“You’re not a fly,” she says, ignoring my greeting. “Though sometimes I do want to smack you with a rolled-up newspaper.”
“Smack away. I’ll bend over if you will.” I demonstrate, bending at the waist, before giving her a coy look over my shoulder.
Her lips twitch, then firm. “I’m still thinking over what happened in the bar. You went a little apeshit. I don’t do apeshit.”
“It was a fight, Katie.” I straighten and take a step closer. “You work in a bar, you’ve seen men fight before.”
“Not like that,” she says solemnly. “You get into those kind of situations often?”
“No, but my brother doesn’t exactly bring out the best in me.”
“That was your brother?” Her look is incredulous.
“Yeah. Well. We don’t get along so well.”
“You’re telling me,” she whispers. “I thought you were going to kill him.”
I sigh. “I wasn’t going to kill him.”
“I kind of believe you,” Katie cocks her head, studying me through the gap in the door. “And I kind of don’t.”
She’s rather observant for a mortal. I would’ve put that piece of wood through Lo’s throat in a heartbeat, but no, I wouldn’t have killed him. For a god, being impaled by a table leg would be a momentary, if painful, inconvenience. I’d have to do something far, far worse to take Apollo out permanently.
“You should believe me. One, because I am telling the truth.” I lean closer, catching her orange-blossom scent and breathing deep before lowering my voice. “Two, because you like me and you know you want to.”
She purses her lips and nods slowly. “It’s true. I’m letting the fact that your cock makes me happy interfere with my good judgment.”
A smile curves my lips. Yes. “Does that mean you’re going to let me in?”
Tapping her finger on her lower lip, she pretends to think about it. While she’s thinking, I drive my shoulder firmly into the door. The chain snaps.
“Hey,” she complains.
But then she’s in my arms and I’m kissing her. Hard, fast kisses. Greedy, biting ones until I’m groaning and she’s panting, wrapping those long legs around my waist, her nails skidding up the backs of my arms.
“God, I missed your taste,” I mutter, snaking my hand into her hair and wrapping the fiery strands around my fist before tugging her head back. “No more fucking breaks. I’m suffering from severe withdrawals here.”
She giggles. “Well, welcome to rehab, ace.”
I laugh and swing her up against the wall to kiss her again.
“Did you really have a great first day?” she asks breathlessly when I pull back.
“Killer.” I slip my hand inside her sleep shorts. “But less talking, more fucking.”
“Okay,” she gasps. I walk her into the bedroom and throw her on that bright orange bedspread.
“Naked. Now.”
It’s hard and fast, and somehow sweet and tender all mixed up. I’m not sure when fucking Katie turned into making love or when I learned the difference, but as I push deep inside her, the truth is unavoidable. This woman is mine.
Katie falls asleep almost immediately after we’re done, her hair scattered over my chest, her breathing even and soft and deep. I stroke the tangled strands and think about my past. And my future.
I watch the sunrise turn her windows a brilliant pink and know exactly what I have to do.
Before it’s too late.
Chapter Nine
Merc is at my place by the time I get off work the next afternoon.
“Thanks for coming,” I say. “I really don’t want to take the long way around.”
“No problemo, kid.” He watches me peel off my YMCA shirt, one eyebrow raised. I ignore the unspoken question, slipping into a fresh black T and exchanging my tennis shoes for boots. I grab a handful of drachmas from the bowl next to the fish tank and toss him one.
He catches it deftly. There’s no such thing as a free ride in our world. Not even the dead get that. I need to get home in a hurry and Merc’s the quickest way to get there.
While all of us can rip open a portal in a pinch, outside of Greece and the island of Santorini, it requires an obscene amount of energy to do so. So it is for all the gods, regardless of pantheon; we’re tied to the lands where we first appeared. But as belief fades, so does the magic, and the walls between the worlds continue to thicken.
