Chapter 4

Rashel

The big wide world was a scary place when people could see you. Not that many people stopped to look at what was going on around them. Despite her odd clothing choice, Rashel only got a few passing glances.

But first off, she needed to get some shoes. The pavement was biting into her feet like nobody's business. She started walking down the road, careful not to let her toes get trodden on, following the flow of people until she came to a shopping district. Oxford Street, if she wasn't mistaken. There were shops all around her, on every side. But which one would stock shoes?

Hmm, maybe the one with a shoe display in the window?

She dodged her way through people, wincing with every pebble she caught in her foot, until she reached Ecco, a shop she had never seen before but which looked appropriate.

"Oh."

That single word made her wince as she stepped through the door. A shop assistant was looking down at her bare, dust-covered feet with disdain. Rashel looked up at the girl and raised her eyebrows. "I have a credit card. It's not maxed out. Don't ask about the bare feet, but can you recommend anything?"

Half an hour later, she had two pairs of socks, a pair of comfortable boots and recommendations for where she could acquire a wardrobe for herself. And with a credit card at her disposal, she soon had five huge shopping bags hanging from each arm, and three bags that she had bought for various purposes. This was getting quite intoxicating.

Suddenly, she thought she heard something behind her and spun quickly to check it out. In that instant, she forgot she was corporeal and let her arms swing out, managing to clout some poor stranger in the back with her multitude of bags.

"Oh…" She pulled a face. "I'm really sorry. Do you need any help with anything? Can I make it up to you?"

The poor business man straightened up with a hand on his back. "I think I'll survive."

"But is there anything I can do?"

He looked her up and down. "Well, you could buy me a coffee, and we'll call it quits."

Was that-? What the-? Damn these corporeal beings and their penchant to confuse her! Interactions were tough.

Nonetheless, she smiled. "Sure. Where do you want to go?"

"I think there's a Starbucks just up ahead. It's where I was heading anyway. So, shall we start at the beginning?"

"Always a good idea."

"Who are you?"

"Rashel Alexander. And yourself?"

"Jack Quicksilver."

She had the sensation that this man wasn't all he appeared to be, but she let it go. If her sixth sense couldn't tell her exactly what was strange, she couldn't be bothered to find out. And besides, she didn't feel like anything was wrong or dangerous, as such, just out of place.

It turned out that Jack Quicksilver was actually the CEO of a company she had never even heard of. Apparently it invested money in various companies and returned billions of pounds every year for its clients. Either way, Mr Quicksilver put it out there that a position for secretary was open should she want it.

"Mr Quicksilver, how do you know I don't already have a job?"

The businessman snorted. "From the time of day and the amount of shopping you have, you appear to be independently wealthy."

"What if I'm a wanted criminal?"

"Then you're not doing a very good job of protecting your identity. I'm a very good judge of character, and I have decided that I won't take no for an answer. Besides, it's a very good salary."

He named a figure that took her breath away. How the hell could he afford to pay that to a secretary? It was ridiculous. On the other hand, if she stood there gaping like a lunatic for much longer, she was going to lose this opportunity. Mr Quicksilver didn't seem like a crazed madman, so she really had no reason to refuse his offer.

"I think… after the hyperventilation… I might take you up on that," she said, still slightly shell-shocked. She wanted to demand exactly how much money he had, but decided against it. Such an obscene amount would probably make her faint dead away. "When and where is this job of my dreams, Mr Quicksilver?"

He laughed. "Now that you work for me, you have to call me Jack."

"I'm not sure that's how it works, but I'll roll with that," she said with a smile. This man was altogether too charming – a welcome change from Apollo's seemingly perpetual grumpiness. "But I really do need to know where to go…" she trailed off.

"Canary Wharf station, go along Colonnade, the north bit, and it's between HSBC and the Bank of America. Arcas Investments Ltd. Tomorrow at nine am sharp suit you?"

"Y- yeah, that's fine."

"You'll need to bring your bank details along, but other than a few forms to sign and fill out, we shouldn't have much trouble. Don't forget proof of address and ID."

He walked off with a smile and a wave, and Rashel felt a sinking feeling in her chest. She didn't have a bank account, proof of ID or proof of address. Something was going to go wrong here, she just knew it.

She left the café with all her bags and practically ran back to the hotel.

