Stupid car. 

Note to self: make an extra large offering to Hephaestus on His next feast day, and take a class in automotive maintenance.

I jogged along the side of the highway, ignoring the honking cars and buses. I could throw a Look Away charm around myself, but — given the speed and congestion of traffic — I figured that would just increase my chances of getting hit.

Better to save my energy.

Not that I had much to spare. I hadn’t been an active field agent in twenty years. Chasing my grandkids did not count as exercise, and that sedentary lifestyle was catching up with me. Rapidly. My chest heaved, my lungs ached, my knees throbbed.

But the tip was good. Retired, but I still had friends in low places. Chthonically low. Few people remembered the Lampades in their devotions, so those underworld nymphs were grateful for my monthly offerings of honey and dead roses. They showed their appreciation by passing along the whispers of the recently dead.

Like the idiot who had smuggled a hydra egg into the airport, then keeled over from a heart attack before he could pick it up.

Damn thing could hatch any minute. No one at the agency was taking my calls and I couldn’t get past the airport phone tree.

A semi horn blasted, making me stumble. I caught myself, stopped, gasping for air.

I was never going to make it.

A Swift charm would get me to the airport in five minutes, but I would be half-conscious when I arrived.

Maybe ….

The statue loomed fifty feet ahead. A rearing stallion of copper, eyes and hooves bright lapis lazuli, mane and tail curling wildly. LaLa, the airport’s unofficial mascot, positioned right where the highway transitioned to the airport road.

He was close enough to the outlying parking lots that people had gotten into the habit of leaving offerings, hoping to ensure a safe trip: coffee, foreign coins, luggage tags.

Gods were Gods, but, sometimes, belief was strong enough to create something else. In a desperate situation, that something else might just be enough ….

I jogged to the statue. It towered over me, wide-backed, big enough to carry six people.

Lifting my head, I raised my voice. “LaLa! Great Stallion of the Plains, swift as the wind, brighter than lightning! A foul monster threatens the travelers and sanctuary you protect! I ask you, Great LaLa, fleet-hooved, grant me a portion of your — oh.”

I back-pedaled as LaLa dropped onto his front hooves, stepping off his platform. His head dipped, lapis eyes as big as my head studying me. The bellows of his breath smelled of fiery copper.

“Maaaage, whose naaaame is known to Hecaaaate Herself. Your plea is heard, and granted.”

The great stallion knelt, bringing his back level with my shoulders.

Grinning, I pulled myself up between his smooth metal shoulders, tangled my fingers in his soft copper mane.

He stood, reared, bellowing. 

Lightning cut the sky.

And we ran.

[Written by Rebecca Buchanan.]