Mercury doesn’t suffer from such constraints. But then again, that’s his especial talent, walking between worlds. When I’m ready, he simply waves a hand and my fish tank becomes translucent, then vanishes altogether, replaced by an enormous dusty courtyard. We step through into the shadow of the true Olympus. Where I and most other gods would be prostrate after such a feat, Merc simply rolls his shoulders and sighs.
“I’ll wait out here until you’re ready to go. Hephaestus isn’t really happy with me at the moment.”
I raise an eyebrow, just like he did earlier. With a thin smile, he ignores my silent question, just like I did his earlier. Shrugging, I head toward the biggest of the buildings surrounding the courtyard. Uncle Heph’s constructed his forge up against the mountain. It’s huge, more than five times the height of Everest on earth. Despite that, there is no snow on its peak, which is as rich and green and verdant as this valley is dusty and barren. In our world, that’s the way it works. Everything perfect and good lies in the heights.
Which is one reason why Heph chooses to live down here. Long ago, when he was just a baby, Hera threw him off the top of Olympus in one of her fits. He landed in the lava flow that boils up from Hades’s dominion. By the time Zeus found his son, he was half dead and forever deformed.
Above me the sky is a mix of pale orange and smoke gray. Thin blue clouds flit across it as I cross the courtyard, following the familiar ring of hammer striking anvil, the air crackling around me.
It makes me smile. Lightning is something mortals attribute to Zeus, but actually the bolts ancient Greeks saw streaking the calm skies above the Aegean were from Heph. His blows release so much energy that occasionally it travels between worlds, in the form of lightning from an unseen storm.
I haven’t been to his place in a century or so. As a kid, I hung out here a lot. I look around at the familiar outbuildings that haven’t changed in over a millennium and shake my head. The building I want is open on three sides to accommodate the fire pit that fuels the forge. A massive back blocks out the light of the flames, heavy muscles pitted with scars and burns and burn scars. The man himself is even more massive.
Like most of us when we are home, Heph’s shape is somewhat fluid. But unlike the rest of us, whatever form he chooses will always be scarred, always be hideous. With his usual ingenuity he created the amorphous metal mask that covers the worst of his scars. It hugs the side of his skull, encasing the left side of his face to flow down his neck and shoulder. The substance sheathes his entire left arm and hand, shimmering between black and silver.
While some substances don’t travel well between worlds, ambrosia for instance, Heph told me once that the alloy his “suit” is constructed from can go anywhere, virtually unchanged.
An important attribute. The so-called food of the gods gets twisted when taken from Olympus. Instead of the powerful magical qualities that ensure our long lives and fantastic powers, it becomes a dangerous amnesiac that has been used on humans to entice them to forget their families and follow gods wherever they might lead. And the wool from our sheep turns to gold—which has come in handy more than once.
Heph making such a statement about his armor means he must have tested it at some point, but in my entire life, I’ve seen Uncle Heph outside this valley less than a dozen times.
Which is why I had to come to him.
I don’t try to get his attention. He knows I’m here and he’ll acknowledge me when he feels like it and not a second before. But to my surprise, he turns the instant I walk under the stone pavilion that is open to the
sky above the pit.
“You’re home.” His expression is neutral, or as neutral as half a face is likely to get. There is a fierce light in his eyes, though, that makes me warm inside. He’s happy to see me, which is a better welcome than I would get at the top of the mountain. We clasp forearms. Thankfully he remembers to use his nonmetal one. Even so, as big as I am, his hand swallows my whole arm.
“I am. But not for long.”
He waits for it, watching me steadily. It’s a little unnerving, but that’s Uncle Heph.
“I need you to make me something.”
He blinks as I describe what I want and pass over the materials I’ve gathered for the job.
“This is for a woman?” He looks down at the items in his hand, frowning.
I laugh. “Yes, for a fucking woman, Heph.”
“And this woman,” he says, turning to his forge and pumping the bellows once with his foot, sending a roar of blue and gold flames screeching into the sky. “She will accept what you offer?”
