“Yeah, yeah,” I groan. “Look, can we just get going?”
“Wait a minute.” He’s smirking now, his aura the usual golden yellow.
Hermes gives me the once-over and chuckles. “That outfit is just not going to fly.”
When I look down at myself, I realize what he means. Today, I’m wearing a torn Sonic Youth t-shirt, faded jeans, and Converse that are close to falling apart. Hera’s going to have my ass if I don’t look nice tonight.
“Now, make with the snappy.”
With a sigh, I snap my fingers, willing the first image of ‘nice’ attire that pops into my head into reality. A wave of my hand and a tall mirror appears before me and I look just as awkward as I feel. My eternal bed hair has fallen into long curls across my chest and these stilettos are too tall for my own damn good.
“You look great,” Hermes cuts in, now with an appreciative smile. To my embarrassment, his aura glows a smitten raspberry. I attempt to ignore it.
“It’s all so fake,” I tell him. “I never dress like this for a reason.”
“Maybe because you never go anywhere nice.” He puts his hands on my shoulders and meets my eyes, serious now. “Charlie, you’re their only hope for survival. For any more reason for anything. Don’t give them the chance to not believe in you. Because I do. Very much.”
My throat tightens and I don’t know what to say for a bit, so I don’t say anything at all. Hermes releases me and steps forward in front of the mirror, tousling his hair. With a snap of his fingers, his flannel and jeans transform into a well-fitted tuxedo.
“Cute bow,” I say, lightly tugging at it. He grins broadly at me and takes my hand; I wave away the mirror with the other. “Shall we?” he asks. I nod.