Summon the Keeper

by Tanya Huff

  Amphitrite took his hand and led him away from the van, murmuring into his ear.

  “Well, of course she is,” Poseidon snorted. “Inbreeding, don’t you know.”

  “Excuse me?” Knees up around his ears, Hades squatted by the pigeon’s body. “This bird is dead.”

  Claire saw acute embarrassment in Hermes’ eyes as he sagged back against the van’s side and she hastily hid a smile, remembering that these relics weren’t only his responsibility—they were also his relatives.

  Next in the open door was a man with a short buzz of steel-gray hair over his ears, a broad, tanned face with an old scar puckering one cheek, and the stocky rectangular build of someone who’d spent a lifetime doing hard physical labor. He swung forward on a pair of canes—Claire assumed they were aluminum until she heard the sound they made as they hit the concrete sidewalk. Steel. Uncapped—and swung himself out after them. “Dytie,” he bellowed over a broad shoulder, “are you coming?”

  “No darlin’, just breathing hard,” laughed a voice from the dark interior of the van.

  The assembled company sighed, unified in resignation.

  Aphrodite? Claire mouthed at Hermes. He nodded. Which made the man with the canes Hephaestus.

  The goddess of love had filled out a bit since the old days. The hair was still a mass of ebony curls, piled high, and the eyes were still violet under lashes so long they cast shadows on the curve of pale cheeks although the cheeks had more curves than they once did and the tiny point of the goddess’ chin nestled in a soft bed of rounded flesh. Although tightly bound into an approximation of her old shape, it was obvious that within the reinforced Lycra Aphrodite’s body had returned to its fertility goddess roots.

  Men could get lost in that cleavage, Claire thought. Come to think of it, men have.

  “Hermes, darling, it’s a lovely little hotel I can’t wait to see the inside.”

  “You can’t wait to see the inside of a hotel?” Hera rolled her eyes. “What a surprise.”

  “Bitch.”

  “Slut.”

  Sighing deeply, Hermes indicated that Claire should lead the way. Feeling a little like the pied piper, she started up the stairs.

  The retired Olympians followed.

  “Hades dear, do leave the pigeon where it is.”

  Claire had no idea how Hermes did it, but he managed to get them all into their rooms by seven-twenty with the promise that their luggage would follow immediately. Since Dean was still cooking, Claire went back outside to help.

  “Small pocket in the space-time continuum,” Hermes explained as her jaw dropped at the growing pile of suitcases, trunks, and garment bags covering the sidewalk. “Aphrodite travels with more clothing than Ginger took on that three-hour cruise, Hera uses her own bed linens, Persephone has more jewelry than the British royal family, and Poseidon always packs a couple dozen extra towels.”

  “It’ll take forever to get all this stuff upstairs.”

  “Not hardly.” He grinned. “After all, quick delivery is my middle name. If you’d be so kind as to keep an eye open for the neighbors…”

  Since the only neighbor likely to be watching seemed to have deserted her post, Claire gave the all clear. Hair lifted off her forearms as Hermes twisted the possibilities and the luggage disappeared.

  “Still a few perks left,” he said with quiet satisfaction. “Thanks for your help. I’ll just run the van around to the parking lot.”

  Wondering how much help she could’ve been, Claire went back inside.

  “So,” Austin asked from the countertop. “What are you going to tell Dean?”

  “About what?”

  “The ex-athletes he’s expecting.”

  “Do you think he can handle the truth?”

  The cat paused to wash a back leg. “Better that you tell him than he finds out the hard way. And if that lot’s staying here so they can be themselves, he will find out.” Peering at the floor, one paw braced against the side of the counter, he glanced up at Claire. “You know, a really nice person would lift me off here and keep me from straining old bones.”

  Claire scooped him into her arms and headed for the kitchen. “Hades killed a pigeon just by looking at it. I suppose Dean should be warned.”

  “You suppose? He should?” Austin snorted. “If you’re tired of having him around, wouldn’t it be easier just to fire him?”

  “I am not tired of having him around. I’m just not looking forward to explaining something he has no frame of reference for. You have to admit that not many kids get a classical education these days.”

  “You want him to get a classical education? Wait’ll Aphrodite gets a look at him.”

  When they got to the dining room, they found Hermes leaning over the counter inhaling appreciatively. “I hope you don’t mind,” he said as they approached, “but I’ve introduced myself to Dean and explained a bit of the situation.”

  “Really?” The counter was covered in food, so Claire set the cat down on the floor. He shot her an indignant look and stalked away. “Which bits?”

  Recognizing her tone, Dean hurriedly turned from the stove. “Mr. Gruidae…”

  “Please; Hermes.”

