louder until she was right beside the ferry.
