“I mean, I have a few shells I keep at home,” she continued. “But I don’t think any of them would fit in there. Do you think he would have the key hidden somewhere? Where should we start looking?”
Should he tell her he knew exactly where the key was? Or maybe he should just feign ignorance.
“Hephaestus?”
He looked at her, down at her beautiful face and mesmerizing silvery-blue eyes. He opened his mouth in an attempt to lie to her, but the words of denial refused to leave his mouth. “I know where the key is.”
“You do?”
“Wait here.” In a flash, he was back in his workshop. His feet were like lead as he trudged toward his desk, to the drawer on the right side. Opening it, he took out the single item inside—a pink and white seashell that was smaller than his palm. He stared at it for a moment, then mentally shook his head. He couldn’t waste any more time. Besides, it had been thousands of years since that day.
Maybe she won’t even remember it.
Transporting himself back to the server room, he reappeared in the same spot.
“Where have you been?” she asked.
Ignoring her, he reached into the compartment and placed the shell into the indentation.A perfect fit.
“What did you—” she gasped. “I think it’s working!”
Sure enough, the vines began to retract, the flowers withering as they pulled away from the mainframe, the pulsing glow fading as they disappeared.
“It worked!” Aphrodite clapped her hands together. “How did you find a key?”
How was he going to explain this? “Aphrodite, I—wait!”
Before he could stop her, she peered into the compartment. The knots in his stomach tightened as she reached inside, a line forming between her eyebrows.
“Why, this looks like one of mine.” She held the shell up on her palm, peering at it. “But why would you…” Her mouth parted, and she slowly looked up to meet his gaze. “Hephaestus? Is this?—”
A noise from the outside mercifully interrupted her. “The humans must have figured out we shut everything down.” He seized her arm. “Let’s get out of here.”
Without another thought, he transported them back to his workshop. “Well, I’m?—”
“Hephaestus.” She stood there, one hand on her hip, the other holding up the shell. “Why do you have this?”
He pressed his lips together, unable to answer.
“This is the shell I wore to our wedding, right?”
Since their wedding had been an official function, all the gods in attendance—including the bride and groom—had to wear their symbol. Hephaestus has chosen a medallion he fashioned himself, with an anvil and hammer design in the center. Aphrodite, on the other hand, had worn the seashell like a hairpin, holding up her veil. During their wedding feast, it had come loose, and she had placed it on the table next to her. As the night wore on, she had seemingly forgotten about it, and so he took it without her knowledge.
She never once searched for it or asked him if he had seen it, so he didn’t say anything. Instead, he had kept it with him, keeping it tucked away in that drawer. Over the millennia, he kept telling himself he’d eventually toss it out but found that he couldn’t part with it.
“Hephaestus? Answer me.”
“We shut down the mainframe,” he began, then turned to walk toward his computer desk. “You should go and check?—”
“No.” She caught up to him, blocking his way. “Tell me why you have the shell.”
“Are you sure you didn’t leave it here?
Crossing her arms under her breasts, she remained rooted to the spot. “I know all my jewelry, and our wedding was the only time I wore this particular shell. I thought I’d lost it. But you had it all this time? Why?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” He sidestepped her, but she gripped his forearm, her warm palm like a brand. “Aphrodite, I have work to do.”
“No, nuh-uh.” Her hold on him tightened. “Look at me.”