  “…explained that the guests aren’t actually ex-athletes but from a place called Mount Olympus. In Greece.”

  “And this means to you?” Claire asked.

  Dean sighed, clearly disappointed. “That none of them knew Fred Hayward. He was an old buddy of my granddad’s who was on the Canadian hockey team at the Olympics in 1952. Great guy. He died in 1988 and I just, well, you know, wondered.”

  Claire exchanged a speaking glance with the messenger of the gods, picked up a stack of plates and began setting the table. “Dean, do the names Zeus and Hera mean anything to you?”

  “Sure. I watch TV. I mean, they’re kids’ shows, but they’re fun.”

  Hermes looked so distraught, Claire pushed him into a chair and attempted to convince Dean that there were distinct differences between television gods and real ones—even after retirement—and that if he didn’t keep those differences in mind, it was going to be an interesting meal.

  “So retired Olympians meant a bunch of old Greek Gods? The real ones?”

  “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 gods 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 butter 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 God of Thieves.”

  Hades and Persephone were first down for dinner. Trail
ing 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, brushing the ends of scarves out of his way.

  Behind the Lord of the Dead, looking perturbed, came Jacques. As god and goddess 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 goddess called for him a third time. “Perhaps you’re right.”

  “I am?”

  “Jacques, my scarf!”

  “Is he?” Dean asked, glancing up from the salmon steaks and watching Jacques fly across the room with narrowed eyes.

  Claire shrugged. “I said perhaps. He’s stuck working for them, I just wanted to make him feel better about it.”

  He waved the spatula. “I’m working for them.”

  “Yes, but you get paid.”

  With his face toward the stove, she almost missed him saying, “I could be made to feel better about it”

  All at once she understood. “This is the night you go out drinking with your friends from home, isn’t it? And I never even thought to ask you if you’d mind staying here, I just assumed.” This dinner had nothing to do with lineage business, and she had no right to commandeer a bystander’s support. “I’m sorry. There’ll be a little extra in your pay this week.”

  He looked up, turned toward her, flushed slightly, and after a moment said, “That wasn’t what I meant.”

  Afraid she’d missed something, Claire never got the chance to ask.

  “Sexual tensions,” Aphrodite caroled from the doorway. “How I do love sexual tensions.”

  “Not at the dinner table,” Hera snarled, pushing past.

  “Fish.” Dripping slightly, Poseidon wandered into the kitchen and peered nearsightedly down at the platter of salmon. “Finally, an edible meal.” He straightened and blinked rheumy eyes in Claire’s general direction. Fingers of both hands making pincer movements he moved closer. “Wanna do the lobster dance? Pinchy, pinchy.”

  “No. She doesn’t.” Still holding the spatula, Dean moved to intercept. He didn’t care who the old geezer was, a couple of his granddad’s friends had been dirty old men and the only defense was a strong offense. The God of the Oceans bumped up against his chest.

  “Ow.”

  “Serves you right.” Aphrodite pulled her husband from the kitchen and steered him toward his chair. “You promised you’d behave.”

  “My nose hurts.”

  “Good.”

  When all the gods but Zeus had assembled, Hermes cleared his throat and gestured toward the entry into the dining room, announcing, “The Lord of Olympus!”

  “Where’d the trumpet fanfare come from?” Dean murmured into Claire’s ear.

  Claire shrugged, an answer to both the question and the gentle lapping of warm breath against her neck.

  Striding into the room like a small-town politician, Zeus clapped shoulders and paid effusive compliments as he circled the table. The recipients looked sulky, senile, or indifferent, depending on temperament and number of functioning brain cells. Finally settling into his seat at the head of the table, he lifted his sherry glass of prune nectar and tossed it back.

  With the meal officially begun, everyone began buttering buns and helping themselves to salad.

  “Stupid, irritating ritual,” Hephaestus muttered as Claire set his plate in front of him.

  “If it makes him happy,” Hermes cautioned.

  “What’s he going to do to me if he’s unhappy, run over me with that domestic hunk of junk you’re driving?” The God of the Forge smiled tightly and answered himself. “Not unless he wants to trust to secular mechanics the next time it breaks down.”

  “It’s so pleasant to be ourselves,” Amphitrite said quickly as Zeus frowned down the table. “But shouldn’t you be eating with us, Keeper?”

  Claire had already been over this with Dean. “As guests of the hotel, you’re my responsibility. Besides, Dean did all the cooking.”

  “And it looks like a lovely meal. I find men who cook so…” Aphrodite’s pause dripped with innuendo. “…intriguing.”

  “You find men who breathe intriguing,” Hera muttered.

