Medusa sighed, and some of the fight went out of her eyes. “You don’t know what you’re offering, but if you’re just going to follow me anyway…”
“I’m not sure I could find Hecate’s palace on my own. Do you think you can find Pandora, Arachne, or Agamemnon?”
“With my sisters searching. They can hook directly into the shade network far easier than anyone else.”
Cressida nodded, though the idea made her sad; it no doubt meant they were closer to shades than thinking beings. “Pandora seemed the most sympathetic. She’s the one that let you out, though I got the impression that Agamemnon thought I was noble for staying behind.”
“Well, let’s start with the weakest link.” She pulled upward and hooked a floating shade. “Stheno, Euryale, find Agamemnon.” At Cressida’s questioning look, she shrugged. “He has the greatest tendency to babble.”
And of the three, he was the least powerful. Even if his awareness wouldn’t allow Medusa to turn him to stone, Cressida bet Medusa could pin him in under eight seconds. And if not… Cressida patted her hip, though she didn’t know if she should unleash the battle hunger of Cronos on anyone she wasn’t prepared to kill, or at least chop a few bits off of.
“So, where do we stash your mom?” Cressida asked. “I doubt she’ll fit in your apartment.”
“I know a few places.”
Aix had been watching them closely, head swiveling between them. When Medusa had stepped forward threateningly, her tongue had flicked out, but Cressida had no idea how to read a snake’s expression. At the mention of her other two daughters, her eyes had fixed on Medusa for a few seconds, but if that was recognition, Cressida also couldn’t tell.
Now she went where they led her, to a large warehouse sitting near the tracks, and as such, it had the same abandoned look as the places near the entrance to the Elysian Fields. “Aix, stay here,” Medusa said, pointing to the floor. When they started to leave, though, Aix began to follow. “No, Mom, stay here. You have to wait here. I’ll come and get you.”
Aix’s huge head moved back and forth. Medusa dragged in a shade from the cloud of them and hooked it under one of her mother’s frills. “I will call you if I need you, but you have to wait here. Guard this warehouse.”
Aix seemed to understand that better. She coiled in the middle of the floor and rested her head on the top loop, the better to watch the door. She watched them go, tongue flicking in and out, and her nictitating membrane covering her eye like a blink.
Outside, Medusa looked back inside the warehouse with an expression full of regret. Cressida knew the story of Aix’s death, and she guessed it had taken place when Medusa had been a child, maybe an infant, if any of the timelines were remotely factual.
Cressida laid a hand on her arm. “I’m sure she would have been a good mom if she’d gotten the chance. She seems nice.” But she had to stop herself from adding, “For a giant snake.”
Medusa stared at her, expression transformed into wonder. Her gaze softened and drifted over Cressida’s face, lingering on Cressida’s lips. Cressida’s insides bunched as the rest of her went rigid, waiting, so many emotions flicking through her brain it felt as if someone had switched it to hyper-drive. Her inner voice babbled, but as Medusa leaned across the small distance between them, she thought, please, please shut up. Let’s just enjoy this.
Cressida’s focus narrowed at the first touch of Medusa’s soft lips, the lower one slightly fuller, pressing in and moving, the downward motion opening Cressida’s mouth. Then their lips were between each other, their heads tilting. They pressed together, and Cressida savored each spot of contact, breasts and arms and shoulders. Medusa slid Cressida’s backpack free, and her hands wandered across Cressida’s back. Cressida wrapped her arms around Medusa’s shoulders, sliding over the soft cotton of her tee and hooking around her neck. Medusa’s hands shamelessly slipped downward to cup Cressida’s ass, making her moan as Medusa’s tongue snaked into her mouth and lured her own tongue out.
There really should have been fireworks. There should not have been a centaur passing on the other side of the street calling, “Get a room!”
Spell momentarily broken, they parted, limbs creeping back toward their owners. Medusa glared. “That street corner can have a new centaur-shaped art installation. Just say the word.”
