“Too many rumors flying.” The old man looked appalled that she would dare to question him. “We don’t know who we can trust now.”
“Riona’s not some willy-nilly mortal I picked up at the Seven-Eleven with a bag of chips and a pack of smokes,” Persephone argued. “She’s a Pure Soul.”
“All the more reason she’s suspect, then. She could be an archangel spy.”
Riona felt a tinge of frustration percolating into a bubble in her throat. “I’m not a spy. Besides, Dee is a Pure Soul. And my friend, by the way.”
The old man shrugged. “Every family has a black sheep. He could have been so much more. A little ambrosia, and he’d be a real being of power. Instead, he decided to become Heaven’s pool boy, cleaning up demon algae. Such a waste.”
Riona’s fingernails nearly pierced the skin on the heels of her hand. “I don’t care who you are. You say another thing about Dee, and you and I are going to have a problem. Now, I’m tired, and stressed out, and all I want is a hot bath and a comfortable bed.”
“A comfortable bed?”
Riona’s head swiveled, looking to place the new voice. At the back of the room, a curtain she mistook for a closet covering peeled back. Riona shivered the moment she caught sight of the accessible Adonis. Gooseflesh spread over her arms as invisible hands caressed her. A cocky, half smile drew her attention to his dimples, which she imagined a candy maker could have put on a stick and sell as a sin-flavored lollipop. As if the bastard knew his build, the perfect balance between brawn and slender, would subject any woman to becoming enslaved by her hormones, he wore a pair of jeans that hung just low enough to allow her a glimpse of his hipbones. A loose-fitting, white shirt that was undeniably Greek with a slit down the front offered a cameo of his firm chest.
“I’m always happy to provide a comfortable bed to a woman in need.” He sauntered forward, proffering his hand. The last place Riona wanted his hand was in her own, and the first place she wanted it was everywhere else. The heat of the day seemed to compress into a single gulp, which disseminated throughout her body. She became very much aware of every inhumanly clear vibration of her being. “And one who defends my son with such vigor? Seems only fitting that I extend my... hospitality.”
“Your son?”
Riona’s eyes darted between an archetype of gray-haired godhood, the sexable hunk who just walked into the room, and Persephone. The latter shrugged with an exasperated sigh.
“Dad, this is Riona Dade, the keystone. Riona, Dad. And that gray-haired billy goat is my dad’s personal secretary, Mortimer Zelwik.”
Zeus’ velvet voice melted her. “My, my, my, Miss Dade. I must say, now I understand my son’s decision to turn his back much better, if it means he gets to spend time with you.”
Riona, still confused, leaned into Persephone. “That’s your dad?”
“Yes.”
“That is Zeus?” she questioned again, pointing accusingly.
“Yup, Lord of Lightning. King of the Nephilim. Mattress to the Magical.”
Riona swallowed her embarrassment over her mistake, but it wasn’t like she didn’t have a reason for her incredulity. “But he looks so much younger than you.”
Eyes wide, Persephone’s jaw fell. “Thanks, Riona. That’s just what every woman wants to hear.”
“I’m only older than her by about a hundred years, actually,” Zeus interjected, lowering himself to the couch and easing back as Mortimer exited behind the curtain. “Don’t trouble yourself too much with immortals and their looks. Our appearances quite often are contrary to what lies underneath. Not unlike keystone witches, I might add, who, as I recall, appreciate the wisdom of older men.”
“I... uh... I’m...” Overheated? Dizzy? Aroused? Riona wasn’t quite sure what was going on. Why did she feel the urge to crawl up onto his lap and play acolyte?
“Dad!” Persephone snapped. “For the love of lamb chops, she just got married last night.”
“If that’s true, why is she here?” His eyebrows twitched. “Alone?”
“Had to make an emergency exit,” Riona replied, reining in her irrational temptations. “Wasn’t really time to coordinate, but I’m pretty sure Jerry’s on his way to get me, probably along with Dee.”
“Dee?” That made Zeus sit up and knock off his Oh, behave! routine. “Do you mean to say Dionysius is coming home?” Zeus pulled himself to the edge of his throne. “Well, I must say that’s... encouraging.”