  “Harpy.”.

  “Flotsam.”

  “More nectar?” Claire asked.

  “I thought dinner went well,” Austin observed, climbing onto Claire’s lap. “Everyone survived.”

  “You have salmon on your breath.”

  He licked his whiskers. “And your point is?”

  “Pick it up. Put it down. She drops a stitch in that infernal knitting and I must pick it up for her. If I were not already dead, that woman would drive me to chop off my own head.” Jacques collapsed weightlessly down on the sofa beside Claire. “I thought that you should know, His Majesty, the Lord of the Dead, is downstairs talking to Hell and Her majesty wants him to come to bed. She is getting—How do you say?—impatient?”

  “…them to sit down and they did, but what they didn’t know was that I’d shown them to the Chair of Forgetfulness and they couldn’t get up again because uh, they, uh…Who was I talking about?”

  THESEUS AND PIRITHOUS.

  “I was?”

  YES.

  “Oh. They weren’t the ones with the pomegranate seeds?”

  NO.

  “Are you sure? There was something about pomegranate seeds.”

  THE LADY PERSEPHONE ATE SEVEN POMEGRANATE SEEDS AND HAD TO REMAIN WITH YOU IN TARTARUS FOR PART OF THE YEAR.

  “No, that wasn’t it.”

  YES, IT WAS.

  Hades’ voice brightened. “Do you know my wife?”

  Listening at the top of the stairs, Claire was tempted to leave Hades right where he was. Another hour or two of conversation and Hell would seal itself. Unfortunately, there was an impatient goddess in room two. Fortunately, it took very little to convince Hades, who’d forgotten where he was, to return to her.

  KEEPER?

  Almost to the door, herding the Lord of the Dead up the stairs in front of her, Claire paused. “What?”

  IF WE WERE CAPABLE OF GRATITUDE…

  “I didn’t do it for you.”

  NEVERTHELESS.

  Backed up against the dishwasher, the goddess of love so close he could see her image in the reflection of his glasses in her eyes, Dean had no easy out. The room started to spin, beads of sweat formed along his spine, and he knew that in a moment he’d do something he’d be embarrassed about for the rest of his life. He wasn’t entirely sure what that was likely to be, but it certainly appeared that Aphrodite had a very good idea. Taking a deep breath, he dropped his shoulder, faked right, and moved left.

  Fortunately, Aphrodite’s corseting insured that her reach impeded her grasp.

  Distance helped. With the length of the kitchen between them, he began to regain his equilibrium although his jeans were still uncomfortably tight “The decaf’s in the pot on the counter there, ma’am. Help yourself.”

  Tipping her cleavage forward, the goddess smiled. “You going to sweeten it for me, sugar?”

  He pushed the sugar bowl toward her.

  Her fingers
lingered on his as she picked it up, and her expression segued from seductive to delighted. “Why, you’re just a big old…”

  “Dytie!” Even from the second floor landing, Hephaestus’ voice carried. “Are you bothering that boy?”

  “Why, yes, I do believe I am.”

  “Well, stop it and come to bed!”

  To Dean’s relief, she picked up her cup and turned to go, tossing a provocative, “Pleasant dreams, honeycake,” in his general direction. He had an uncomfortable feeling it wasn’t merely a suggestion.

  Coming back downstairs from returning Hades to his wife, Claire stepped aside to let Aphrodite pass.

  “You know, Keeper,” the goddess said, leaning close, “that boy of yours is a treasure.”

  “Dean’s not mine.”

  “Sure he is. Or he could be if you gave him a little bitsy bit of encouragement.”

  “Encouragement?”

  “You’re right.” She patted Claire on the shoulder with one plump hand. “He won’t understand subtle. Kick his feet out from under him and beat him to the floor.”

  “Dytie! You coming?”

  “Not yet darlin’, and don’t you start without me.” Adding a quiet “You remember what I said,” she sashayed on past and Claire descended the rest of the way to the lobby.

  Hearing noises in the kitchen, she hurried down the hall. It could be a god getting a late night snack, but on the other hand, it could also be a god attempting a senile manifestation of ancient eldritch powers with catastrophic results. The odds were about equal.

  “Oh. It’s you.”

  Dean closed the dishwasher and straightened. “I couldn’t sleep without putting the dishes away.”

  “Kick his feet out from under him and beat him to the floor.”

  “Boss? You okay?”

  She blinked and started breathing again. “Sorry. Just thinking of something Aphrodite said.”

  His ears turned scarlet.

  “That boy of yours is a treasure.”

  “Are you okay? She didn’t…well, you know.”

  To her surprise, his blush faded. “Would you care?” he asked, meeting her gaze.