Hate

by Gemma Brocato

  Most recently he’d been in the alley behind the grocery store.

  Plunging to his knees, Finn braced his battered hands on the protective matting. Touching his forehead to the stinking floor, he let out a tortured howl, releasing the final vestiges of the anger and horror that had gripped him when he’d learned of Meredith’s murder. The sound boomed off the steel ceiling. Normal gym noise ceased for a moment, the silence seething. After a beat, the clangs of weight plates started again.

  “Finn?” Anson stopped punching the bag before him.

  “Ah, fuck!” Flopping over on his back, his entire torso heaved as he tried to catch his breath. Recognizing the real possibility of hyperventilating, he covered his face with his hands. Who the fuck am I kidding? I just don’t want anyone to see me crying like a little bitch.

  Shoulders shaking, he hauled in calming breaths, willing dark despondency away. It sucked to be in a job where occurrences like today robbed a man’s faith in mankind. Daily reminders of how fucking cruel life was, and how few people really seemed to care for their fellow humans. Like the magic of kindness was a completely null and void concept.

  Finn drew his knees to his chest and rocked on his spine, easing some of the physical ache he felt, even if he couldn’t let go of the mental anguish. Since his breathing had slowed to heaving giant gusts into his lungs, then back out, and he’d battled back the threatening tears, he slapped his hands flat on the floor with a thud and stared at the ceiling.

  He realized his vision was still dim when Anse’s face appeared above him, exhausted, sweaty, and with deep angry lines etched between his brows. “You good, man?” A fog seemed to surround Elwood’s head. Finn knew it wasn’t real, but the last of whatever fugue had enveloped him.

  He blinked. “Yeah. Just going to lay here a bit. Clear my head.” Hope the black hole will spit me back out, and life can return to normal.

  “Okay, I’m going to check in with the station, see if I can get an update on the stand-off with Miller.” Anse toed Finn’s shoulder with the tip of his sneaker. “You sure you’re good?”

  “Fuck off, Elwood. Go make that call.”

  With a ghost of a grin, Anse disappeared from view. His feet scraped against the mats like he was dragging them, deliberately delaying the need to make his phone call.

  Straightening one leg, clutching the other to his chest, Finn moved through a series of stretches. His limbs throbbed and felt watery when he pushed to a seated position. Crossing his right foot over the left knee, he twisted his upper body the opposite direction, feeling the lengthening burn in his torso. Repeated the stretch on the other side. Flattened both legs to the mat and bent at the waist, touching his nose to the floor. This stretch felt so damned good he held it for a long count.

  Until feet appeared in his peripheral vision. Not wearing Elwood’s shoes. Keeping his back flat, Finn lifted his head. A fucking Viking appeared in front of him. Big, blond but narrow of frame. Finn’s neck cricked uncomfortably and popped as he craned his head up and up.

  He recognized the man, but couldn’t place him immediately. The good news was his vision was no longer foggy. The black hole had finally upchucked Finn back to reality.

  Blondie dropped to his haunches and remained mute. Staring at him like he was a bug the dude would rather squash than learn anything about.

  The way Aerie had studied him at the wedding reception.

  With a deep sigh, Finn pushed himself up until he sat on his tailbones. “Can I help you?”

  “Phillip Cantrell.” He stuck his hand out.

  Finn grabbed it, barely registering the press of the man’s fingers due to the numbness in his own hands. “How can I help you, Mr. Cantrell?” He knew the name. Had heard it somewhere before.

  “I saw you at the Morgan wedding last week.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I was the photographer. I got a great shot of you and Frank.” Cantrell shrugged. “Your smile looked rusty.”

  Was the guy coming on to him? Yeah, he wasn’t having that shit. He scrambled to his feet, and took a step away, giving himself a little headspace in the process. “Yeah? Maybe that’s because the world has offered little for me to smile about lately. Do you read the news?” Finn crossed his arms over his chest and spread his still quaking legs.

  Cantrell cocked his head, as if perplexed. Eyes as flinty as glacial ice, lips thinned into a flat line. “You remind me of…”

  “Who?” Finn prompted.

  “No one. Yeah, I read the news, but it isn’t always bad. Consider the wedding you were at. That was surely a good reason to smile. And all those random acts of kindness people are always promoting on their social media accounts.”