If there were protocol for addressing a Greek god king, Persephone clearly didn’t give a damn. “Dad, what in the hell is Mortimer talking about? A ban on sponsorship?” Zeus nodded. “Since when?”
“Since this morning.” Zeus snapped his hand out to the side, and the withered Mortimer appeared, as if by magic, to deposit a scroll into the king’s hand before immediately turning on his heel and disappearing again. In turn, Zeus presented the scroll to his daughter. “Reports from the mainland. Michael has come out of hiding at last.”
“That’s not news,” Persephone chanced a look at the fidgeting keystone, a hastened jerk of her head telling her to let the goddess handle it. “He’s been in Boston for the last week or two. I don’t know why that’s anything unexpected. Everyone assumed he was vanquished, and the timing was just about right.”
“Ah, yes, but look here.” The king’s long, artistic, luscious finger pointed to a phrase on the parchment that was beyond Riona’s view. “A dispatch I received early this morning from Larius, has advised me that Michael is no longer authorized to serve on behalf of the Council of Seven. Archangels don’t retire, dear daughter, they either expire, or they fall.”
Genuine concern filled Persephone’s features. “Have you asked Hades to dig around?”
“Just sent a courier to your house with that very request.” The parchment slipped under Zeus’ hands, curling back onto the scroll. “I thought it would be prudent to restrict passage between realms. You, Miss Dade,” his eyes fed on Riona, “have slipped in right under the wire. Though I imagine you slip underneath things quite frequently.”
“On occasion.” Was she imagining herself leaning closer? No, no, she wasn’t. Was she imagining her lips pressed against his? Damn it, she was. She shook away the vision and pulled back. “I don’t want to be a burden to you, Mr. Zeus. If you prefer, I can head off to Athens and...”
“No!” His hands were so tight on hers, he looked like a pauper, begging for bread. “If your presence brings my son’s return, then you’re welcome in Olympus for as long as you like.”
“WHAT WAS THAT?” PERSEPHONE asked a few minutes later on their way down the hillside path. “For a second there, I thought you were going to jump into his lap and demand that he show you his lightning bolt.”
“I’m not sure. Your dad is... not offensive to the eye.”
Persephone scoffed. “Right, the eye.”
“What about you? Seriously, is that normal?” Riona asked. “You basically came out and told your dad not to try to screw me, and you said it like you were telling him not to ask about the shirt I was wearing. You guys have no boundaries on things like that?”
“Nephilim are very sensual creatures, Riona,” Persephone answered. “Just being my father is inconsequential to his nature, and frankly, to mine. You think your mom never had sex with anyone besides your dad?”
“One: ugh, please don’t ever say anything again that makes me wonder about my mother’s sex life. And two: something you said just reminded me of something my dad said.”
“What’s that?”
Riona looked around, making sure no one was near. She leaned in, keeping her voice low, just for good measure. “He said that angels tend to inspire lust in human women because they’re so close to the divine spark.”
“Ugh, your own dad. Sounds like a lame pick-up line.”
Riona drew a blank expression over Persephone’s comment. “Think about it: I’m half-human, and must have some of the spark angels have. Is it possible that I’m a self-fueling fire when it comes to
attraction? I know it makes me sound ridiculous and silly, but it’s been a while, and I’m getting a little... bottled up.”
“I guess that’s possible.” Persephone reached over to Riona’s shoulder, rubbing it. “Let’s just hope that Jerry gets here soon then. And that probably also means you’ll need to be extra careful at my place. I speak from experience when I tell you, Hades is a dish best served hot.”
Chapter 6
Dee exhaled his weariness. “Every year, I think the commercialism can’t get any worse, and every year, I’m proven wrong.”
Fluorescent-flogged storefronts blinded them as their cab maneuvered through the Christmas night crowds. The view reminded him of the displays his mother often took him to see as a child in New York City. Jerry pushed his finger on the foggy window, indicating a brightly lit glass case with mannequins posed as Hansel and Gretel, that is, if the fairytale children were a flamboyant duo with their own haute couture line of clothes.
“I’ll have you know, this was no small feat to achieve.”
“Huh?”
