Chapter Three

The Faerie God amazed our guests by growing our dining table out of the ballroom floor—a marble floor. Nothing cracked. He simply changed certain tiles into soil and summoned plants out of them. It wasn't a full table but a ring with seats around the outer rim so that all our guests had a view of us. In the center of the ring, Az transformed the floor into a window that overlooked one of the landscapes beneath the citadel.

“Your seats have been assigned,” Azrael said as he escorted me to ours. “The attendants will help you locate them if you need assistance.”

The gaping guests were escorted to their seats—seats that had affected the price of their tickets. The closer to Azrael, the more you had to pay. Az said that the seats directly to his right and my left had been snatched up immediately, despite his tacking on an additional ten thousand dollars to them. But every seat at the table was special. Az and I had the twins between us, but my other children and husbands were scattered around the table and then there were the Wild Fey kids and their families. So everyone had someone interesting sitting nearby.

I wasn't surprised to see the first couple we had greeted claim the seats to Azrael's right. The wife got the one next to the Faerie God. They reintroduced themselves, and I was grateful for that. There were too many people present to remember everyone's name. She was Beatrix, Bea for short, and he was Thomas. They insisted on us using their first names.

“What is that?” Bea asked as she peered over the rim of the table. “Is it like a movie?”

Azrael blinked.

“No, sweetheart,” Thomas said patiently. “It's real.”

“I mean, I know it's not a screen. I can see that,” she said with a pout. “But I thought that maybe it was a holographic image or something like that. A really good one made with magic.”

“A magical illusion,” I supplied. “And that's a good guess.”

“Thank you.” Beatrix beamed at me.

“But your husband is right,” Azrael said. “It is real.” He stood to address all the guests. “For all of you who are wondering, this is a window in the floor, not an illusion. The view is of the lands directly below us. My citadel goes down hundreds of feet into the earth, where the Wild Magic is especially potent. There are vast terrains down there. I thought you might enjoy a view of one of them while you eat.”

The guests applauded this. As they did, a line of wait staff entered the room carrying trays laden with pretty porcelain bowls.

“For the first course, we have Magical Mushroom Soup with garlic Parmesan croutons.” Azrael waved at the bowls that were set before the guests. “And just to be clear, they are not that kind of magic mushrooms. It's just a name we gave the soup since the mushrooms have been imported from Faerie. I promise they are safe for human consumption.”

The guests chuckled as Az resumed his seat, and then we settled in to enjoy our meal. Luckily, the kids had exhausted themselves in the greeting room. After we finished with the Grays, we had set Lesya, Vero, and the Wild Fey children loose in there to play with the twins while we mingled with the guests. Appetizers and drinks were served as Az and I circled the ballroom, and then it had been time for dinner. So, the kids had a good hour to run amok before we reined them in. They now sat peacefully in their seats, eagerly eating their magic mushroom soup.

Well, most of them.

“I don't like soup,” Sebastian declared.

“Just try it,” I urged him.

He shook his head. “Smells funny.”

“It's yummy,” Dominic said.

I grabbed a piece of bread from the nearest bread bowl and set it before Sebastian. “There. You can have that until the next course comes.”

“I want french fries.”

Bea burst out laughing. “I guess all children are the same when it comes to food.”

She wasn't the only one who smiled at that. Although it was a big table, with it being circular, most of the guests were within earshot.

“Yes.” The Faerie God bent his antlered head. “Children are the same on the inside no matter how they look on the outside. I believe that goes for all of us.”

That won Azrael a few soft smiles and nods of agreement. But one man also called out playfully, “Except that some of us have magic.”

“True,” Az said while some of the guests laughed. “Faeries have magic. But how is magic different from any other talent or power? We are still people like you. If you prick us, do we not bleed?”

“If you tickle us, do we not laugh?” I said the next part of the quote and tickled Sebastian, who burst into adorable laughter right on cue.

The guests giggled along with him. But there's always a heckler, isn't there? Even among people who are staunch supporters.

“And if we poison you, do you die, Faerie God?” a man a few seats down from me asked.

“No,” Azrael said. “Poison won't kill me. But I can be killed. Forgive me if I don't tell you how.” He winked at the man.

Another round of laughter circled the table.

“Well done,” I whispered to Az.

The rest of the meal went pretty smoothly. Even Sebastian settled down after he saw that the second course was a selection of crostini. There were a couple of meat options and a vegetarian. I told the twins they were faerie pizza. That did the trick.

