The Search for Juno

Chapter VII

The first thing Angie did when she touched the ground again was vomit.

    They were on the roof of a parking garage at the edge of a blur of lights Angie assumed was Vegas, the air warm and dry, stars peppering the sky above them. Sighing, Hermes knelt beside her, holding her hair back from her face as her stomach heaved.

    "There, there," he said, patting her back as she sat up again with a cough. "You should've told me you had a weak stomach, you know. I could've moderated the pace a bit."

    Angie, still kneeling on the concrete, mopped the last of the mess from her chin. "Hermes?" she said pleasantly.

    He blinked. "Yes?"

    "Fuck you very much."

    He looked stunned for a brief moment, but not particularly offended. A fond grin forming on his face, he offered his hand. "You're very welcome. Now, come on. Upsy-daisy, we've got stuff to do."

    He hefted Angie to her feet, and side-by-side they stood at the edge of the roof, peering out over the city below them. It was a blaze of color, and just as noisy as Angie remembered it from the few times she had gone as a child. Revving car and motorcycle engines, like every street was a race track. High, enthusiastic voices mingling on the sidewalks. The low hum of jazz or techno or Latin music oozing from restaurants and bars. The very air they breathed smelled of money lost and money gained, trashed inhibitions, memories too wild to be forgotten or remembered.

    She had never thought of her life back in Phoenix, Arizona as boring—but somehow, now it was. Her old life, working at a sandwich shop all day and in front of her laptop screen all night, saving the weekends to prowl the town junkyard for malleable pieces of scrap metal, was a dream. Only now did she wake up to the real world.

    Belatedly, Angie realized Hermes was looking at her, his head tilted, dark hair tossed about in the twilight wind.

    "What?" she said. "What are you looking at?"

    "You don't get out much, do you?" said Hermes. She hated how pleased he looked, a gleam in the gold of his eyes that claimed he had her all figured out.

    "I don't think my social life is any of your business."

    He turned his head, facing the city again, arms folded across his chest. "It would be, if you had one."

    She whirled. "Oh, you—"

    "It's a sure shot that we'll find her. You're with me, after all," he said, and took her hand, startling her to stillness. "So why don't we sightsee for a bit?"

    "Wait," she said, watching in utter terror as Hermes shucked off his shoes, the tiny wings on his ankles fluttering to life. "Wait wait wait, no—"

    Her words dissolved into a scream, half-fear, half-glee, as Hermes leapt from the concrete ledge with Angie firmly gripped in his arms, wind rushing about them as they descended into the city.

Las Vegas was even louder up close: spinning neon signs, half-naked street performers, bachelors and bachelorettes trailed by overly enthusiastic friends. Angie was stunned to find she was a little in love with it all, the insouciance of the air, the shiny, low-riding cars, the pleased little smile on Hermes's face when he plucked a too-bright I Heart Las Vegas shirt down from a street stand and handed it to her.   

    "I'm not wearing that," she said.

    He frowned. "Please?"

    "No."