Cressida laughed, thinking that if someone hadn’t shouted, they might now be writhing on top of a pile of hastily discarded clothing. With a centaur standing over them. She shivered and backed up a step, putting her backpack on again.
“That was…” She didn’t have words, wished she hadn’t started saying anything at all. “We should go.” Medusa turned away, and Cressida realized how stopping before saying how the kiss had been could be considered a criticism. “Good. It was really, really good.”
Medusa smiled over her shoulder, a look of pure confidence, and Cressida knew she shouldn’t have been worried. “To be continued?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely.”
Medusa laughed but faced forward again, and Cressida was a little sad she didn’t offer an arm or a hand, something to cement the promise of the future.
Chapter Ten
Medusa called herself a stupid, selfish idiot even as she tried to maintain a calm façade. That kiss, though! Even if she could travel back to the moment it happened and try to stop herself, she didn’t think she could. She’d have to stand and watch it happen.
And it wasn’t just that Cressida was beautiful; she was also loyal and brave and sympathetic enough to compliment Medusa’s mother in a way no one had before. She felt sorry for a creature everyone else viewed as a monster. Aix and her kind were usually fodder in heroic tales; no one pitied them.
Medusa fought the urge to sigh. For fuck’s sake, she couldn’t be falling in love. Their entire relationship was built on a pack of lies, and soon the whole thing would come unraveling. But Cressida wouldn’t leave even when told to; it had become pretty clear she was the kind of person who stayed.
Medusa again considered coming clean, but then Cressida would march off on her own. She could get into serious trouble, but going it alone might be less dangerous than picking a fight with Medea. No, as Cressida walked happily at her side, Medusa thought they might be safer together no matter what, and she was pretty sure it wasn’t just her hormones talking. Harpies wouldn’t be the only things looking to make a meal of Cressida, and anyone else she met would be seeking a way to manipulate her just as Medusa had done. And June couldn’t wait forever. No matter what supplies June had brought with her, they couldn’t last through hundreds of quests.
“Cressida, give me a moment,” Medusa said. “I want to check in with my sisters.”
“Sure.” She wandered a few steps away, lingering at the corner; her shimmer of life made her seem like the only true color in a colorized movie.
She pulled a bit of shade fog. “Stheno, Euryale.”
“Sister?”
Medusa pictured them waiting for her call, always standing by the window because what else did they have to do but stand around waiting for her to help them?
Her fist tightened. Maybe she should just give in, mix up a few innocent souls with her small stash of ambrosia, feed it to them, and make them exist off the lives of others like many in the Underworld did. They could become the monsters that myth wanted them to be.
“Have you found Cressida’s aunt?”
“Hidden from our sight.”
Medusa rolled her lips under and resisted the urge to shout a curse. If they couldn’t find June, that meant the shade fog couldn’t penetrate wherever she was, and the stuff got everywhere. It was the fount of rumor in the Underworld. You could try to keep it out, but it always seeped in enough for someone to glean an idea of what you were up to.
June could very well be in Hecate’s hands if the shade fog couldn’t see her. Rumor had her there, and that meant someone had seen her heading in that direction. “Who in the Underworld is close to Hecate?”
&nbs
p; “Persephone.”
Medusa chuckled hopelessly. “Yes, and we’ve got as much chance getting in to see one as we do the other.”
“Medea.”
“Tried that one. Can you find her?”
They fell silent, and she knew they were sifting through the shade fog far faster than anyone else could. “No one can recall seeing her leave her factory today.”
“Please tell me you’ve found Agamemnon. Or Pandora and Arachne?”
“Agamemnon is at a bar.” Another silence followed, lengthier this time. Cressida glanced at her, and Medusa waved. She wondered if Cressida was curious about what she and her sisters were talking about, what was so important that no one else was allowed to overhear it.
“Pandora has returned to her home,” Stheno and Euryale said. “Arachne is near there, too. Agamemnon is closest, down the street from you.”
Medusa grinned and knew it had a tinge of wickedness to it. ”What’s the name of the bar?”
