by Staci Hart
“I know, Ricky. I still have you, right?”
He just looked at her with wide eyes.
Her heart was in a vise, the screws so tight, she couldn’t breathe. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”
He kneaded his paws on her chest, and she ran her hand down his neck and back, but even as exhausted as she was, she couldn’t be still. She grabbed her cat under his arms and stood, cradling him to her chest as she made her way into her bedroom, dumping him onto the bed. Then, she peeled off her sweaty clothes and discarded them in the hamper in her bathroom.
She’d almost moved, even stayed with her parents for some time, but in the end, she’d decided to come back. Her older brother, Paul, had offered to let her have his place since it was also a family property, and their place was bigger, but with Gia pregnant, she couldn’t agree. Instead, she’d renovated. The once cheery yellow walls had been painted gray, and the claw-foot had been replaced with a standing shower. It still smelled of paint and new construction, the scent lingering along with her memories.
Josie turned on the water and stepped into the stream. A shiver ran through her, subsiding as the water warmed, then steamed. She turned it as hot as she could stand it and ran her hands over her hair, lifting her face to the water as she wished she could wash everything away, scrub and clean her heart until she was new again.
The skin on her shoulders and chest were bright pink when she finally turned the shower off and stepped out. She dried off and dressed, feeling a little more grounded after the hot water burned down her memories until they were quiet again. She twisted up the damp copper mess as she walked into the kitchen to grab a Pop-Tart, not even bothering to put it in the toaster.
Josie stopped in front of Anne’s door and laid her hand on the wooden doorframe. Maybe she was ready. She’d eventually have to go inside, but she hadn’t been able to enter the room, not after the first time.
It had only been a few weeks after Anne died, and Josie had been armed with boxes and resolve. But one look in that room had been enough, and Josie had closed the door. She hadn’t opened it again.
Her hand slipped away, and she turned for her living room, glancing at the breakfast pastry. It looked like cardboard all of a sudden, and she dropped it in her desk trash can, no longer hungry.
Instead, Josie lay down on the couch to face the long wall where her crime shrine hung.
Stretched across the length of the wall were columns of articles and photographs of the girls Rhodes had killed, papers and newspaper clippings, all connected by a web of red string with Rhodes in the center. They were divided by year, starting with when Jane Bernard had been killed, running all the way through Anne, with every murder in between, every kill she thought he might be connected with. Using the details of how Hannah and Jane had been killed, Josie had found dozens of unsolved murders that fit, mostly of prostitutes who had been found in the Hudson.
It had started off innocently enough for Josie, just looking for any connection, anywhere. But, before long, she had obsessively scoured the daily papers and the old archived databases, looking for any murders that fit the bill. Strangulation. Women wrapped in plastic, dumped in a waterway. When there was an ID, the family members and friends had claimed jewelry was missing.
Josie had searched for the keys to Rhodes’s MO and found dozens of cases starting in the late ’80s that she believed he was responsible for. She’d weeded through them at lightning speed, quickly assembling the wall of connections. Saul had recounted all the lost evidence by memory and sent photocopies of the old newspaper articles on Jane Bernard’s death. Josie had had access to all the evidence on Hannah and Anne already, and from there, it had been filling in the gap between Jane and Hannah.
Hannah looked so much like Jane, even down to the bright red cheerleading uniform, and Josie knew Hannah must have triggered him. And Anne…the only thing that made sense was that Rhodes had somehow known they had information, and Anne had surprised him when he came to steal it. All the girls in between Hannah and Jane had been clean kills with no connections, missing for days and days before they were even reported.
Josie had enlisted the reluctant help of her father, who was the captain of the station handling Anne’s murder. Their agreement was that she would pass off anything she found to him, though she suspected he’d only consented so that he could keep an eye on her, knowing she would never give it up. Hank had agreed on Rhodes’s pattern and the connections Josie had made, but without DNA, evidence, or witnesses, they had nothing.