  “Wouldn’t know. I don’t do social media.” Finn unwrapped his right hand, the thick cotton binding falling to the floor. As he attacked the other hand, he peered at the other guy. “Seriously, it’s been a shit day. Is there a purpose to this little chat?”

  Anson climbed the stairs to the boxing ring, cellphone pressed tight to his ear, his expression slightly less rigid than when he’d left the area.

  “Not really. I just wanted to introduce myself. Let you know if you ever need a photographer, like even for the police department, I’m available.”

  “You’d have to talk to the captain about taking pictures for the department. But I’ll warn you, the department doesn’t use wedding photographers to take crime scene photos.”

  Cantrell’s eyes lit up, the deep blue color going a little less icy. “Oh, I’m so much more than a just a wedding photographer. And I suspect you, Mr. Finnegan, are so much more than a cop. You have no idea. We’ll talk soon, I’m sure.”

  As Anse jogged up to them, Cantrell nodded, flashed an enigmatic smile, and strolled away. God, Finn could swear the man’s laughter echoed straight into his brain.

  “Miller died of a GSW to the head. Inflicted by his own old man,” Anson reported. “SWAT is mopping up the scene now.”

  “Good.” And Finn meant it. The world had just gotten free of one of the worst kinds of haters.

  Four

  Files were scattered over the table, the information Aerie needed to plan a swanky winter wedding only two months away. As she reached for the file labeled Caterers she nearly knocked the quarter-full wine goblet over. Adrenaline surged and she managed to stop the tipping glass before she lost a single drop. She opened the file in front of her, then lifted the stemless glass to her nose and inhaled the tangy, fruity aroma. She drained the contents as the waitress approached.

  “Ready for another?” Stella asked, picking up the empty.

  “Better not. I’d take a cup of tea, though. Cream and sugar, please.”

  “Be right back.”

  Slouching against the banquette, she idly flipped through the file. Normally, she wouldn’t have brought work to a restaurant, but she’d found the silence in her home oppressive. The converted carriage house behind Delphi Manor was charming, and normally it was a treat to be home. Everything had changed two weeks ago, on that Saturday of the Morgans’ reception. And she’d be damned if she could put her finger on why.

  For the past week, she’d avoided her sisters as well. Polly had called to make lunch arrangements, and Aerie had pleaded a vicious workload. She’d used the same excuse when Corie had called and asked her to go dancing last Friday night. Aerie had discovered she had a rare night off, but rather than spend it clubbing with Corie, she’d opted to stay in and brood. Having eight sisters in town meant she never had to be alone unless she wanted. And she’d been in an unfit-for-company mood. Uncharacteristic for her. She was shy, but had never been a loner. So why now?

  Was it because her premonition at the wedding included fiery-eyed magpies? She’d tried to broach the subject with Mnemosyne, thinking her Auntie could dig into her subconscious and determine what was fact, and what was fantasy. But the memory goddess was too busy on a special project for Mars to be bothered.

  Auntie M’s response had ticked Aerie off. Since the
Muses had been tasked with saving the freaking world from the atrocities Pierus’s daughters represented, Aerie kind of felt like she should have been a priority.

  Or maybe her blue mood was due to the sudden appearance of Lykos. She didn’t trust the satyr—never had. The idea he was up to something nagged a corner of her mind. Fisting a hand over her mouth, she rubbed the grimace away.

  Unusual tension pinched her shoulders. Thoughts of the wedding reception brought recollections of a certain police detective. Was it possible gruff, grumpy, but nonetheless gorgeous Mike Finnegan might have something to do with her world being arse-to-the-air? He was a stunning specimen of man, not drop-dead-ovary-exploding attractive, but what she’d call arresting or craggy handsome. Where he lost ground was on attitude. Shoot, he’d all but laid odds that the Morgans would be divorced within six months. It was clear in the first thirty seconds she’d known Mike Finnegan he wasn’t a man who believed in love.

  But there wasn’t a doubt in her mind he’d be an awesome lover.

  Like she really needed to hook up with a guy who held himself back from falling in love, from being part of a magical thing that made two people whole.

