The next morning, during coffee, the summons arrived.
I knew it before the envelope even appeared. The air in the house shifted, tense, heavy, sour. When the ornate, pompous thing materialized in my hand, Malvor was already groaning like a dying man.
"Ugh. Bullshit. I'm not going. I hate this. I hate it all. I hate them." He flopped onto the nearest couch with the grace of a felled tree, one arm draped over his forehead like he was auditioning for Tragedy: The Musical.
The house blinked its lights in what I swore was exasperation. I hummed, ignored him, and went to make coffee. By the time I came back, he was still sprawled dramatically, sighing like oxygen itself had wronged him.
I set a mug in front of him. Dark. Bitter. Just sweet enough to take the edge off. "Drink."
He sat up, scowling at the cup like it had personally betrayed him. "This is bribery."
"No. It's a coping mechanism. Stop pouting and drink."
He narrowed his eyes, took a sip anyway, then immediately scowled at the entire room. "Ugh, not enough. I still hate everything."
And so began the complaints. For hours. Literal hours. Why he was being summoned. Why the other gods were obviously jealous. Why Aerion breathed too loudly. Way too many small sword comments. Why his brilliance went unappreciated.
"…if Maximus talks about his muscles one more time, I'm throwing him into the void," Malvor declared with a flourish. "And what if I just don't go? What are they going to do? Smite me? Please."
"They might revoke your privileges," I said dryly.
He gasped, hand to his chest. "You wouldn't say such things to me if you loved me, Annie-treacle."
"I don't."
He clutched his chest harder. "You wound me."
I drained my coffee. "Are you done?"
"Oh, absolutely not."
I stood. "Then get ready. You'll want to make an obnoxious entrance."
His head popped up immediately, scandalized. "Annie, darling, have you met me? Of course I will."
Just like that, the tantrum was over. He was already plotting. When I got to my room, I asked the house for help. Unlike Malvor, it had taste. The dress it gave me was flawless, cranberry red, long-sleeved, perfectly tailored. Elegant buttons down the front, a neckline low enough to be interesting but not desperate. Hair styled, pearls at my throat, makeup soft and deliberate. Professional. Sexy. Dangerous. The dress felt like armor. Good. I might need it.
I smiled at my reflection. "Perfect. Thank you." The lights blinked, smug.
When I found Malvor again, he was hunched over… a miniature model. Of a conference room. Made of popsicle sticks, glue and glitter.
I stared. Then sighed. "Really?"
It was… disturbingly intricate. Tiny chairs. Tiny desks. A podium. Even a microscopic Pantheon emblem etched into the little doors. Gods above, I didn't want to ask. But he was already looking at me with that insufferable grin, waiting.
I groaned. "What is this?"
He beamed, adding a tiny paper calendar like it was the finishing touch to a masterpiece. "This, my treasure, is the formal office of the Pantheon. A scale model."
"Why?"
"This is for Aerion."
Of course it was. "And?"
"And that is all." Too innocent. Too smooth. It reeked of a trap. I narrowed my eyes. He pressed a hand to his chest. "Annie peach-pie, this is a plain, simple gift. Unexpected. That's all."
"Mm-hm."
"No schemes! No glitter. No chaos beast hidden inside." He paused. "Well… not today."
I sighed. "Fine. But if this explodes, I'm not cleaning it up."
He gasped. "You never trust me." With a flick of his hand, the entire model vanished, reappearing inside an oversized box wrapped in obnoxiously shiny paper and topped with a giant bow. He looked so pleased with himself. Then he looked at me. Really looked.
His eyes swept over the dress, the pearls, the hair, the whole carefully assembled effect. And his grin turned wicked. "You look like a boss bitch."
I gave him the flattest look imaginable. "That is not how one prepares for a formal meeting."
He reached out anyway, adjusting an imaginary wrinkle on my sleeve. "Oh, but darling, with me as your mentor, you're destined for greatness."
I rolled my eyes. But I couldn't quite stop the twitch of a smile. I had a feeling I'd need all the patience in the world to survive the day.
With a snap of his fingers, the world shifted. One second I was in his kitchen, coffee still warm in my hand. The next, I was standing in front of a temple-sized ego trip. Pillars, marble, staircases designed purely to remind mortals how small they were. It was all very Greek. Very "look at us, we're gods." Inside, statues lined the entrance hall. One for each god and goddess, life-sized and smug. I didn't linger on them. Didn't need to. I knew what they all looked like. My heels clicked against polished stone as I walked past.
When we passed Malvor's statue, its clothes fell off. Just dropped. Pooled dramatically on the floor. Naked Malvor. Marble edition. I didn't react. Not even a glance. Just kept walking. Behind me, I heard the sound of the real Malvor inhaling like I'd personally wounded him. I didn't need to look to know his lips were puckered in the same offended pout as the statue. "Annie," he drawled, hand pressed to his heart, "not even a curious look? It is proportional."
I narrowed my eyes at him. And kept walking. He gasped, scandalized, then threw both hands in the air as he hurried after me. "Truly, you wound me, my heartless little Annie-dumpling! You're my very own Annie Banannie Fofannie."
I kept moving. "That's right," he added smugly as he fell into step beside me, "I just turned you into a nursery rhyme."
I didn't dignify that with a glare. Or a sigh. Or even an eye twitch. I just kept walking, my heels echoing against marble as we left the statues behind and moved down an endless corridor. Grand. Intimidating. Absurdly dramatic. Of course it all ended in the largest meeting room I had ever seen. Because of course it did.