I ignore the unease in my gut and step back to take my old familiar stool. It’s still wobbly on one side. I plant my feet to steady myself. “She’ll come around.”
She has to.
He grunts, reaching for a pair of tongs above the pit. They’re long and thin, tapered to points, but they need to be for this work. In his big hands, they look like a pair of tweezers. But Heph handles them as deftly as he handles every instrument in here. His shifting silver hand passes over the fire and I wince. I know he can’t feel it, but if anyone else tried that, their whole arm would be incinerated on the spot.
“Sometimes a gift is easier to give than to accept.”
My eyes lift from the multicolored flames to my uncle’s face. I have a feeling we’re not just talking about the bauble anymore.
His good side is toward me, if you can call it good. Less terrifying is more accurate. Instead of the alien metal mask, it’s darkened and pitted flesh from his throat down. Above his jaw, he is handsome enough, I suppose. Only a few scars mar his profile. One dark hazel eye focuses on his work. It’s the exact shade as his older brother’s, though infinitely kinder. His nose is straight and well-formed . . . until it melds with the strange metal on the other side. He turns to face me, dropping a bit of red-hot platinum into his hand, working it absently into the shape I requested.
“This is important to you.” He frowns again, the expression giving him a demonic look as skin pulls away from metal. If I weren’t so used to him, it would make me grimace. As it is, my insides tighten and go slick with cold.
“Yes.”
“Cue.” It’s only my name, spoken on a sigh, but it’s also a warning. Heph isn’t a talkative guy, but he gets his point across just the same.
Be careful.
“I will be,” I say, the words very quiet. This time I will be.
He nods, using the tongs again now. But I don’t think he’s convinced. To be honest, neither am I. Heph knows more than anyone how Psyche’s betrayal hurt me. I understand she was only human and that my brother is a persuasive guy, but knowing Lo convinced her and her sisters that I was a monster hiding my face not for her protection, but for my own nefarious schemes is almost worse than knowing she slept with him.
I found them just as the dawn was breaking, late for our nightly visit due to a summons from Mom. My brother was awake, waiting for me. But Psyche only opened her eyes at my roar of anguish. When I went to my knees, dropping my shadowy guise and letting her see my true form for the first time, her lips trembled. She shoved Lo away and begged my forgiveness, but it was too late. I left them there, her cries in my ears, along with my brother’s laughter.
Later that same day, she jumped into Hades’s pit.
I don’t think Lo meant for Psyche to die, but that’s what happens to humans caught between two gods: they break. That isn’t going to happen to Katie.
I’ll make sure of it.
Merc drops me back at home, with Heph’s completed creation in a handmade wooden box in my pocket. I know patience is a virtue. I know I should wait and that it would be a mistake to rush her. So I put the box on the mantel across from the fish tank. A day passes. Then another. All the while, it’s like there’s this ticking in my ears. A clock wound too tight.
Then I catch a glimpse of Lo at work Friday afternoon. A tall form under a palo verde tree, a flash of gold as I walk to my Jeep. Carter, the Zelda fan from my first day, is yapping my ear off about some YouTuber. When I finally manage to ditch him and jog across the street, Lo, if it was Lo, is gone.
But the clock in my head has gotten louder. Too loud to ignore. Ready or not.
“A date?” Katie’s still puzzled while I’m coaxing her to hurry up and get dressed two hours later. “Since when do we do ‘dates’?”
“Oh, come on. We have to eat anyway, what’s the big deal? Though, maybe you should wear a dress.” She frowns, but picks out a long swishy thing in shades of green and blue that hugs her hips and ass and makes her eyes shine like stars.
An ass that I squeeze reassuringly when I escort her into the Mon Ami Gabi at the Paris an hour later and she goes stiff as a board. Katie gives me a sidelong look as the maître d’ comes forward. “What the fuck is going on, Q?”
“We’re going to eat.”
“This place isn’t for eating, it’s for bribing a woman for sex. You get that without the bribe.”