  No. He was not for her. No way in hell he was the one truly passionate love she’d never found in her lifetimes. And the sooner she locked those errant thoughts away, the better.

  Stella slipped up to the table and opened her hand above the surface. Small packages of sugar and cups of cream landed haphazardly on her florist file. A dribble of cream leaked over the red cardboard, reminding Aerie of the magpie’s eyes in her dream. A chill swept over her, raising the fine hairs on her forearms. She yanked the zip of her fleece a little higher.

  While Stella deposited the mug of tea, she swiped the spilled cream up with a paper napkin. “Sorry, sweetie. I hope I didn’t do too much damage.”

  Aerie took the napkin and continued to blot. “It’s okay. Nothing I can’t print again. I doubt it even soaked through. It’s not crazy in here tonight, for a Thursday.”

  “Yeah. Delphi High School is playing the cross-town rivals. Have I ever mentioned I hate football? Not just dislike. I mean hate-hate it.”

  Aerie stopped blotting and lifted her brow. “Really? Why?”

  Stella leaned in and lowered her voice. “That sport is nothing but a bunch of testosterone laden men tackling each other, beating the crap out of their rivals, and trying to cripple the opposing team. And for what? Bragging rights? Bah! I don’t need to go watch that. Any day I want, I can see a legitimate fight in here.”

  Echoes of the shouts from the crowds at Roman harpastum games…an ancient form of soccer…blasted through Aerie’s mind. Back then, the competitiveness oftentimes led to untimely deaths, among players and fans alike.

  The entry door swung inward, and Stella glanced over her shoulder. “Oops, new customer sitting at the bar. Better go take an order.”

  As she departed, Aerie turned back toward her files. She wrapped her chilly fingers around the warm mug, lifting a hand away only to turn a page, or to do a quick search on the tablet propped to one side.

  She was so absorbed in her research she almost missed the tightening of air around her head and shoulders. Cold dread seeped up her spine. She jerked her head up to discover a man in a high-class business suit, complete with matching pocket square and silk necktie, standing next to the booth.

  The instant she recognized him, she forgot to breathe. Or rather, was unable to breathe due to a hold that he’d placed on her. Her entire body felt like it was being squeezed through a too-tight crack in the pavement. Her limbs were big blocks of ice, and the same frozen feeling wrapped around her throat.

  Pierus beamed a smug look at her obvious discomfort. “Ah, little Erato. Sitting all alone in a restaurant. What kind of message must it send that the Muse of Romantic Love doesn’t have a date?” Without hesitation, he slid onto the banquette across from her. His amused cackle rent the air around her, and scoured her skin as if someone had dragged a cheese grater over it. A shudder ran through her torso.

  Aerie bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to draw blood. The pain broke the barrier of whatever trancelike state the evil son of a bitch had reduced her to. She sucked in a harsh breath. “I don’t believe you’ve been invited to sit.” Thank the goddess her voice didn’t quiver like her insides. Resisting the urge to close her eyes and scream for help from her sisters, she tried to reach out to them discreetly. “Clio? Callie? Anybody?” Inside her head, it felt like her words banged against a giant brick wall.

  “Ah, ah, ah, little dove.” Pierus actually wagged his finger under her nose. “This is a private party. I can’t believe my good fortune to find you alone.”

  Somehow, he’d blocked her telepathy ability. Bastard!

  Hoping he couldn’t hold sway over modern external communication, she reached into her purse under cover from the table, searching for her phone. “What do you want, Pierus? Have you decided to throw in the towel?” Go big, or go home, right? She found her device, and without taking her eyes off hateful deity, tried to activate the number pad.

  Pierus leaned forward, grasped her bicep, lifted her hand and divested her of the cellphone. He set it, facedown, on the table, shaking his head at her attempt.

  As he smoothed his hand over the salt-and-pepper waves of his hair, the diamond pinky ring he wore winked harshly in the intense light above the booth. “I’ve been wanting a word with you since the last wedding you produced. Such a nice affair. I was beyond delighted to use the reception to sow the first seeds of the next challenge there. You’re up, Erato.”

  Oh Hades!

  “I didn’t see any of your daughters in attendance.”

  Squaring his thin shoulders, he steepled his fingers. “Didn’t you?”