*
Cressida almost felt sorry for Agamemnon. He clearly wasn’t expecting anyone to sidle up behind him, meet his eyes in the mirror backing the bar, and say, “Do you think all these mirrors will protect you?”
He froze, meeting Medusa’s gaze, his stare not bothering to flick to Cressida. Medusa’s image seemed to shimmer, and hissing snakes flickered to life around her beautiful face. Her eyes flashed, but it happened quickly and was gone just as fast; it could have been a shadow.
“I’m immune to my own gaze,” she said. “And the mirror might save you, but if you turn your head just a little…”
He swallowed hard. “How did you get here so quickly?”
Medusa eased onto a stool at his side. “I’m curious: How long did you think it would take?”
Cressida took a stool on his other side, and he glanced at her at last. She gave him a look that she hoped conveyed the sentiment that he’d made this bed, him and the others.
“I mean,” Medusa said, “you know Cressida doesn’t have much time. And Perseus will soon be out of my reach. Did you think I would be less angry if when I emerged, Perseus had moved on, and Cressida was dead?”
“We…” He cleared his throat, sipped his drink, and seemed to decide it was better not to speak.
“Who is the aegis for? Someone who has a bone to pick with me?”
“You think this is about you?” he asked. “You think we went with you to Tartarus, used you to get the aegis, all because we wanted to defeat you? No offense, my dear, but there are easier ways.”
“Then why?”
He shrugged.
“Tell us what we want to know—”
“Or what?”
“Look,” Cressida said loudly. Several of the patrons glanced at her, and she leaned in, pitching her voice lower. “I’m loving getting a peek into Underworld politics, really I am, but I want my aunt back, and I’m tired of being dicked around.”
They both blinked at her.
“I know you’ve all got your problems,” Cressida said, “some more than others, but I don’t see what the hell, if you’ll pardon the expression, any of your problems have to do with me. I want to help you,” she said to Medusa, avoiding adding, if only for the chance of another kiss. She looked to Agamemnon. “And if I see your wife, I will ask her how she is, but my goal is to get June.” She rested a hand on the harpe. “And I’m getting the impression that whatever Hecate wants this sword for, she’s going to need my help there, too, and I’m getting really goddamned tired of being told what to do and where to go and whom to talk to. How come no one here just asks for help?”
She resisted the urge to order her own drink, knowing that would condemn her to stay, but the scent of alcohol filled her nostrils with its enticing promise of mellowness. She pulled a soda from her bag and cracked it open. She needed to stay sharp. “Now, I don’t know how to fight with a regular sword, much less this hooked thing hanging from my hip, but Cronos does, and every time I pull the harpe, I feel him in my mind giving me instructions. So, how’s about you answer my friend’s questions, and help get me back on track to finding my aunt, or I’m going to lay waste to this bar with you being the first target in my metaphorical crosshairs.”
They’d frozen, staring, and the barkeep—a black-haired satyr—had come close enough to hear and was now walking away with a practiced air of skillful retreat. A few other bar patrons seemed to sense a shift in the tone of the room; they put on hats or coats and said things in loud voices like, “Well, it’s an early one for me,” or “I’ve got a big day tomorrow.”
“Well,” Agamemnon said, drawing the word out. “Quite a speech.”
Medusa flushed, frowned, and stared at Cressida’s lips as if torn between the desire to make out with her or censure her.
“What’s it going to be?” Cressida asked.
“One magic sword and you think you can push everyone around?” Agamemnon took another sip, but she saw the slight twitch in his hands, the way his eyes kept slipping toward where her hand rested on the harpe’s grip.
She drew it slightly, wishing it had a metallic ring like swords in the movies, but the scabbard was oiled leather, and the sword slid through it like a razor through shaving cream. She didn’t free it, but she began to feel Cronos behind her eyes, telling her to cut where certain arteries pumped close to the skin or where the tendons stretched taut, and the pain would hum through Agamemnon like the most perfect symphony.
