Café de Carrefour
In the alleyway, the sounds of night traffic were muted and the street lights were dim. A woman moved through and walked without fear or hesitation into the dark. Her golden heels clicked on the pavement still damp from the rain and her head was held high. At the sound of a phone ringing, she stopped. A small phone booth sat in a corner under the only light that didn’t flicker.
“I’m not answering that.”
Thunder rumbled overhead and clouds began to gather. With an irritated sigh, she stepped into the booth and picked up the phone. A scowl formed when she heard who answered.
“Darling wife,” he crooned.
“What do you want, dearest?”
“I simply wanted to chat, Hera. It has been quite some time after all.”
A girl giggled on the other end of the phone and the man hushed her teasingly. Fire ran through Hera’s veins and sparked at her fingertips.
“You shameless son of a—”
“Language, darling wife. This is a professional call.”
Hera’s hand trembled as it clenched into a fist. Her long nails dug into her palm and ichor began to drip from the cuts and sizzle as drops of it fell on the booth’s floor.
“I am not the one with a whore in my bed, now am I?”
“Yes, that was rather immature of me, my apologies.”
He briefly spoke to the girl and the rustle of fabric drowned out the rest.
“Now then, the reason I called you. It has been some time since you have returned home, and I understand that I have been quite difficult as of late.”
“Yes, a man of infidelity can be quite difficult indeed. Get to the point.”
The man let out an irritated sigh.
“When are you returning to attend to your duties?”
“Ah yes, my duties. And then you are going to say that it is complete agony to not have me at your side. But when I am there, I am nothing but a thorn in your side! Those were your words!”
“Darling—”
“Don’t ‘darling’ me, dearest. I will return home when I choose to do so, and you can take all the time you want to tend to your sick, perverted needs!”
The phone was slammed back in place and the bottom half completely snapped off. As she slammed the booth door behind her, the glass shattered and scattered across the pavement. She continued walking and paid no mind to the glass she crushed under her heels.
Lighting flashed and thunder roared. Pretty soon, rain fell heavily from the sky, plastering Hera’s clothes and hair to her skin in seconds.
“Are you kidding me?!” With a frustrated scream, she stormed through the alley before reaching an old iron door. She ripped it open and the moment she stepped in, warmth enveloped her and her clothes were completely dry. Her ebony hair had even returned to its previously curled style. Orange sigils glowed on the door frame and hummed softly before disappearing into the wood.
Her irritation and rage seeped out of her as the familiar scent of baked goods and coffee gently floated in the air. It was a cozy place with mismatched furniture, from old armchairs to leather bean bags that can fit two people. But somehow, she didn’t mind. At the back of the room was a counter with a green board menu hanging above and the sweets in the display case almost looked fake with how delicious they seemed. But she knew better than to doubt the person who made them.
“Sorry! Just a moment please!”
A head of wild white hair popped up from behind the counter. Brown eyes scanned over Hera and they immediately widened.
“Oh! Lady Hera, hello!”
A soft smile formed on Hera’s face as she watched them scramble and stand to their full height. An old denim apron hung loosely around their neck and flour was quickly dusted off.
“Did you come by to get the usual or just to chat?”
“A bit of both, my friend.”
“Alright, just gimme a tick to get that prepped and I’ll meet you in the usual corner.”
To mortals, it would’ve looked like they had prepared a simple caramel macchiato. None of them would have seen the golden hue from the nectar. Nor would they have seen Hera’s eyes glow as she took a long sip from the cup. She hummed in delight as she leaned back against her chair.
“You truly spoil me, my friend.”
“The least I can do for one of your status, I think.”
“Flatterer.” She took another long sip and looked out the window. The rain tapped harshly on the glass and the thunder that boomed would have been deafening if they were outside. She didn’t want to go back out again.
“Is he throwing a tantrum again?” they asked.
“When is that old fool not throwing a tantrum?”
More lightning flashed in the sky and the lights blinked out, plunging them into darkness. With a long sigh, a match was struck and several candles were lit.
“What is he whining about this time?”
Hera groaned and rested her head on their shoulder when they sat beside her again. Her friend froze under the gesture, but Hera reached and wrapped their arm around her shoulder. There was an awkward pat or two as she fiddled with her half-empty cup.
“He doesn’t approve of my vacation.”
“He’s a fool is what he is,” they grumbled. “You’ve been working without rest for months.”
“You would think mortals had learned by now, but apparently not! He had the nerve to call me while a whore was in his bed!”