That was when the real search had begun. Josie had pounded more pavement, talking to detectives, hookers, and families and friends of the dead girls, trying to find out as much as she could with the hope that something would lead her back to Rhodes. Some detectives had been forthcoming. Some wouldn’t give her the time. A few had been convinced she’d uncovered a serial killer while others just called her crazy.
But Josie never stopped looking.
She spent much of her free time on her most dangerous hobby—tailing Rhodes. She knew him, knew his daily routine. She knew his favorite coffee shop and what time he worked out. If she watched him, she could catch him. If she followed him, she could stop him from hurting anyone again.
But he never put a toe out of line, and on her worst days, she’d wonder if she’d stretched the whole thing together, patched it up with duct tape and bubblegum, and convinced herself he was a killer. It was all she had to hold on to, and she felt it was right, but how could she even be sure?
Most days, she wouldn’t think about it, but the ones when she did were dark.
No one knew how much of her time and energy she put into Rhodes. They couldn’t understand. They’d think she’d lost it, and maybe they’d be right, but chasing Rhodes was the only thing in her life that made sense, and she couldn’t let it go. Not as long as he was walking free.
The wind whipped Artemis’s robes against her legs as she clung to the side of a high rock face with her eyes on a cave opening above her. Her legs strained as she hung on the cliff and pushed off, swinging to another hold, easily finding footholds as she leveraged her way up with grace and ease. She hoisted herself onto the ledge, pausing for a moment to catch her breath at the entrance to Echo’s cave.
Echo was a tree nymph who had been known for telling beautiful tales of love and adventure and would often entertain the gods and nymphs alike. On the day she had been cursed, she’d distracted Hera with one of her stories as Zeus escaped a tryst with one of her nymph sisters, and when Hera had realized what had happened, she’d cursed Echo. From that moment on, she was only able to speak the last words she’d heard. Years later, Echo had fallen in love with Narcissus, a beautiful man who could only love himself, and she’d wasted away, pining after him until nothing was left but her voice.
Artemis was the goddess of all nymphs, the caregiver to all creatures of the wild, and when they’d fled Earth to make their home in the new Olympus, Echo had followed. Preferring solitude, she had made her home high in a mountain cave.
Artemis’s hands were on her hips as she breathed deep, looking out over her realm as the wind swept across her body. Mountains stretched out into the distance, green and lush, and rolling hills and meadows dotted with trees filled the valley below. A waterfall roared from the top of the cliff, misting her with water, and she was thankful for its chill after the climb.
She walked into the cool stone passage, laying her palm against the slate, hearing water rush somewhere above her. When she stepped out on the other side, she was in Echo’s cave.
Water poured in from the skylight of the domed cave, collecting in a topaz pool ringed with myrtles and laurels standing in spring grass peppered with flowers. Near the opening where the sunshine poured in, small birds flitted, tweeting and chirping merrily.
At the far end of the cave were shelves made of stone, filled with Echo’s things. There were pots and paintings, scrolls and wildflowers. The light caught on the mirror, and Artemis was relieved it was stil
l in the nymph’s possession.
“Echo?” Artemis called.
But there was no echo of the sound, an eerie sensation in the open rock where the sound should have bounced back to her. She looked around for the nymph, usually able to see her by the soft sheen of her spirit, but Artemis found her nowhere.
An entrance to another passage lay just beyond Echo’s shelves, and Artemis made her way through it. The path grew blacker with every step she took, and the sound of her footsteps reverberated off the walls.
“Echo?”
The word was absorbed into the blackness.
Goosebumps prickled Artemis’s skin as she followed the trickling sound of water, and the passage opened up again into a smaller chamber, dark and heavy.
“Echo? It is I, Artemis.”
Echo was a wisp, a shimmering apparition. With no light to interfere, Artemis could see the nymph who once was. Echo was looking down into a small pool of water in the rock floor. Her hair hung in loose waves, and her face was like a sprite with wide lips and a dainty nose.
