A wedding invitation for Pan and Kat.
"How soon?" he asked, the date meaning nothing to him as time was a lost concept for the moment.
"Two weeks," Hybris said. She placed a hand on his wrist and squeezed supportively. "You don't have to go if you aren't ready."
He both was and wasn't. Ever since Orestes had died, Calix had struggled with wanting to be around the rest of the Satyroi. He'd failed his friend, like he failed Theron's victims by turning a blind eye to his proclivities.
You didn't know he was so twisted.
He should have! When Theron had joined that maenad in her murder sprees, he should have known it then. Should have killed him when he killed her. Sparing Theron's life had been his worst error in judgement.
Calix closed his eyes. "I'm ready. I have to leave this place and do what I've been training to do." Wishing Pan and his future wife happiness would give him time to readjust to being around the others, but he wasn't sure he would be returning to The Aegean Inn permanently. The others were all cheerfully in relationships, and he, well…Calix had enjoyed the satyr life until he'd lost his partner in crime. Without Orestes, even that seemed dull. A bitterness filled his mouth at the thought of watching everyone's happiness while he had nothing. "I'll go to the wedding, and then I start my search for Theron."
Hybris nodded. "I'm glad. Everyone misses you."
Calix cleared his throat against the emotion lodged there and returned the invitation to the envelope. He slipped it into his inner jacket pocket, collected his apple and stood. With a lingering look over the treetops down the hill from the temple, he turned and headed inside to prepare for the trip back to the United States.
He missed everyone else, too. Unfortunately, he was sure to disappoint them since he would never be the Calix they knew and loved again. That man had died the day his best friend had.
The End…or only the beginning…
Coming Soon:
Gods and Monsters: The Adventures of Hermes, Part 3
An Excerpt from A Satyr for Christmas
Most women wouldn't complain about being paid to observe attractive, sweaty men on a concert stage, but Chastity Michaels would have happily given up the assignment to anyone else. She crossed her arms, standing on the very edge of the crowd, just outside of the railing at the front of the stage. A security guard gave her a once-over before turning his bored expression toward the crowd. The small venue was standing room only and filling up fast. A woman nearby said something rude about her cutting ahead of them, and she briefly lifted her press badge so they could see she was there for a job, not enjoyment. Chastity didn't want to be there any more than the fans behind her wanted her there. Nevertheless, the complaints stopped, and the woman returned to vocally fantasizing about the band members in vivid detail that no one should have to hear spoken aloud.
Taking out her cell phone, Chastity checked the time. No opening acts were scheduled, which she considered a blessing, but for a band gaining massive popularity so fast, it surprised her. And if they didn't have an opener, shouldn't the band be on stage already? Chastity had better things to do than reviewing another mediocre rock band known for their wild theatrics, prosthetics, and sexually suggestive lyrics. She had been strong-armed into reviewing them in order to also get the assignment for a new stage production she'd been wanting to see that was opening here in Atlanta.
Her boss, Rex Tanner, wanted sex appeal for social media click-bait, and for some reason thought a woman reviewer for this particular band would give it the thirst approach. She'd had to look up what he'd meant by that. It made her feel cheap to be expected to lust openly for a band she had no interest in, but a job was a job, and she didn't get to like every aspect of it so long as she received a paycheck. So, she'd endure this particular torture and move on, as one did. Rex would be sorely disappointed when she didn't give him the article he wanted, but if he expected her to write a piece objectifying the men due on stage any minute, he didn't know her very well.
In the meantime, Chastity began to fidget. First, she checked her crossbody bag for her keys, wallet, phone, notebook and pens since taking stock of her belongings tended to ease her nerves. Then, once that was done, she was left to do nothing but wait. Her brief research told her very little about the band called A Mythical Dilemma aside from their strong European fanbase, especially in Germany, and the news that a member quit not long ago. Their singer. The lead guitarist had taken up the dual position of singing for the band as well as playing, and with him up front and center, their popularity had finally started to catch on here in the States.
Chastity began swirling her press badge around, twisting her lanyard and untwisting it again. The badge that gave her access backstage, where she was supposed to be right now. Part of her assignment was to see the band before and after the show, observe how they acted and prepared, though she was sure Rex only wanted word about the prosthetics. Supposedly, the costuming was so realistic that actual urban legends had arisen about the members. Chastity rolled her eyes. If people thought these guys were really who they dressed up as on stage, they deserved to
