Diaries of Hestia: My Brother, The Madman
This city is a madhouse – the mortals are stacked in here like spawning fish in a river. Thunder Boy’s little project lacks soul, but I suppose that’s what I’m for.
When the gods need a place to rest, they come to me. Always Hestia to the rescue, to be the voice of reason to Hera, the one who can scold Zeus, the one who offers comfort to the world-weary and takes no shit from anyone. I am home, I am the hearth, I am Hestia.
This city is a madhouse – the mortals are stacked in here like spawning fish in a river. Thunder Boy’s little project lacks soul, but I suppose that’s what I’m for.
I whispered a blessing over the little ball of sunlight in my hand, and gently laid it on its bed of olive wood gathered from the wild places of Mount Olympus. My fire was once again burning in the brazier of the gods, and I’m not going to lie, it felt amazing.
“A month after you left, my lady,” Connor said, his voice cracking with tiredness. “He started declinin’ right after you left, but he went peacefully at the end. Just went to sleep and never woke up.
THIS was more like it – the fierce adulation of strong warriors, just as heady as the prayers of new brides. I closed my eyes for a moment, basking in the sheer power of it.
The sober-ish one was screaming, trying to reload his gun, dropping bullets in his fear, and the pungent scent of his terror was thick on the air. He managed to get one shot off, which was a mistake. The bullet didn’t even slow Seamus down – but it did piss the rest of them off.
Leave behind the greens and browns of the Highlands and take your place by the bonfire. Be a satyr’s girl, for once in your life. Dance under the moon with me, for Equinox?”
“The fact that I can see your pulse poundin’ in your throat, love,” he purred, and leaned down to give me a kiss. At the last moment, he jerked his head back and licked my nose instead before hopping backwards out of arm’s reach.
Ahead of me was empty air, all the way to the stone thousands of feet below.
I stopped at every satyr’s corpse and laid drachma over their eyes, praying that Charon would give them swift passage to Elysia.
A flash of movement caught my eye, a shape among the smoke, half-seen on the edge of the forest.
I sang of strength, and duty, and diligence, and loyalty, and love, then slipped the stoppers into the slender necks of the vials.
“Hes, darlin’ love, you’re not the flirtatious type, so what was that all about? You’re usually so regal and serene on nights like this.”
Something hit me from the side, hard enough to send me flying across the path and crashing into one of the giant mossy pine trees.
“Why do you smell like burnt blood and sausage, love?” “Assassin dark elf in the elevator, and those stuffed pork trotters you like,” I said.
“By the holy fires, Ankhiale, I will see you dead beneath the burning eyes of the Heavens or die myself in the attempt,” I swore.