She turned her sad eyes to Artemis and smiled. “Artemis,” she said, her voice hollow.
“Hello, friend.” Artemis took a seat next to her on the cold stone, watching as she shimmered and shone in blues and whites and purples; her soul was the only source of light in the room.
“Hello, friend.” The nymph folded her hands in her lap.
“I hope that you are well. It has been too long.”
Echo nodded, though her face held curiosity.
“I’m sure you must be wondering the purpose of my visit.”
The nymph nodded again.
“I came to petition you on behalf of Aphrodite.”
Echo raised an eyebrow. “Aphrodite?”
Artemis smiled. “Yes, Aphrodite. She has lost Adonis.”
“Lost Adonis?” Her brows knit together.
“She left him, and he drank Lethe.”
“Lethe…” she breathed, her hand covering her mouth.
“Yes. He has forgotten everything.” Artemis glanced into the black pool of water. “You still have Aphrodite’s mirror. May I ask if you still watch Narcissus in Asphodel?”
Echo bit her lip and nodded.
“Often?”
She shook her head.
Artemis felt the weight of Echo’s curse, mourned the life the nymph could have had, felt the grief over all she’d lost, but she pushed the thought away, finding resolve. Echo had loved so much that she lost everything, which was exactly the reason Artemis was convinced that love was more cruel than kind.
“Aphrodite has only just lost her love. I thought that perhaps you might give the mirror back.”
“Give the mirror back?” There was fear in her words, and Artemis wished she could offer the comfort of touch.
Instead, she trailed her fingers in the water of the pool. “Aphrodite has given you Narcissus for all these years. I only ask that you consider returning the favor.”
Echo looked back to the pool for a long moment, finally nodding with her eyes on her reflection. She rose and floated back through to the main chamber, and Artemis followed. When they reached her shelves, Echo stopped in front of the mirror. Artemis could barely see her in the brightness of the main cave, only a shimmer, the occasional ripple that revealed the features of her face as it bent in sadness.
The nymph picked up the gilded hand mirror, and the glass glimmered in a wave. Narcissus was there, walking through Asphodel in the sunshine. He bent and picked a poppy, smiling brilliantly.
Echo laid the mirror to her chest and turned to face Artemis, dropping into a small bow.
Bisoux’s leg thumped when Dita dragged the brush over his rump, wondering what she was going to do next.
She’d painted her nails, organized her underwear drawer, rearranged her living room, and put on makeup, which was something she only did for occasions. She’d been alone all morning, and she was bordering on stir-crazy.
Dita considered napping but ultimately decided against it. Her sleep the night before had been restless, empty and vague, and she was tired, but she’d take tired over fitful sleep that left her hollow when she woke.
Elysium had been her home in her dreams for thousands of years, and Adonis, her confidant, her love. But that was all gone, and she could never have it back. The loss left her feeling abandoned and exposed, and loneliness plagued her. She missed the solace in his touch, his arms around her, his lips against hers.
But she would never have that again.
The bad had been all but forgotten, and in her mourning, she found herself only thinking of the good.
Dita knew her craving for touch would get to the point that it was undeniable, and she contemplated finding a human lover—or better, a string of lovers. The idea was infinitely appealing. She wanted something easy, something that didn’t require thought, just to be held for a moment.
But that had always been her solution. Something had to change, and that something was her. To ever heal, truly heal, she needed solitude.
Her chest ached, and she turned her wandering thoughts to Jon and Josie. Their first meeting hadn’t been terrible, but there was nothing on the horizon until they ran into each other again. She’d gotten Jon to The Duke and fudged the books at Jerry J’s, so they’d call both bounty hunters in, but she wasn’t sure what was next or what Artemis had in store for the humans.
What Dita needed was a plan.
