Daughter of Fire ( The Daughter of Fire Saga Book 1 )

“…Hermes?” Savannah blurted in disbelief. The god nodded, evidently used to her reaction. He could not really blame her —he barely passed for Søren’s physical age. Understandably, he did not look exactly like his statues and paintings in the exhibit. His mien had altered with time and adjusted to his preference now that he was in the twenty-first century. His short curly hair was still the colour of golden wheat; his skin was evenly tanned; and his eyes were polished star white sapphires.

“You actually responded,” the redheaded Reaper spluttered once she accepted that this…boy, was in fact, Hermes.

“I heard that entrances are supposed to be more dramatic than that,” Søren remarked, narrowing his eyes at the god.

“Well, you see, I just happened to be in the neighbourhood, so…” he drawled sarcastically. “Look kids, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but stealth is kind of my thing,” he smirked. “I can’t afford to be bursting forth in a shimmering shower of light to the sound of trumpets every time that someone offers me their leftovers.”

“That sandwich was fresh from the store,” Savannah snapped in defence.

“Yes, I suppose it was a satisfying change in snack,” Hermes huffed.

Søren coughed, feeling the need to remind the two of them why they were even interacting in the first place. “Hermes, we really need your advice. Do you know anyone who would be willing to warp time?”

“What for?”

“Someone made an irreversible mistake,” the Trainer hinted, shooting his trainee a glare. “And she could get reaped for it.” Savannah glanced elsewhere again —more stubborn and betrayed than guilty.

“Reaped? That’s extreme. Mistakes can be quite catastrophic in your line of work, I see,” mused the god. Søren was thankful for his indulgence, something unlike no one had ever given him before in his life.

“Exactly. Which is why we are trying to change the perception of the future; make it seem like the incident never happened.”

“I am glad to hear at least that you understand that you cannot actually eradicate the past,” Hermes acknowledged. “And you were wise to seek my aid. I take it you know of my adventurous history.”

“The god of practical jokes,” Savannah scoffed.

Søren elbowed her sharply. “Forgive her,” he said through gritted teeth, “this is our first time summoning a deity.”

“Well, she is not entirely wrong,” Hermes admitted. “I do enjoy a good prank every now and then.” The petty Reaper grinned triumphantly at her Trainer. “…But,” the Winged Messenger then spoke again, this time his eyes glinting with a sinister shine, “what’s in it for me?”

The two Reapers paused. They had not thought of that. They dithered helplessly. Would the god really turn them down now, even though they had come halfway? Their panic must have shown on their faces, because Hermes then slowly nodded in understanding.

“In exchange for information, you must give me information,” Hermes said, his voice low and eerie. “If the knowledge you seek is to save an existence, then you have to provide me with something that can destroy one. So, tell me why you desperately need to alter this timeline.”

The teenage god leaned against steel scaffolding, deadly serious. The Trainer glanced at Savannah. She met his gaze, her eyes shimmering with defeat. She knew as well as he did that they did not really have a choice. Against better judgement and their will, they had to trust Hermes. Even Søren’s additional plea to keep the matter private might mean nothing to him.

“I swear upon the River Styx,” then said Winged Messenger; his bright, terrifying eyes unblinking. “I will not tell a soul. Not a mortal, not a monster, and not an immortal. Not now, anyway. Perhaps we will see if the information proves useful at another time.”

“You can’t —” Savannah started, darting forward.

“—I can,” Hermes cut her off, “and I will. You summoned me. I don’t know you two. I need some sort of collateral.”

She glared at him —she really stared the herald of the gods down, her stance irreverent and unapologetic. And he met her challenge, wordlessly and intangibly wrestling with her very soul. Both immortals’ irises flickered to life, burning wildly. For a second, it almost seemed as though Savannah might be a match for the god. But Søren’s trainee then growled, buckling beneath the pressure and angrily turning away and hissing something impolite under her breath. Hermes retorted with the quietness of a spy; his form almost melted into the shadows, but those luminous eyes anchored him.