Rise of the Blood

Chapter Seven

When I got back to the room, Nick was already asleep. Passed out was more like it—a rumbling snore going as he sprawled over more than his fair share of the bed. On top of the sheets, of course, so that it was impossible for me to slide underneath. On top of all that, he was wearing boxers, by which I knew how upset he was. If I’d been forgiven, he’d be pleasantly naked. On some level, I’d known that wouldn’t be the case or I wouldn’t have been thinking about a tank and sweats, my comfort clothes.

I sighed and gathered up my stuff so I could change in the bathroom for minimal disturbance. Then I did my best to contort myself around him. When it was clear that wasn’t going to work, I lay down and shimmied back against him, lifting the arm that was hugging my pillow to place it over my waist instead. But even in sleep, Nick turned from me, rolling over to face the wall and leave me my entire side of the bed, cold and lonely.

I lay there for a long time, listening to him snore, willing him to wake. But my powers didn’t run that way. Eventually, his snore quieted to a dull roar, and I dropped off to sleep lulled by the sound.

There was no telling how long it lasted before something woke me up. Nick’s body was blocking my view of the alarm clock. He hadn’t moved one iota, so he hadn’t been the trigger for my sudden wake-up.

I let my eyes adjust to the darkness of the room. Nothing seemed changed. No grim reaper stood over me, slashing down with the bladed weapon of doom as had happened once before. I still had nightmares about that.

Slowly, quietly, I got up, leaving Nick sleeping as I canvassed the room. It didn’t take me long to see what was out of place—a piece of paper slipped under the door.

That’s weird, I thought. There shouldn’t be a bill. My understanding was that Uncle Hector was taking care of all this. I could always straighten it out with the front desk in the morning. But when I picked it up, I saw it wasn’t a bill at all. It was a warning.

You’re next.

I unlatched the safety bar on our door, turned the lock and eased the door open to check the hallway, even knowing the messenger would be long gone. As expected, the hallway was deserted. Quiet. Dark but for some low night-lighting recessed along the ceiling.

But there was enough illumination to spot a door opening halfway down the hall and Jesus emerging—wearing the clothes he’d had on earlier, minus the tie that dangled from his hand rather than his neck. His shirt collar was open two whole buttons and there was only one conclusion. I ducked back into the room before he could see me see him do the walk of shame. I could guess whose room he’d been coming from; I knew for a fact it wasn’t his. I also knew I didn’t want to know even this much. I wanted mental floss for the sudden vision I had of Spiro and Jesus together. A new manifestation of my psychic abilities? I sure hoped not. On second thought, mental floss was too mild. I was thinking maybe frontal lobotomy. Sadly, I lacked the proper tools.

I crumpled the warning note in my hand and curled back up to Nick, wishing for a big old goblet of oblivion from the River Lethe, the river of forgetfulness. Unfortunately, Hades had a monopoly on that, and he wasn’t exactly my biggest fan. At least he was no longer trying to kill or control me.

Unless he was behind the threat. Somehow I doubted it though. It was more his style to maim first, gloat later. Which meant I was back to my original enemies: Zeus and Poseidon. If they (or an agent for them, since I hadn’t yet been struck by lightning or another freak storm) were behind the note, what was the purpose? To keep us unsettled until they could deliver their coup de grace? Was their agent behind Apollo’s petrification as well?

I laid there wide-eyed for most of the night, pondering this and other mysteries of the universe. Not so easy with Nick beside me, snoring like he’d swallowed an active buzzsaw.

I’d been sure I wouldn’t sleep at all, so I was doubly surprised the next morning when Nick woke me getting out of bed. He disappeared into the bathroom without so much as looking my way.

A wake-up call came five seconds later, while I was still debating what to do about Nick and about to settle on the cheap ploy of getting naked and striking a provocative pose to ensnare him when he emerged from the bathroom.

A woman’s voice told me in unaccented English that Uncle Hector had arranged for a complimentary breakfast buffet to run from nine until eleven, after which our transportation would be leaving for Delphi. A quick glance at the clock showed that it was eight thirty. Plenty of time to eat and get ready.

In the bathroom, I heard the shower start up and gave up on the idea of a provocative pose. I hesitated to sneak up on Nick in the shower after what Serena had walked in on with Apollo, but I figured no guts, no glory. So I dropped my tank and sweats into a heap on the bed and headed naked for the bathroom, only to find the door locked.

I steamed.

What if I’d desperately needed the facilities? Not that we were yet at that point in our relationship where I’d do anything with him in the same room, even behind a curtain with water running to drown out the noise. Still, I liked to have my options open.

I studied the closed door. It was meant for privacy, not security. I could jimmy it with a credit card. But should I?

Yeah, as if self control was really an option.

I got my wallet, grabbed a credit card to some store I’d shopped in maybe once or twice and went at it.