"Apollo! Apollo! Where are you? Please? I need help! It'll get rid of me quicker," she promised as an added incentive. The only way she could think of to get so much ID on such short notice was a miracle. And who better to provide miracles than a god?

Apollo

"Please don't shout," he said, wincing. He'd been sleeping. "What do you want?"

"-"

"Again, please. But slower."

"I got a job. And it pays pretty well, which is good, because I spent a lot of your money. And it's not hard – it's as a secretary. Problem is, I don't have a bank account for them to pay money into, or a passport or proof of address, or ID, or anything that could really be called necessary for office life. Except clothes. I have plenty of clothes, and handbags."

Apollo didn't reply. For starters, he was stunned that anyone had actually decided to hire this crazy woman, but the main reason was that he had just been woken up by someone he hated, and was therefore in even more of a bad mood than usual.

"Don't worry, dear, I've sorted it all out for you."

Apollo sat bolt upright. What the hell was his sister doing in his apartment?

He looked between his tall, beautiful sister and his newly acquired ward, who both seemed to have clicked in that strange way that women do. Apollo suspected that Artemis liked Rashel because the woman had just spent hundreds of pounds on clothes and handbags, but he had absolutely no idea what Rashel saw in his sister.

"Thank you. You must be Artemis, right?" Rashel smiled, and even though she was hardly in an optimum state of health, she was still dazzling. Apollo shook his head quickly to rid himself of that thought. She was a horrible, evil, manipulative Cassandrian.

"I don't consider being a Cassandrian, as you so eloquently put it, a bad thing," Rashel said with a tight smile.

Had he said that out loud? He was going to have to avoid Artemis for weeks, lest she try to beat an apology out of him. He had meant every word, it was just unfortunate that he hadn't filtered the words before they got to his mouth. That was the kind of thing that got him into trouble all the time. The god of truth had trouble lying – even if it was lying by omission.

After glaring at him for a while, Artemis rescued him by drawing Rashel's attention away. The human woman would have grown icicles if her manner had been any cooler.

"Yes, I am Artemis. Apollo asked for my help in getting you sorted out. Don't worry, it was an entirely selfish gesture. He's not actually a nice person underneath, so it doesn't matter if you're rude to him. Even if he could destroy your existence, our father would imprison him eternally he if he did, so you're safe there."

It was an interesting sort of help, but Apollo was aware that he deserved it. Insulting someone to their face was rarely a good idea. He was just lucky that Rashel seemed to lack the innate fury of most women and was channelling it all into icy hatred.

"Good to know," said Rashel, smiling again. She had clearly decided to ignore the man who had to all intents and purposes rescued her from her slumberous prison. Ungrateful wretch.

"And don't worry about paying him back. He can afford it."

"I suppose the money accumulates over the centuries."

"That, and we can conjure it from thin air."

"One of the many benefits of godhood, I suppose," Rashel said wryly. "Thank you for all of this, it's going to come in quite handy. I've actually got myself a job, so it's just in the nick of time."

"Oh, you don't have to worry about working!" said Artemis, waving a hand imperiously. Apollo resisted rolling his eyes. His sister had no idea that some people actually enjoyed working and liked the semblance of reality and perspective it gave you. "There's no spending cap on your account, I'm funding it directly."

"I like the idea of working," Rashel said firmly. "I haven't had a normal life so far, and I'm going to do my best to make it normal now that I have it back in my control. But thank you for your concern."

Apollo felt some glee that his sister was rather taken aback by this, but to her credit, she hardly faltered. "Well, anyway. Your name is Rashel Alexander, as you know, your date of birth is as it has always been… Really, there was no trouble at all. I created a history for you – you've been in foster care since you were nine – but there is a lot of freedom to elaborate. Oh, and you were previously employed by my brother, who has taken you under his wing in a fatherly way, hence why you are staying with him."

Not. Happy. He had been called fatherly, and 'older than thirty,' both in the same day. Did he look like the fatherly type? And he did not look a day older than twenty-eight! It was enough to make a man want to scream!

"Wow. That's- that's fantastic. Thank you."

"Don't mention it." Artemis made to leave, but she went over to her shell shocked brother first and whispered in his ear, too low for a human to hear. "She gets the bed, you take the couch. Gettit?"

She teleported out before he had a chance to reply with the indignation that was suffusing his body.