“The commercialism of Christmas,” Jerry said. “Lucifer predicted if we got enough people to believe the point of the holiday could be found in a box, instead of in the heart, the sins born of envy and greed would bring in a bumper crop.”
Dee couldn’t believe the asshat was actually sitting there, his chest swelling with pride. “Are you bragging about that, Romani? Is this still a game to you? This whole ‘being sanctified’ thing? Because if you’re eager to get back to your former employer, I’m more than happy to punch that ticket for you.”
Jerry shrugged off the anger with a crocked grin. “I’m just saying, you shouldn’t attribute too much to men on this one. Yeah, mortals have been led astray, but if your sheep end up in a sausage factory, the one you should really be ticked off at is the shepherd. Tell me where we’re going again. Why couldn’t we just go all the way to Athens? Why did we have to jump off in London?”
Dee sighed. For someone who spent two thousand years in demonic intelligence gathering, Jerry the Born-Again Human was sometimes as thick as a tuna steak.
“We’re here to see an oracle. Retired, but still gifted with the sight.”
“Look, I get that you and your dad aren’t exactly lodge buddies, but what do you expect to happen? Think he might hurl a lightning bolt at you?”
“Him kill me?” Dee laughed. “He’s going to welcome me back with open arms and an open bar. It’s Steph I’m worried about. I want to see if...” He hesitated, wondering how much he should trust to Jerry McFlapjaw. “I’d like to make her an offer, but I want to be sure it won’t be taken the wrong way, or majorly backfire in my face. Oracles can see all that one door closes, so let’s look behind door number two and see what’s there kinda stuff.”
“What happened anyway?” Jerry asked. “I know you two had some kind of falling out, but I’ve never heard anything about Zeus but praise. Cunning diplomat, artful negotiator, legendary lover. Family man extraordinaire.”
“He was a great dad, only...” Instinctively, Dee flinched. “It’s personal.”
“Says the man who last week was banging some chick so loudly in his bedroom, I thought Tiesto was doing an impromptu concert.”
His shoulders bobbed. “It involves a loophole, a special proviso in the HHA. During the first rapture, the nephilim were given the choice between dying voluntarily and going to Heaven, or remaining on Earth, immortal, but soulless.”
“That is not news to me.”
“I know, but what most people don’t know is there’s a provision in the Accords for half-breeds like me. We’re offered one opportunity to give up one of our halves. The cost is sharing the fate of whatever half we choose. If I went human, my mortal lifeline would catch up with me pretty quick. In a year or two, I could look like all the other humans my true age. If I went God, I’d lose my soul completely, assuming I have one, but live forever. Or, you know, until I decided to die.”
“So if you wanted to, you could...”
“We call it ‘Going Hercules,’” Dee interrupted. “Although my half-brother isn’t the only one who’s taken the immortal route. Just takes a little ambrosia. Anyways, Clare was worried that we’d become, you know, ‘that couple.’ Young, buff guy, with an aging, but still hot-in-her-way older woman. I got her to laugh it off, but only for a while. She went to my dad without me knowing, and asked if there was anything he could do. Whatever he gave her killed her. I’ve never gotten him to admit it, but I think he gave her ambrosia.”
Jerry shook his head. “But I thought Clare wasn’t nephilim.”
“She wasn’t.” Dee caught his gaze. “But our son was. Or should I say, would have been. Zeus must have thought he could leach some of the baby’s genetic code into Clare, and at least, slow down her aging. But his arrogance cost me my family.”
A few minutes later, the cab pulled to the curb in a lower end neighborhood along the river. Dee couldn’t see water, but certainly smelled the foul drainage system speeding a path underground. This was the part of London that somehow never made it into the travel guides, or splashed on a postcard. Magical sorts preferred these places for the same reason many of the undocumented humans living in hovels in the area did; anonymity lay in the under crust, both to the outside world, and usually, to each other.
Jerry pulled out his wallet, complaining how he still hadn’t come to terms with the euro, but wished the European Union was his idea. Dee heaved their two bags out of the trunk while his eyes worked to make out the LED-chain of wording on the sign inside the fogged-over window. That was new. Last time he was here, it was hot pink neon. But that was what? Fifteen years ago?