The door popped open quicker than it took me to lick my lips, and I dropped the card on the counter, took a step toward the shower and flicked aside the curtain.

Nick whirled like I’d goosed him. His eyes went wide, and there was a razor in his hand, held like a weapon, which would have been a lot more effective if it hadn’t been the plastic traveling kind.

“Tori, you scared the hell out of me!” he said, not happily.

I ignored his tone. “You have room in there for me?”

“The door was locked,” he pointed out.

“So it was.”

And that was when he realized I was naked. I could see it when the cranky started to ebb from his face and something else took its place. He looked over as much of me as the curtain didn’t conceal and suddenly there was more of him to lather.

“Well, I suppose it would be nice to have someone to wash my back,” he said. The blue of his eyes deepened and he stepped back to make room for me.

“Just your back?” I asked, raking my gaze over him. Nick was unbelievably gorgeous at the best of times—thick dark hair falling over his brow, amazing jawline, broad shoulders, narrow waist, washboard abs—the stuff of romance covers. But wet and naked, his hair slicked back so that I could really see those expressive blue eyes…

“We can start there and see where it takes us,” he answered.

I didn’t ask if that meant I was forgiven for fear he’d say “no”. I stepped into the water and just went with the flow, so to speak.

We made it down to breakfast with twenty minutes to spare before the end. The fresh fruit plate had been picked nearly clean but for a few grapes, but there was still coffee and croissants, and I was all for carb-loading after that shower. Honestly, I was shaky, and I didn’t think it was for lack of food or caffeine withdrawal. I was going to have to find a source for ambrosia, stat. I probably should have asked Apollo about it last night, but, well, seeing him au naturel like that played havoc with my mind.

The terrace restaurant was deserted when we arrived, except for Hermes and Christie, who still lingered over coffee. She’d gotten hers iced and was drinking through a straw, her trick, I knew, to avoid staining her teeth.

She jumped up when she saw me and gave me a huge hug. “I was just waiting to say good-bye,” she said in a rush. “I’ve got to get to my shoot, but if there are no delays, I’ll be back for the wedding. Hermes invited me to be his guest…if that’s okay with you.”

“Of course!” I said, putting mock enthusiasm into my voice, not because I didn’t want her there, but because I’d rather have her safely away. I didn’t want her becoming collateral damage if…when…Zeus and Poseidon came at me again, which made me wonder whether I should be here at all, drawing potential fire down on my friends and family.

“Good, I’ll see you in two days then,” Christie said, oblivious to my turmoil. She was happier than I’d seen her in a good, long time. Since Jack(ass) had broken her heart. “Tell Apollo I hope he feels better.”

“What did you hear?” I asked, maybe a little too sharply.

Enough so that Christie picked up on it instantly. “Why, what do you know?”

“Nothing,” I lied.

“Uh huh. You will tell me. But later. We have to get going.”

She kissed me on both cheeks to say good-bye. Hermes rose from their table and did the same, saying into my ear as he hit my second cheek, “You are okay? You look a trifle…piqued.”

“I’m fine, which is more than I can say for you if you pull one wrong move with my friend, capisce?” I was about to say you break her, you bought her, but that might just give him ideas.

“Of course, agape. She is safe as houses.”

Yeah, I knew what Vesuvius had done to them and Hermes was just as much a force of nature.

“Safer,” I insisted.

He winked and was gone, making no promises.

Nick stood holding his plate, looking between me and their retreating backs. “Why didn’t you warn her off if you didn’t approve?” he asked.

“Tried that. Didn’t work.”

“She has a thing for bad boys, huh?”

I nodded, biting the head off a croissant that had never done a thing to me but dare to be light and flaky.

“Seen a lot of that,” Nick said. “Rarely ends well.”

I swallowed the bite of croissant that had turned to ashes in my mouth and glared. “That your idea of comfort?”

“You want comfort, you don’t come to a cop. Hey,” he added, grabbing my hand before I could decapitate a second pastry, “does Christie seem the typical type to you?”

I eyed him. “No,” I admitted.

“Then there’s a good chance her results will vary.”

It was exactly the right thing to say, and he must have read that on my face.

“I made it all better?” he asked.

“Mostly.”

“Good.” Then he mumbled, “If only Apollo’s petrification was as easily solved.”

I went a lot easier on my second croissant and gulped coffee to wash it down. “We’d better get going before our transportation leaves without us,” I said once I’d consumed enough caffeine to care.

We retrieved our bags from the room and met up with the others in the lobby.

In front of the hotel, two gleaming white stretch limos waited and Odd Job…er, Viggo…stood, directing people toward one or the other based on the list he held. It turned out the film people were going in the first limo, family in the second. There’d be no chance for me to interview any of the suspects, Serena top of the list, regardless of what Apollo thought. But the two-hour ride was the perfect opportunity for me to catch up on my missed sleep.