He grabbed her wrist faster than she could move, but on the heels of that, Medusa put her hand on the back of his head, nails dimpling his skin. They all froze except for Medusa, who moved close to his shoulder, her canines stretching so long she couldn’t close her mouth. She paused just above his cloak, and Cressida could see the light through her teeth; they’d be hollow to let the poison course through.
Agamemnon’s gaze dug into Cressida’s. “I don’t know the whole story. I’m a hired hand.”
“For whom?” Medusa asked as her teeth slid back to normal.
“Medea.”
Cressida stiffened and noticed Medusa doing the same. A powerful sorceress rumored to have killed her own children to spite her cheating husband. Some legends also painted her as the daughter of Hecate, though as with all myths, no one could ever agree on someone’s parentage. But now, with Hecate being the one who’d sent them to Tartarus in the first place?
“I can take you to Pandora,” he said. “She knows things I don’t.”
Cressida nodded and let the harpe sink back into its scabbard. Agamemnon let her go, and everyone sat back a bit. “I trust I can finish my drink first?” he asked.
Cressida sipped her soda and nodded. “I think we’re all going to need a drink.”
“Seconded,” Medusa said, and she looked more worried than Cressida had ever seen, more worried than when they’d first sneaked into Hecate’s palace or were ordered to Tartarus. But what could Medea do to them that Hecate couldn’t?
*
Well, if throwing Medea’s real name into the mix didn’t let the cat out of the freaking bag, Medusa didn’t know what would. But Cressida still seemed to think Hecate was at the start of their quest. How long could that last? Had Agamemnon known he was working for Medea all along or was he just as fooled as Cressida? Not knowing made Medusa want to pull her hair out. Such a convoluted scheme was so very Medea; she constructed plots so muddy no one knew which way to look. If Medusa now found out someone else had set Agamemnon into finding the aegis disguised as Medea, that would just take the cake.
But what could Medea want with the aegis, whomever she was currently pretending to be?
It made Medusa’s head hurt, and she sipped her drink slowly, but they couldn’t stay in the bar for very long. Cressida’s living shimmer garnered a lot of looks. Even the least aware people in the room had to be sensing her by now. And some dark creatures in the corner, all bat wings and sharp teeth, were giving her hungry, harpy-like stares.
“We should go,” Medusa said.
; Agamemnon lifted his drink and sloshed the bit that remained.
“Slam it or lose it.”
He glared but did as commanded. She wished she could get a few minutes alone with him, maybe wring some more info out of him away from Cressida, but just as they were leaving, Cressida spoke up.
“So, since Hecate commanded you to get the aegis, was that so she could give it to Medea, or did you give it to Medea without Hecate knowing?”
Medusa held her breath. Now for the moment of truth.
As they reached the street, Agamemnon cleared his throat. “Medea…always works on her own, except when she can wrangle more out of a deal than she’s putting in. She might not have murdered her children, but that doesn’t mean she’s not a selfish asshole.”
“She didn’t murder her children?” Cressida asked.
“No,” Medusa said. “She made Jason think she had.”
“That’s…but she had to live in infamy from then on!”
“The world’s a big place,” Agamemnon said. “Bigger than we ever dreamed when we were alive. Some myths had her marry another king, but the way she tells it, she left to live on her own. It used to be very easy to go somewhere where no one knew you. I expect it still is in some ways.”
Cressida seemed to mull that over. Medusa tried to parse his answer for any indication about how much he knew. “What does Medea want with the aegis?”
He gave her a look, but if she was supposed to glean anything from it, she missed the point. “Still afraid she’ll come after you?”
“There are plenty of other mirrors if she wanted to feel safe from me. Besides, Medea doesn’t need the aegis to protect her. She’d use a magical deterrent before a weapon or shield.”
“True enough,” he said.
She frowned. “Then you don’t know why she wants it?”
“I’m a hired sword.” He laughed without humor. “I commanded armies once. I was a prince.”
“Yes, yes, how the mighty have fallen,” Medusa said. “Everyone in Asphodel has a sad story to tell.”
Coils Page 17