  Aerie paused. Was he talking about her vision? What if he’d found a way to insinuate his spawn into her memories? She didn’t recall them actually being at her awakening six years ago. She stored the thought, promising herself she’d pull it out later and explore it. Maybe now Mnemosyne would spare her some time. “No, they weren’t there.”

  Even if they were there, by now, everyone knew Pierus was running the show. His girls were like the figurehead on the ancient mariner’s ship. Decorative only. At least they were until one of the bitches got released from her magpie form. Then the plague she represented would wreak havoc on mortals. They’d have to defeat a Muse for that to happen. And Aerie wasn’t about to let a damn magpie win.

  “But they were, my dear.” Pierus leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. Red flames leaped deep within the pupils.

  Aerie shrank against the high-backed seat and cast a frantic glance at her phone, breath sawing in and out of her lungs. She’d never seen a deity with red in their eyes. Sure, many of them had glowing blue eyes when they were angry, or moved by some other strong emotion. Or using their supernatural powers.

  But red? The color reminded her of anger and hostility.

  Oh, damn.

  “I’m facing Hate.” Her words came out flat and dull.

  “Clever girl. Your test will not be an easy one. However…” He stroked his fingers along his jaw.

  Aerie bit her lip. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing it tremble. She knew all of her sisters truly wanted to get Sloth as a challenger. That bitch was so lazy, it was sure to require little to no effort to defeat whatever she threw their way. But Aerie’s world spun when Pierus acknowledged the one thing she worked hard all her life to dispel, was in fact, the challenger she’d face.

  Pierus smacked his palm on the table, the noise cracking her out of her reverie. “I have a proposition for you, Erato. I can end this challenge today. I’ll keep my daughters in check, not let them used their powers to destroy humanity once they are freed from captivity enforced by your father. I will do this in exchange for one little favor.”

  Favors requested from a megalomaniac like Pierus were never little. But for the sake of research, she was willing to hear him out.
Not trusting her voice, she tipped her chin up, indicating for him to continue.

  “I need your help taking over Olympus Enterprises. It is time for a new chairman of the board. Zeus’s rule has exceeded its usefulness. He’s become a worn out husk of a god. A frail being whose compassion and affection for humans could cause the end of our race. I won’t let that happen. It’s time for new blood to sit on the throne.

  This was what Clio had theorized during her challenge. That Pierus was mounting a hostile take-over of her family’s corporation. A fact that gained traction with each subsequent contest.

  Mind racing, Aerie stalled a little, hoping to gain some ground. “You want to depose Zeus?”

  Pierus shrugged. “Zeus’s existence in the immortal realm is at an end. He sickens a little more with each attempt by my daughters. You may have defeated my first four girls, but you are far from winning. And you must ask yourself…how much more can Zeus take?” He reached forward and grasped Aerie’s chin, holding her eyes with his burning gaze. “You’d be doing him a favor. I have the means to remove his illness, if you’ll agree to aid me.”

  Icy crystals burned her skin where his thumb and forefinger pressed. “Which means you’ve cursed him.”

  “It started as a little joke, to see if I could.”

  Incensed, she knocked his hand away. “You’d kill my father as a joke?” Her voice raised, terror and anger honing it to a sharp edge. “Doesn’t doing this violate most of the mandates of Olympus? That reeks of insider trading. Wouldn’t Dice be interested to learn of your exploits?” She dropped the God of Justice’s name, hoping to scare him.

  “I care nothing for old ways. The time is here to make new rules. You can join my side, Erato, or face eternity with your siblings as magpies. This offer isn’t a Trojan horse. It comes with nothing hidden.”

  He was like Agamemnon, Hitler or Nero. A wannabe despot who cared nothing about the fate of his subjects. He was so far removed from Zeus’s benevolent style it was frightening.

  Aerie banged her fists on the table. “Get the hell out of my booth, Pierus.” She pointed toward the door. Around her, the patrons of the bar fell silent. Quickly, she blew them a kissy suggestion to ignore her, and then hurled her own prediction at Pierus. “You won’t win. And when we’re finished with you, you’ll wish you’d left well enough alone. Karma is a bitch. Now. Go!” The guttural command in her voice shocked her.