The cab pulled away as Jerry came over to stand next to Dee. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”
“Everybody’s got to make a living somehow,” Dee said.
“Yeah, but really?” Jerry pointed to the glowing PSYCHIC READINGS RENDERED that came into focus as Dee used a charm to clear the glass of mist. “That’s an insult to our kind.”
“A back alley psychic is just the poor man’s dime store therapist,” Dee said. “Besides, Kamaala only gives actual readings to special clients, like you and me. Outside of that, she’s just a kind ear with an open hand for receiving cash.”
A tinkling bell announced their entrance into Madam Zorelli’s reception area. The room hosted a balance of worn, secondhand furniture and felt decor. A faded illustration of the third eye hung on one wall, amidst labels such as “insight,” “intuition,” and “empathy.” Dee wondered why they forgot to label the part he called “bullshit.”
“Can I help you?”
The question sounded more like an afterthought and was spoken by a woman who sat ensconced inside a pine board reception booth. The waif’s shadow grew tall on the wall behind her, suggesting to Dee that she might have had a computer or small TV behind the counter. From his vantage point of her turret, all he could make out was the shine of sleek, black hair, parted down the middle. Her accent suggested Southern origin. Still of the Isles, but no native of the shop’s rough and tumble East London neighborhood. Dee found himself rolling up on the balls of his feet, trying to gain a better view.
“We’d like to see Madame Zorelli.”
A sigh with the weight of a sumo wrestler wafted over the counter. The receptionist’s slender frame elongated, although her eyes stayed focused on a phone she worked with both hands.
The woman squashed a smug smile. “Knew that the moment you walked in, didn’t I?”
Her eyes shot up for the briefest moment, providing the perfect chemical catalyst to bubble Dee’s baking soda. He felt the familiar, instinctive pull, his libido doing due diligence in analyzing a prospective conquest. Small in frame, the slender reed of a female still pleased the eye, her few curves strategically placed. Enough so that his hands would have something to hold onto. Dee leaned in, his half-nephilim body reacting, as usual, to almost any woman of her approximate age and build. He bit the inside of
his mouth, reminding his desires of the task at hand. They weren’t there to fraternize, and most certainly didn’t come there to hook up.
Jerry shifted his weight. “Why? Because you can also tell the future?”
“You are standing square in the middle of a psychic shop now, aren’t you?” Her eyes sparkled. Green. Green enough to put emeralds to shame. “You’re one of them cute, but not too bright types, aren’t you?”
“Not too bright? Listen, sister...”
Dee’s arm whipped across Jerry’s chest, throwing him back about two feet. He’d already learned that few things got under Jerry’s skin – outside of anything relating to Riona, that was. But insulting a gnosis demon’s intelligence? Even if he weren’t still a demon, that was a many-pocketed mine field to go gallivanting about.
“Fifteen pounds for a ten-minute reading if it’s just one of you. Twenty-five if you’re both planning to go in together,” was her only response. “Paid in advance, and we accept cash, cash, or cash.”
“No, you don’t understand,” Dee said. “We’re here to see Madame Zorelli about something personal.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize that. That’s five pounds more, then.”
Jerry clicked his tongue. “Look, we’re in a bit of a rush.”
“Then I suggest you pay up, shut up, or get out,” the woman snapped. Then, speaking along with her typing, she growled out, “Americans.”
Dee and Jerry exchanged looks of annoyance, and not because neither of them considered themselves American. While Dee’s mom was from New Jersey, he only lived there a couple of years for school then for the last thirty years on and off. He called Olympus his home for most of his life.
Jerry reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. “I only have greenbacks left. The cabbie drove off with my only pound note. Can you just give me change for a hundred-dollar bill?”
“Nae.”
The tapping of her phone suspended, she held out her hand. The skin on her wrist was so delicate, and so fair, Dee found himself wondering if it would feel like the petals of a flower or a slip of silk against his lips. He shook his head and drove the feeling away. His libido had the fine timing of a utility bill due on tax day. Even still, why did this nag of a woman, hot as she was in her way, attract him so? Did he deserve such punishment?
Hex Goddess (All My Exes Die from Hexes Book 3) Page 4
