She lifted a hand to run her fingertips over the gilded sandals on Hera’s feet, but stopped when she heard footsteps echoing into the temple.
Startled, she turned to see who else still visited the temple, and was even more shocked to see Phoebe’s friend, Troy, hurrying inside. He was carrying a cloth bag in his outstretched hands, eyeing it nervously as if it might bite at any second.
***
“Travatas?” Stella asked, trying to determine what might be in the bag. “What are you—“
“Aaaack!” he screamed, dropping the bag and then quickly retrieving it when it started to wriggle away. The bag grasped firmly in one hand, he glared at Stella. “You scared the crap out of me! I didn’t think anyone visited the temple anymore.”
Stella arched a brow. “Neither did I.”
“Oh.” He gave her an apologetic look. “Sorry. I guess you were here first.” Reversing course, he backed toward the door. “I’ll go. Let you finish your, uh—“
“No!” Stella blurted, then readjusted her composure. “I mean, you’re welcome to stay.
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? Tera Lynn Childs
The Twelve Days of Stella
6
It’s a public place.”
Troy glanced at the bag. “Um, I think I should come back later.” The bag wriggled again. He muttered, “Or maybe not at all.”
Now she was more curious than anything. What was in that bag?
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she insisted, crossing the temple until she stood in front of him at the entrance. “You’re obviously here to,” —she gestured at the wriggling bag—“make an offering of some sort. You should present it.”
Arms crossed over her chest, Stella stifled a laugh at the miserable look on Troy’s face.
He looked like she’d asked him to kiss a frog. But she wanted to know what was wriggling inside that bag, so she adopted her most intimidating look—she had many— and waited. She could sense him weighing his choices. Although she could read his thoughts if she tried—a power she had inherited from her ancestor goddess—she preferred watching and guessing. Made her feel ... more human.
Finally, his shoulders slumped.
“Okay,” he said. “If you’d wait outside, this’ll just take a second.”
Stella shook her head slowly. “No thank you. I won’t be in your way.” She stepped aside and gestured into the temple. “Go ahead.”
To his credit, Troy didn’t waver. He clenched his jaw, gripped the bag tighter, and stalked across the limestone floor. When he reached the section of the mural that represented Asklepios, the god of medicine, he knelt down and pulled at the opening of the bag.
Stella couldn’t contain her gasp when a small green snake slithered out.
***
Stella prided herself on her ability to remain calm in every situation. Seeing that little green stripe of reptilian slime appear out of the bag tested her control to the limit. Ballet flats, she felt sure, were not a significant barrier against snake bites.
“Is that thing dangerous?” she asked, pleased that her voice remained steady.
“No way,” Troy replied. But he backed away quickly. “He’s grass snake.” The snake hissed and Troy jumped back. “Completely,” —he swallowed hard—“harmless.”
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? Tera Lynn Childs
The Twelve Days of Stella
7
The snake, perhaps finding the stone floor too cold, slithered back into the bag.
“What are you doing with it?” she asked. “Just leaving it here?”
“No, I’m” —Troy took a step toward the bag—“sending him to Olympus. To Asklepios.”
Even though Troy couldn’t see her behind him, Stella nodded. The god of medicine was quite fond of snakes, just as Hera was fond of peacocks. Sending a god or goddess a favorite gift was a definite way to gain their favor. Since humans stopped worshipping the gods as deities, they didn’t receive nearly enough offerings to sustain their egos.
Stella watched as Troy held out his hands toward the snake-filled bag, a look of intense concentration on his face. His hands glowed. Then the bag disappeared, leaving the snake on the cold floor. Troy twisted his wrists and the snake floated gently into the air, toward the painting of Asklepios. For a moment the snake hovered before the serpentwrapped staff of the medicine god. Then the snake merged into the mural and was gone.
Troy’s entire body sagged with relief.
“Why?” Stella asked.
He turned to face her, his cheeks flushed a deep pink she could see even in the faint light of the temple. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his cargo shorts before answering. “I’m ... asking a favor.”
A favor from the god of medicine?
“Is someone sick?” Stella didn’t know Troy well, but her stomach still turned at her next thought. “Are you sick?”
Troy’s eyes widened. “No, no. Nothing like that.” He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “It’s stupid,” he explained. “I shouldn’t have even wasted my time. Or,” —he nodded at the mural—“his.”