6
“Happiness is a smoking gun.”
Christos Karacis
Armani was waiting for me when I got home. I’d seen earlier that I’d missed three calls from him, but … I could lie to myself and say I hadn’t called earlier because I hadn’t wanted to implicate him in any way in my violation of the Mount Lee crime scene. Or that I knew he’d be busy at work or …
But that Queen of Denial thing—it’s not just an honorary title. I take my duties very seriously.
I opened my—Lau’s—apartment door, walked into the living room and boom, there was Armani, sitting on Lau’s stiff-backed chair, incongruously flipping through a fashion magazine Christie must have left behind, no doubt hoping she’d influence me through osmosis.
He put the magazine down, fixed me with a cop stare and said, “You didn’t return my calls.”
“I see you let yourself in.” Never get defensive.
“You gave me a key.”
“Actually, Lau gave you a key. I let you keep it.”
He shrugged. “Same difference. Where’ve you been?”
“Nick, you’re my boyfriend, not my keeper.”
His eyes narrowed. “Really? Because yesterday you seemed to need a keeper. Besides, if I were your boyfriend and I’d called three times to make sure you were okay after you practically collapsed in my arms, I’d think you’d care enough to call and let me know you were fine.”
And just like that I felt like an ass.
I moved into the room and perched on Lau’s coffee table to go eye to eye with Armani. “I’m sorry.” All that sincerity I’d saved up not wasting a drop on Apollo? I used it here. “I guess I was just so embarrassed about my weakness …”
I left it there. It was probably as far as I could go without lying to him, and I’d avoid that if I could. “Let me make it up to you,” I said instead. “Have you had lunch? Let me buy us some pizza.”
Maybe on a full stomach the news would go down better that I was leaving town, at least for a few days, to hopefully not identify the body Rosen had shown me as that of my uncle, but to find out what really had happened to him. I couldn’t do that from here.
“You think I can be bought off with pizza?” he asked incredulously.
“Can you?”
He smiled, and at least part of my world righted itself. Gah, had I really just thought that? Romantic drivel. “It’s a start,” he said.
“Good. The works?” I had to ask, because while most people were predictable, Nick liked to mix things up.
“Except for pineapple. Fruit doesn’t belong on pizza.”
“Tomato is a fruit.”
“Don’t go getting all smart ass. You’re supposed to be making things up to me.”
“Right. Have I told you how incredible you look today? Almost good enough to eat.”
“Oh no you don’t, woman. No getting distracted. I was promised pizza.”
I stuck my tongue out at him and turned for the kitchen to call up the pizza place. He followed me in to raid the fridge for drinks.
I was mid-dial when Armani said, “Hey, you made dessert.”
I dropped the phone. “Don’t touch that!” I said, suddenly panicked. Armani straightened and fixed me with a look. “Why not?”
Thinking fast, I answered, “It’s Christie’s. She made it for a party tonight, but her fridge is on the fritz. This stupid heat and the brown outs have taken a toll.”
“Christie cooked?” he asked—not like he believed me, but like he was confirming that that was the story I was going with.
“Don’t be silly. Christie stirred ingredients together. No cooking involved. It’s ambrosia”—literally, but he didn’t have to know that—“marshmallows, whipped cream, pineapple and, um, whatever.”
Damn Apollo’s sense of humor, that’s really how it looked in its inoffensive little Tupperware container.
Armani continued to stare at me over my refrigerator door, but I picked the phone back up and redialed, pretending not to notice. “I’ll order us a dessert pizza while I’m at it,” I told him, “so you can stop eyeing Christie’s goodies.”
It was a leading line, and he was supposed to pick up on it, but he seemed more interested in studying me than exchanging witty banter. I should tell him. I knew it. But until I kicked the habit or was at least well on my way … I was already judging myself. I didn’t need the weight of his disapproval as well.
“You can tell me anything, you know,” he said quietly.
I met his deep blue gaze and nearly let it all pour out … but then the pizza guy came on the line and the moment passed. I placed our order, hung up the phone and asked, “You gonna grab us a couple of sodas or just let all the cold air out?”
He grabbed the sodas and together we walked back into the living room to sit, this time together on the couch. No sooner did our butts hit the cushions then he turned to me. “Okay, Tori, what’s really going on?”
That intensity was almost painful, like looking straight into the sun. I spilled … everything but what he really wanted to know. I told him about the Feds’ eight-by-ten color glossies, about the latest photo of the body near San Fran that I feared might be Christos, even about Hermes and his cryptic ramblings about war. After all, Armani had been by my side when Zeus, Hephaestus and Poseidon had made their play for power. It wasn’t like the mention of Hermes would be a great blow to his worldview.
“What do you think he meant?” Nick asked. We were back to Nick.
Unburdening my soul (mostly) had that effect.
“I don’t know how many meanings there are. I think the questions are: who will be fighting and how do we stop it?”
“Okay then, how do we stop it?”
“No flippin’ clue.”
“Well, as long as you have a plan.”