“Lady Hera—”
“Yes, no ‘slut-shaming’ as the modern age calls it. My apologies, Namir.”
She took a deep breath and sighed.
“Damn him. Damn it all.”
She lifted her hand and the ring of bone and gold wrapped around her ring finger glimmered faintly in the candlelight. Once upon a time, she would have looked at it with pride. A ring that was the literal conjoining of her and her husband’s blood and bone. What a foolish thing to be proud of.
“Is there anything I can do?”
Hera downed the rest of her drink and held the empty cup in front of Namir’s face.
“Another drink perhaps?”
Namir frowned as the nectar illuminated her veins and a few white hairs turned black.
“You know I can only give you so much. My next shipment won’t come until next month.”
Her eyes glowed as she frowned back with the cup still waving in front of Namir’s face. With a resigned groan, the cup was plucked from her hands and Namir hopped behind the counter.
“As you wish, my lady,” they sighed.
“Thank you,” she hummed.
She knew that normally Namir wouldn’t budge. Too much could lead to her reverting back to how she was in the glory days, when the people worshipped her and her kin as the gods they were. But that was another time, another life. She must only take enough to survive.
Steam slowly rose out of the new cup placed in front of her.
“Here you are, my lady.”
Hera took the new cup into her hands with a wide grin.
“Much thanks, my dear Namir.”
Hera winced as the thunder continued to roar outside, a reminder of what she would have to endure once she left this place. This small sanctuary that never failed to be rebuilt.
A soft blanket was wrapped around Hera’s trembling form and arms wrapped around her shoulders.
“If you’d like, you can stay for the night.”
Hera looked to Namir, who wore that same patient smile they always did with her.
“Zeus will not be kind to you for this.”
“Doubt he’s capable of kindness at all,” Namir scoffed. She knew that wasn’t quite true, but it made her smile anyway.
At Namir’s insistence, she was given the bed upstairs. The thunder and wind roared louder, and the lightning flashed brighter. However, the blinds covered a majority of it and the soft, warm light emitting from the emergency lights made the room feel cozy. The bed itself wasn’t the softest, nor the warmest bed she had ever been in either, but this was the safest she had felt in many an age.
“Everything to your liking, my lady?”
“As always, dear,” said Hera. She smoothed out the cotton quilt laid over her before patting the space beside her. Namir’s eyes widened and their face became flushed.
“My lady, I couldn’t–”
“Oh don’t fret, I know you’re a loud snorer,” she teased, “I just wished to speak with you about a different matter before you retire.”
With a wave of her hand, golden sigils appeared in all corners of the room and disappeared into the walls. Namir frowned and sat down as she instructed.
“Now that we have proper privacy, have you heard word from Inanna?”
Every muscle in Namir’s body froze and their eyes wandered to the mirror at the far end of the room. Its surface was rusted and muddled, but they could still see Inanna’s star tattooed on their neck, its blue ink still as vibrant as the day it was given. Sitting on the desk beside the mirror was an old frame carrying an old, blurred photo. Namir stood in a simple suit and their hand rested on the shoulder of a beautiful woman with dark skin and dressed in elegant clothing. Smiles were present on both of their faces as the two laughed.
“It’s been many an age,” they said. Their smile didn’t reach their heart when their calloused hand reached up to trace the symbol, it dwindled and faded as the emptiness in their chest only grew.
“Maybe she finally chose mortality like the others before her.”
“You stop that thinking this instant.” A hand gently squeezed Namir’s shoulder and shook them. “You are far too valuable for her to leave without a goodbye. She would have sought you out first!”
“There have been instances where the deities had no choice if they wished to keep a fraction of their memories, Lady Hera,” Namir sighed. “Maybe that was the case for Lady Inanna.”
Before Hera could say more, Namir stood and began to move to the door.
“In any case, it is time that I let you retire for the night. If there is anything you need, don’t hesitate to let me know.”
Hera sighed in defeat and drank the rest of her drink before she fell back against the pillows and pulled the quilt over her body. She chose not to mention the extra protection wards that glowed on the window. They had the right to be afraid. The gods were never good to their kind.
“Rest well, my friend,” they said.
They shut the door behind them, leaving Hera in the little haven of Namir’s design.
“Rest well.”
End
Cisco Bautista is currently an English Major at Cal Poly Pomona, specializing in Literary Studies. In their hometown of West Covina, Cisco writes short stories and a few main writing projects while dabbling in crochet, knitting, playing video games, and overthinking. Their main professional goal is to become an author, writing stories that readers can become attached to, whether it be because of the settings or to some form of comfort gained through a character.