Fretting, Hermes hugged his knees as he sat in the closet--after his right hand tucked a purple washcloth in his coat pocket, of course. He was glad, really, that this was a linen closet; dark and small places always comforted him, and he liked the smell of fabric softener a great deal. Taking deep breaths, he reviewed the situation: someone--probably this Adam person--was going to show up and open the door sooner or later, and Hermes had to be prepared. He tried to remember the names of the deities-who-were-deities-but-called-themselves-something-else. Weren't all those lovely renaissance artists named after them? Let's see...something like Michaelangelo, Raphael...he had nice legs...and... he ran out of ideas, mostly because his phobia Did Not Want to Think About This. She was a pretty lady though...what did she say her name was? Ellie? That's short for...Eleanor...Eumelia...Melanie...Oh I hope it's something pretty like Eumelia. She looks like a Eumelia.