She bit her lip as she put Bisoux’s brush down and ran her hand down his silky back. Josie wasn’t over Jon, not even close, but she was as stubborn and solitary as Artemis. No one got in, not after everything she had been through. Bisoux hopped off her lap and trotted to his red velvet floor pillow to pick up a squeaky toy in the shape of a Fury. He gnawed on its wings as Dita looked around the room for something to do, but her meandering thoughts drifted back to Adonis.
His smile was clear in the picture of her mind, and she could hear his laugh, thinking of the long hours they’d lazed in the meadow under the olive tree, and her heart ached and thumped and pumped and bled.
But she drew in a breath and stopped herself.
She needed a distraction and decided it had been long enough that she could bother Perry again. The day before had been filled with the two goddesses consuming all the movies and pizza they could handle on top of a stupid amount of cupcakes and all the avoidance she could muster. They had gotten rolling the minute the competition started, and she’d kept Dita distracted to the point that she was so exhausted, she fell into bed and slept like she was dead.
Guilt chewed at her heart when she considered how much of Perry’s time she’d been occupying for the last two weeks—meaning all her time—but she needed that distraction so badly. She wasn’t sure if she could function without it, not without losing her mind. And she didn’t feel right leaning on anyone else in the way she leaned on Perry. Dita had other friends, of course, but there was no one else she’d burden with her bullshit.
The only other person who she could seriously consider was Heff. He would be there for her, but she couldn’t talk to him about Ares or Adonis. It hurt too badly to see the pain behind his bright eyes, and she didn’t want to be the cause of it. She had Apollo too, but they weren’t at the level where she could really bare her heart and soul.
She wouldn’t trust anyone like that besides her best friend.
And so, she picked up her dog and headed to the elevator, hoping that Perry was fresh enough to handle her for just a little longer. Surely, she’d be right again soon.
When she reached the underworld, she set Bisoux down, and he ran straight for Cerberus. Watching them play was highly entertaining since the three-headed hellhound was about eight hundred times the size of the mini Pom.
“In here.” Perry waved a hand over the back of the couch.
“I come bearing gifts.” With the snap of Dita’s fingers, several bars of Toblerone and a stack of movies appeared on the coffee table, but she paused when she rounded the
couch and found Perry lying in the arms of Hades.
The couple lay lazily in each other’s arms—Perry small and slender, Hades long and lean. He looked as comfortable in tailored slacks and a button-down as most people would in pajamas with his sleeves rolled up and his tie loosened, the top button of his shirt undone. Perry’s fingers had slipped into the space between buttons to rest on his chest.
“Oh,” Dita said, flushing, embarrassed for assuming her friend would be alone. “I’m sorry. Perry, want to just come up later? I mean, if you have time?”
Hades smiled and kissed the top of his wife’s head. “Don’t leave on account of me. I have some paperwork that needs my attention anyway.”
Perry pouted a little as he slipped out from under her and left the room.
Guilt, guilt, and more guilt. But at least there was chocolate, too.
Perry sighed and reached for a bar of chocolate. “Come to mama.” She licked her lips as she opened the triangular box.
Dita sat at the other end of the couch and propped her feet on the table, trying not to feel like a worm for being relieved that Hades had gone.
“Wassup?” Perry asked with her mouth full of chocolate and nougat.
“Well, I just dicked with about a million things at my place, so I came down to see if you were ready to go for movie madness, part deux.”
“Mmm.” It was a noncommittal sound. “We barely even talked about the competition yesterday.”
Dita wiggled her toes on the coffee table, her arches warming up from the fire in the black marble fireplace. “We were too distracted by teenage John Cusack. Who can resist Lloyd Dobler in a trench coat with a boom box?”
Perry laughed. “The same percentage of people who can resist Paul Varjak from Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Zero.”
“Oh, or Gene Kelly from Singing in the Rain. I miss old Hollywood. Movies had a feeling to them that is just lost now. Where are the Kubricks and Hitchcocks?” Dita asked.