“I know.” I smile at her. “But this isn’t about sex. In fact, I was thinking . . .” I wait until the maître d’ takes his leave. “I should meet your parents. Soon.”
She chokes on the ice water she just lifted to her lips. I hand her a napkin, unperturbed as she swipes at her mouth. “Why?” Her eyes dart away, and she takes a quick sip of her drink.
“Don’t you think they would like me? Or are you still too afraid to acknowledge where this is going?”
“Going?” She stares at me, blue-green eyes wide. “What are you talking about?”
“Our relationship.”
“Whoa, Ace.” The napkin falls to the table. “Technically, this is our first date. We don’t have a relationship.”
“Are you sure about that?” I say quietly.
She opens her mouth, shuts it again, her lips trembling. Then Katie gets to her feet, tosses her napkin on the table and walks out without another word. I take a deep breath. Way to take it easy, Ace. When I follow a minute later, a cab is pulling to the curb and she’s reaching for the door.
I grab her before she can slide inside. “Wait.” I pull her to one side, to the benches lining the street. “Talk to me. I didn’t mean to scare you but . . .”
“You didn’t scare me.”
“Really?” I squeeze her ice-cold fingers, raising an eyebrow. “I mention meeting the ’rents and you took off like a carbon-encased arrow.” The bench is still warm from the sun as I force her to sit, scooting in next to her. “What’s the big deal?” I bump her shoulder lightly, trying to ignore the racing of my heart. I knew I was taking a chance rushing things along, but with Lo lurking about, what choice do I have? “You think they’ll hate me or something?”
“That would be impossible.” Her voice cracks as her fingers unexpectedly tighten on mine.
“See? Even you know I can charm anyone, so . . .”
“My parents are dead, Q,” she says, her voice soft.
Wait, what? I stare at her profile, shocked into absolute silence.
Without looking at me, she sighs. “I lied to you that first night, too. I thought I’d never see you again. And it was such a relief to pretend . . .” Another sigh. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” I squeeze her hand. “Just tell me why.”
“They were exactly like I told you.” A smile plays around her lips. “My dad thought the sun rose and set on my mom and the moon and the stars on me. He was goofy and fun and perfect. Then he got cancer. And it was ugly. Horrible. It was bad enough losing him, but I think it was almost worse watching my mom after. At least wi
th Dad I could blame the disease. With Mom, it was different. Her mind just . . . faded away. She died because she didn’t know how to live without him.”
I stroke her knuckles with my thumb, not knowing what to say.
She’s looking down the Strip, watching the lights flare to life as the night falls down. “Valentine’s Day always hits me hard. That’s why I work it every year. My dad made a huge deal about it for my mom. Flowers, chocolates, the whole shebang. He was a romantic sap.”
She gives a choked laugh. “Mom always called him her forever guy, and I guess he was, because she didn’t last six months after he died. That was the day after my twenty-first birthday. Two years ago.”
Her hand trembles once, then goes still. “I told you I was an only child. That’s true. So were my parents. I don’t have any other family. My grandparents died before I was born. My mom and dad were so complete together, I don’t think they ever missed those connections, but when they were gone, it was just me.”
The silence that falls between us is heavy and stifling. All I can think about is my vibrant, courageous Katie, all alone. I’ve never been truly alone. Not like that.
“And it was so hard. Every day it was so fucking hard, but especially goddamn Valentine’s Day. Pretending for a few minutes that they were still alive . . .” She sighs and meets my eyes. “It felt good. Like that weight shifted just enough to let me breathe. And I did tell you the truth about one thing that night, Q, I believe in love all right. But it scares me shitless. To care about someone that deeply . . .”
Her shoulders tighten as Katie untangles her fingers from mine. “I want no part of something that strong. I refuse to tie myself to one person like that.” Her voice breaks as she gets to her feet. “If that is where you see us headed here, I’m out.”
“I can’t accept that.”
Her jaw tightens. “You don’t have to.” She turns away.
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