“Any luck finding Lau?” I asked, switching gears. Here I was going on about my crap—blah blah war, blah blah missing uncle—okay, neither insignificant. But meanwhile he had an Internal Affairs investigation against him—a possible career ender—and an AWOL partner unable to back up his story or explain why his girlfriend had temporarily taken over her lease.
“Her mother’s heard from her, at least. When Lau makes contact again, she’ll pass a message along. There’s apparently no way to reach her. No cell reception where she is. Something about dragon breeding grounds and signal disruption.”
“Wait, wait, wait, did you say breeding grounds? I thought the dragons had all died off or gone into perpetual hibernation. You’re telling me they’re up and about and multiplying?”
“I think so. Lau’s mother doesn’t speak much English, so I may have gotten things garbled.”
“Wow, that’s … wow.”
“You consort with old Greek gods and you think that’s wow?”
“Hey, I grew up on tales of the Olympians, almost like they were my crazy aunts and uncles, which if you’d met any of them you’d understand is not so farfetched. But dragons? They’re mythic.”
“Your sense of wonder is seriously skewed, you know that?”
“Yeah.”
“So what’s really in that tub in your fridge?”
I gave him Yiayia’s stink-eye. “Hash brownies, cleverly disguised as ambrosia. You’ve got me.” I held out my wrists. “You gonna apply the cuffs?”
“Maybe after the pizza.”
“Good call,” I said sourly.
Later, after he’d gone off to the precinct where desk duty was making him insane, I called Christie.
“If Nick brings up the tub in my refrigerator, it’s yours.”
“Huh?”
“Don’t ask.”
“Okay.” That was when I heard the quaver in her voice.
“Christie, is everything all right?”
“N-no. Jack …” She got a little incoherent after that, but I let her ramble. I might have missed the details, but I’d gotten the gist from his previous months of dickery. That’s right, I said dickery. I’d never really had a BFF before Christie, so I’d had no idea how much tongue biting could be involved. Not that I hadn’t expressed myself on the matter of Jack now and then when I couldn’t help myself.
She finally ran down, blew her nose noisily and added, “I need to get out of town. Just for a few days. His stupid cologne billboard is everywhere. I swear, I’m afraid I’ll fly off the handle and drive straight through one of them.”
“If they weren’t, like, fifty feet in the air.”
A choked laugh-sob escaped her. “Yeah, except for that. So what do you say?”
“About what?” I really should have listened more closely. Bad friend. No cookie.
“Getting out of town with me.”
“Um, I would, but I have to head up to San Francisco for a few days to—”
“Perfect!”
“But, Christie, it’s work. And it could be dangerous.”
“Even better! I could help. It would totally take my mind off things, and you’ll need back up. It’s a win-win. I can make us the best road trip mix.”
My mouth moved, but nothing came out. On the one hand, there was the danger and my total commitment to keeping Christie out of it. On the other, an eight-hour drive on the end of which I might face the shredded remains of my favorite uncle all alone didn’t seem even remotely appealing. On the third hand, which was entirely possible given my mutant family, if the trip led to the need for any undercover work at the cult, well, I was no actress, not like Christie. Plus, if I were recruiting for a nature cult, I’d go for Christie’s farm-fresh looks over my gristle and bone any day of the week. But, still, DANGER.
“Christie, I’m not kidding about the danger. I don’t know what I’m in for in San Francisco. At least one person’s already been killed.” Or more … I still didn’t know what, if any, relation there was between Back to Earth and Mount Lee.
“I’ll be careful. I promise. Don’t make me beg.”
Well, damn. How on earth did people say “no” to Christie? Not that she heard it much. She seemed to have a constant stream of modeling and commercial work, though she still hadn’t gotten her big break.
“I’m leaving really early in the morning,” I said in a last-ditch effort to dissuade her.
“Tell me the time and I’ll have the coffee and bagel bites ready to go.”
“Jack’s an idiot,” I said.
“I know,” she answered, quietly.
“You want me to put the hurt on him?”
“No … Well, a little. But mostly no. Thanks for asking.”
“I’ll see you at 8:00 am, sharp.”
I hung up, wondering how the hell Christie had just roped me into road-tripping her straight into the danger zone. Oh sure, she seemed sweet and innocent, but it didn’t stop her from getting what she wanted. Except for Jack. Idiot.
That night I dreamed of blood. Rivers of it … with the occasional lily-white bone floating to the surface. Empty eye socket here, lost limb there.
My heart pounded, my temples throbbed, and I willed myself to wake up.
Wake up. WAKE UP!
I bolted upright, just as a sword sliced the sheets where I’d been a millisecond before. I looked into the face of Death with only time to think this is wrong; it’s supposed to be a sickle before the blade was coming for me again. I rolled, but the blankets coiled around me like pythons, lashing me in place. The blade landed centimeters from my ear, taking some of my hair with it as I fought to get free. The shock of it flooded my system with juice, as if someone had pushed the plunger on a whole vial of methamphetamines. Like Wonder Woman on speed, I tore the blankets from my body and dove off the other side of the bed.