After dinner, Azrael returned the ballroom to its original state and a faerie band set up on a dais. There was lovely fey music for the humans to dance to, and I even joined Azrael for a few turns around the floor. Thankfully, it wasn't until after our third dance that Pan came bursting into the ballroom.

Pan's appearance is pretty normal for a god. As long as you don't look too closely at the wild curls on his head. If you do, you might see the little horns hidden there. But otherwise, he looked human. Very handsome but human. So he didn't raise any eyebrows when he made his way through the crowd. Not human brows, at least.

Azrael saw him first—not so surprising with the height he had on me in his Faerie God form. He frowned, then leaned down to whisper, “Pan's here. He looks upset.” Then he smiled and hooked my arm around his before leading me toward Pan .

We collected the rest of the family along the way and met Pan near the wall.

“Through here.” Az reached for the wall as a door appeared.

His hand connected with the handle as it finished forming. Then he was through the passage, leaving us to follow him into a plain sitting room. Well, plain by comparison to the greeting room and ballroom. It was still a very nice room with some thick rugs on the floor and an assortment of seats available for our use. Azrael didn't use any of them. He stopped in the middle of the room and turned to face Pan expectantly.

“It's my father,” Pan said. “He's in my territory and he's very upset. He wants to meet with you.”

“Me?” Azrael asked.

“All of you,” Pan said. “The Squad too. They're already on their way. I'm sorry. I know you're having a big party for the kids tonight, but my dad rarely asks me for anything.”

I pressed my lips together and looked at my husbands. Pan's father was Hermes, the Greek Messenger God. In the God Realm, he published the only god newspaper—the Hermes Herald. It was available in a physical format if you preferred, but most gods received copies of it via whatever message receptacle they used. All messages received in that way were called heralds. I wasn't sure if his newspaper had inspired the name or if it was the other way around, but I wouldn't be surprised if it was the former. Gods listened to Hermes. And he had used that influence to screw me over by announcing when I had lost my immortality. It had been brief, but he took his sweet time updating everyone that I was back to full power. And during that time, gods who wanted me dead came after me. That being said, Hermes had also done me a good turn when Lesya was abducted. And then there was the fact that he was Pan's dad .

“I'll stay,” Azrael said. “The rest of you go. Leave the kids. I'll watch them.”

I looked at the twins, who had gone to one of the couches and curled up, ready for bed. They were on Pride Palace time and even though it was still early evening in Texas, back home it was so late that it was early. It showed how excited they were that they had stayed awake this long.

“They need to go home. They're tired.” I nodded at Lesya and Vero, who were sitting on the couch, awake but doing the sleepy-head-nod.

“I vill take zem home,” Kirill offered as he went to gather them up. “Come, children. Ve go home.” He picked up the twins, setting one on each shoulder, then herded the other two out the door.

I hurried to intercept him and kiss my babies goodnight before kissing Kirill's cheek too. “Thank you.”

“Da.” He kissed me back. “Be careful.”

He wasn't wrong to warn me. Hermes could be tricky. But if he needed our help, I doubted I had anything to worry about. I just nodded and opened the door for them.

“Can we go now?” Pan asked.

“Yes.” Azrael waved us out. “I'll tell the guests that the children need to go home and that's why you're all leaving.”

We headed out of the room, then skirted the ballroom. A few of the guests watched us leave, but no one tried to intercept us. Azrael split from our group and headed back into the fray, while the rest of us left the ballroom and headed for the citadel's tracing chamber.

The tracing chamber was larger than the one at Pride Palace, so we all left together—Kirill and the kids tracing home while the rest of us went to Pan's territory.

Visiting Pan's territory was always a delight. Pan collected the lost souls of children. Oh, that sounds creepy. It's not like that. Pan was the inspiration for Peter Pan. Pan had once been spotted holding a dying child and offering them a wonderful afterlife if they'd only follow him. That chance sighting by some random human led to the story of Peter Pan. And that story was more accurate than the author could have possibly known.

Pan had spent a lot of time during the world wars scooping up the souls of dying children who had been orphaned or abandoned or simply never introduced to religion. Unclaimed by any god, they would have gone to the Void, but Pan didn't know that. He thought he was saving them by offering to claim them. Those who accepted got to go to Neverland and be children forever.

The Pan lived in a huge pirate ship, its deck skewered with towers and its worn planks hiding a glorious palace. His tracing chamber was a separate building outside the ship—an arbor covered in grape vines. It stood at the bottom of the hill that the ship perched on. So, we had to walk a path of yellow bricks to get to the wizard. I mean, to get to the ship. I preferred to skip along it. It seemed more appropriate. The yellow brick road led past a lake full of mermaids, a carnival of outrageous and ridiculous rides, and a train conducted by cartoon characters. The train wasn't running, the mermaids were asleep, and the rides were all dark. It was night in Neverland and even Lost Boys needed their sleep.

