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“Oh, I know.” She grins. “Both Hades and Charon extended invitations this week.”
I laugh. “Never doubt that your presence is wanted.” Charon, in particular, has seemed to take personal responsibility for Medusa and Calypso settling in. Though I don’t know if they’re still technically “settling in” well over a year after moving here to work for Hades.
Or, rather, fleeing for their lives.
It’s nowhere near as uncommon as I’d thought when I first crossed the River Styx all those months ago. The lower city has been refuge for so many people. Ironic, when up until a year ago, Hades was considered a myth and the boogeyman of Olympus. Instead, he’s the savior to those desperate enough to cross the river into his domain.
Medusa drags a hand through her short blond hair. “We appreciate the offer, but I think we’re going to do something private.”
“Well, the offer stands.”
“Like I said, we appreciate it.” It’s hard to tell with her scarf around her neck, but I think she’s blushing. “All of it.”
It takes us twice as long as normal to reach the winter market because we keep getting stopped on the street. Hades and I don’t get out as much as we used to, not since the attacks... Another thing I refuse to think about.
It’s over. That’s enough. I’m not naive; I know our lives are never going to be completely free of danger, but with the changes in Olympus, at least there’s hope. There’s always hope.
Medusa does her best to have patience, but by the time we reach the winter market, she’s practically fidgeting. She’s not one to stand still, so it must be agonizing to move so slowly.
I shrug out of my coat as we step inside. It’s not technically heated by anything other than the bodies of people shopping in this space, but it’s inside so no one can fret that I’m not warm enough. Medusa eyes the coat of my arm, but when I tense, ready for an argument, she just says, “I’ll carry that for you.”
“That’s not necessary.” I smile. “I’m more than capable of hauling around a jacket for a time.” And there’s the problem of her needing her hands to be a proper bodyguard.
I hate that I even have the thought.
To distract myself, I look around the winter market. On one hand, I can’t believe it’s been an entire year since I was here last. On the other, it feels like several lifetimes.
“Where to first?”
“Let’s see what they have for decorations.” I spent a particularly sneezy afternoon in the attic, searching for anything of that nature, but if it ever existed in the Hades household, it was lost in the fire of Hades’s youth like so much else.
And so we begin again. Symbolic in so many ways.
I take my time meandering the stalls with Medusa looming at my side. Everything is so festive, garlands strung from various booths, a wild variety of smells hitting me at every turn. I take a moment tobe grateful that my morning sickness has long since passed, but I do work to pass one stall serving fish as quickly as possible, shooting the woman there an apologetic smile.
“Look at that.”
I follow Medusa’s motion to a stall housing a shelf of brightly colored cookies. I wander closer and get the spiced scent of gingerbread. My mouth waters, but what truly catches my interest is that some of the cookies are little black dogs with jaunty bows around their necks.
I think they would make Hades smile in that indulgent way of his.
“Do you see something you like?”
I smile at the Latina woman with her cute, frilly apron. “Do you by chance accept orders? I would love to have a selection of these for the holidays, but I know it’s not much time.” Less than a week, all said and done.
In my mother’s house, holiday planning starts in November—and sometimes even sooner when she’s feeling inspired. My sisters and I often plan out our gifts for each other through the summer. Ever since we were little, the unspoken rule is that we don’t buy for each other. Our gifts are often small and handmade or thoughtful in some way.
Hades and I aren’t doing gifts. We talked about it, but he’s barely onboard with a full holiday experience, let alone the pressure of gifts. I don’t see it as a pressure, but he’s so intentional about everything he does, it will take him a solid year to decide on the proper gift.
Next year. We promised each other next year there would be time and energy for gifts. This year is only for the celebration.
The baker is very accommodating and we arrange for one of my people to pick up the order the day before everything closes down. She has to assure me several times that it’s no hardship and there is plenty of time and that the order isn’t really that large.
She’s right. It’s not as if we’re entertaining. My mother and sisters have other obligations this year, but we decided to have the family gathering the day after instead of trying to make all the moving parts work.
And, selfishly, I want the quiet moments with my husband and household.
A phone rings, and Medusa motions for me not to go anywhere as she pulls it out of her cargo pants and answers. “Medusa, here. Yes, we’re still in the market.” Her gaze flicks to me. “What do you think we’re doing, Charon? We’re shopping. I think we’re wrapping up.” It’s not quite a question, but she’s obviously directing this bit at me.