I planted my feet on the floor, dropped into my kickboxing ready stance and faced the Grim Reaper. Or just about. Except for the whole sword thing. The Angel of Death, Thanatos, Mors—call him what you would—was enough to cause heart failure even without a single sword stroke. He stood over six feet tall with the traditional black cloak and cowl shadowing his face. He was surrounded by a miasma of undulating darkness that managed to convey uncompromising … cold. Not evil—evil could be swayed in its own self-interest. Thanatos was far more frightening, because it didn’t look like a wrecking ball could move him, let alone little ol’ me.
“Um, hey, you sure you’ve got the right girl?” I asked, just in case. “I’m only house sitting.”
He nodded. Once. And advanced on me—straight through the bed, floating more than walking. I didn’t actually see legs move beneath that cloak, nothing so mundane.
Fear tore through me like a flash flood, instinctive and primal. The myths had no stories I knew about cheating death—not successfully, anyway. Achilles, Orpheus and Eurydice—cautionary tales for incautious children.
Desperate, I yelled “Freeze!” and tried to whammy him with the gorgon glare, but I couldn’t even see his eyes, let alone meet them, and he kept advancing as inexorably as, well, death.
If he could move through furniture, I doubted my pitiful roundhouse kick was going to do much good against him. I didn’t have room for a running start, but I lurched around the corner of the bed, set to make a dash for the door. Only to be blocked by the same figure that had reduced even Ebenezer Scrooge to a quivering apologetic heap.
I was the one who froze. Time warped, and everything happened in slow motion and yet too fast to report. His sword came up. My eyes widened, unable to look away from the glistening blade. It flashed as it arced down at me with a terrible beauty, like silver-struck moonlight. The very movement was grace and beauty and terror, and then … nothing.
“Ares’s hairy arse, what on earth was he thinking? Her time isn’t up!”
There was a voice. Faint, but compelling …
“Besides, we were just getting to the good part. Who will win—the divine Apollo or the dreamy detective? It can’t end on a cliffhanger,” someone else said.
“Lachesis! You’re as bad as these mortals, getting caught up in their soap opera lives.”
“I can’t help it. I mean, it’s better than Lost. If you’d put down your clippers every once in a while, Atropos, you’d see. You need to lighten up.”
Lachesis? Atropos? The Fates? I drifted closer, certain I couldn’t be hearing right. Couldn’t be hearing anything at all.
“Girls, focus,” the first speaker—Clotho?—chimed in again. “We need a decision. Thanatos has usurped our authority, cutting a cord that had yet to reach its terminus.”
“Not acting alone, I’d wager.”
“Be that as it may, do we sever the cord or rethread? If Thanatos is doing Hades’s bidding and his plot succeeds, it might behoove us to be in his good graces.”
“No!” The voice, crusty and deeper than others—Atropos?—was implacable. “We don’t cede him our authority. Even Hades must bow before us.”
“Good luck with that,” Lachesis put in.
“Lachesis!” Crusty scolded.
She hmphed. “Look, I vote no, okay? Tori’s life is way too interesting to cancel mid-season.”
“Addict,” Atropos accused.
“Sister, I share Lachesis’s view,” Clotho said. “The thread is intriguing. It strengthens the weave.”
“Fine,” Atropos grumbled, “then we’re agreed?”
“Yes. Besides, we’ve got to get back to work on these costumes. Full dress rehearsal is tonight.”
I gasped in a breath that felt like a chainsaw unleashed in my chest. My eyes snapped open. I expected to see a bright light or a dark and desolate hell, depending on whether I’d been judged naughty or nice, but my own room swam in front of me. At least, I thought so. I’d never seen it from this angle before—an unlovely view of the dust bunnies and dried, boxed sea life beneath Lau’s bed.
I was alive. Like Scrooge, I wanted to throw open my window and shout it out to the world. I had some vague retreating memory of the Fates discussing my life or death as if I was some sitcom they’d be sorry to see canceled. It seemed I’d been picked up for another season. Either that or I was in some bizarre version of Tartarus and the dust bunnies were about to swarm.
I tried to roll to my feet, but my eyes were the only things that moved. That was when the panic hit. What if I was paralyzed? How long would it be before someone came to check on me? Long enough to dehydrate? Starve to death? No, dehydration would come before starvation. And hey, if that wasn’t comforting … I took a few deep, jagged breaths and put everything I had into pressing my arms to the floor to raise my upper body. I felt … nothing. At all.
Terror choked me, my vision swam, my breathing went so shallow in my panic that no actual air exchange was going on. No feeling was bad, I knew that much. The fact that I could breathe on my own, no machine required, didn’t mean much if I was to be locked inside an immobile shell for the rest of my life, able to see and think but not respond. Helpless. My own special hell.
Then suddenly—
“UNG!” An inarticulate cry ripped from my lips as my entire body arched off the floor in pain. It tore through me, shredded my mind, burnt out the nerve endings that had just reknit. Possibly my spinal column had just mended itself. Gods bless—
“Arrrrr.” Agony stole my breath again, chased my awareness to a dark little corner and told it to stay put as it took over everything.
Mercifully, I blacked out.