Pan practically ran up the path. To the right was a thick forest. Tucked away among those trees was a gingerbread cottage where Pan's son, Pierce, lived with his mother. And just so you know, when I say gingerbread, I don't mean Victorian architectural details. They live in a real house made of sweets. Like a witch. I was seriously considering making one for my kids, but I worried that they'd simply pull a Hansel and Gretel and eat the thing. I wasn't sure if Pan was living in the cottage now, but that's not where he led us. He went up to the ship's front door, set into the bottom of the hull.

Pinocchio threw open the front door and declared, “Finally!”

The real boy was actually a Greek historian whose name I couldn't recall. I was surprised that he was still in his Pinocchio guise when all the kiddies were down for the night. Especially with Hermes in attendance. You'd think he'd want to look more mature in front of his boss's dad. But I suppose they'd known each other for centuries. It wasn't as if he had to make a first impression.

“They were in the middle of something important,” Pan snapped as he pushed past the stringless puppet. “Are they still in the garden room?”

“Yes,” Pinocchio said as he dashed after Pan. “I gave them some food. And beverages. But your father is anxious.”

“I know!” Pan growled. Then he looked over at Pinocchio. “Sorry, Polybius. I'm anxious too.”

“I know, master,” Pinocchio (or Polybius if you don't want to be fun) said. “It's all right.”

The duo led us past a rocket elevator that had once shot me and my husbands up to one of the towers. Instead of going up, we went down a wonky hallway. Pan opened a door, and we piled into the garden room.

Having come from the Golden Citadel, the words “garden room” conjured an image of the greeting room with its plants growing out of the floor. And that wasn't too far off. The major difference was the size of the plants. Flowers towered over us, mushrooms formed umbrellas, and blades of grass taller than the Faerie God frothed around them. We followed a dirt path around all the giant greenery. Then one of the flowers—a tiger lily, I believe—bent its head to sniff me.

“Alice in Wonderland!” I declared with glee. “This is the Garden of Live Flowers!”

“Well, fucking finally,” someone ahead grumbled. I was pretty sure it was Hermes.

“This is awesome!” I said, undaunted by Hermes's grumbling. “I can't believe you've never brought me here, Pan. You know how much I love that book.”

“Do I?” Pan looked over his shoulder at me. “I don't think you've ever mentioned it.”

“Oh.” I frowned. Then I grinned as I stroked the tiger lily and made it purr. “Well, I do. Hello, kitty.”

“Vervain, could you please stop petting the flowers and join us? I've been waiting awhile.”

I looked away from the tiger lily to see Hermes standing before Pan, his hands on his lean hips and his eyes narrowed. He had the same curly hair as Pan, but whereas Pan was a brunette, Hermes was blond. And Hermes didn't have horns. But other than that, they were pretty similar in appearance.

“What's wrong, Hermes?” I asked, giving the tiger lily one last stroke before stepping forward. “Pan hasn't told us anything.”

“Maybe we should sit down?” Pan said, waving us into a clearing full of normal furniture. Well, normal in size. It was, of course, the Mad Hatter's tea table.

I squealed and ran past Hermes. “It's time for tea!”

“Hello, Vervain,” Thor drawled as I skipped up to the table, its mismatched chairs full of the members of the God Squad .

“Hey, Thor,” I said absently, my focus on the tiered trays of scones, tea cakes, and tiny sandwiches.

There were several pots of tea in assorted styles to go with the hodgepodge of teacups and plates. I snatched a plate and loaded it with food before inspecting the teas.

“For fuck's sake!” Hermes declared. “Pick one. They're all just stewed leaves.”

“I like black tea,” I said, then lifted a lid on a teapot to sniff its contents. “This smells good.”

“Wonderful. Can you sit the fuck down now?”

“Hey!” Trevor pointed at the Messenger God's face. “We're here to help you, without even knowing what you need help with, and my wife is a huge fan of Alice in Wonderland. If you wanted serious-Vervain, you should have met with us in a normal room.”

“Thanks, babe,” I said as I poured my tea.

Hermes looked ready to explode, his face gone as red as a rose—a painted rose, of course.

“Hermes, what has happened?” Odin asked as he laid a hand on the other man's shoulder.

“Odin,” Hermes said. He blinked, then growled, “Someone stole my snakes!”