For the second time in as many days, I drooled on Nick’s shoulder…until we hit the switchbacks and I was catapulted upright and knocked awake by my head hitting the window. From there on up the mountain it was an unending thrill ride. And by thrill ride, I mean sheer heart-stopping terror as each time it looked like there was no possible way the limo could make the turn in the space provided and we’d go shooting off a cliff, cinematically falling end over end down the mountain, ending in a fiery wreck at the bottom.

By the time we reached the top and pulled into the almost forty-five-degree angle of the parking lot of our mountain-view hotel I had nearly shredded the leather interior with my fingernails and was seriously in need of a drink. Or ambrosia. Or all of the above. And then a way down off this deathtrap. Times like this, I doubted my ancestry. We Greeks had a habit of building on the very tippy top of impossible places. They were the holiest, the most strategic…at least, that was supposed to be the reasoning. Heights were certainly religious experiences for me. Nothing made me pray so much—ohgods, ohgods, ohgods—as being perilously close to cliffs, summits, high wires and other insanity.

I felt a prayer coming on now.

No one was happier than I was to come to a complete stop, but Nick had to be a close second. I noticed as he helped me out of the limo that his hand had gone nearly white from my squeezing of it and that he was flexing and tightening his fist in the hope of getting blood to circulate back through.

“Sorry,” I said sheepishly.

“You going to be okay?” he asked.

I sampled the air outside the limo, trying to breathe deeply and failing. It felt thin, frail, too cool, as if it could barely sustain itself, let alone actual life. I remembered Apollo speaking to the West Wind back in San Francisco. I wondered which wind spirit might rule the roost on Mount Parnassus and whether it might be prevailed upon to pump up the volume. I’d have to ask Apollo when he wasn’t too busy turning into a tree.

The thought was like a slap in the face. I had to get it together. People were counting on me—my cousin to fill out her wedding party, Apollo to solve a mystery. Apollo—now there was someone with problems.

Breathing…yeah, I had this. No problem.

I tried again and managed to breathe a little deeper this time, taking in maybe enough oxygen to get to my next breath.

“Totally,” I lied to Nick.

Fake it ’til you make it, Pappous had always said.

I grabbed my luggage from the back of the limo like the others, and Viggo held us back until the important people in the other limo were swept in ahead of us.

We were met inside by two women in hot pink suits and even brighter smiles. Their skirts stopped right above the knees. Their smiles stretched from ear to ear. Tina’s friend Junessa, and her other boss, besides Lenny Rialto, Althea Fielding. The three had become thick as thieves after Junie had recruited Tina to sell Eterné, sort of like Avon or Mary Kay but focused on eternal youth and beauty, just like the name implied. Both women were wearing Eterné’s signature color—fuschia—and were bedecked with sample bags they handed out to the wedding guests as we arrived.

Junie squealed when she saw me and swallowed me up in a backbreaking Amazonian hug. Actual Amazons were mythical, so far as I knew. So, no, the female warriors hadn’t had breasts removed to better aim their bows. But if they had existed, Junie would have fit right in. She was wearing ballet flats right now, but even so she was nearly six feet tall, all of it lean muscle. Her gorgeous cherry-wood skin glowed with health and her dark hair shone under the overhead lobby lights. I thwapped her on the back and coughed to signal my surrender, and she let me go.

“Sorry. I forget you’re not a hugger. You look fantastic!” she said, pulling back to study me more critically. “Except—” She wet her finger and scrubbed at the drool stains at the corner of my mouth. I jerked away, and Armani laughed.

“I’ve been wanting to do that myself.”

“Why didn’t you?” Junie asked.

“I didn’t want to lose a hand.”

Junie grinned at him. “Oh, she’s more bark than bite.”

“Really?” Althea cut in, handing her last bag to Yiayia as she sailed by. “Don’t you remember the time in that bar where the good ol’ boy wouldn’t take no for an answer and Tori almost made him eat his arm?”

“You brute,” Nick said, proudly.

“Oh, we have some stories to tell,” Althea promised mischievously. “Catch us later.”

“It’s a date,” he said.

“No, it isn’t,” I said sourly, waving good-bye to them as I pushed Nick toward check-in.

“Jealous?” he teased.

I snorted, only because I couldn’t honestly tell him he was wrong. Junie and Althea got more than their share of attention—not the least of which from my brother, who’d tried to score with them ever since Tina had brought them around. As far as I knew, it was still girls two, Spiro zip.

Where Junie was tall and muscular, Althea was smaller and coltish with one of those natural size-zero bodies…maybe size two, tops. She could wear spaghetti straps without worrying about completely unnecessary bra straps. In other words, she was sleek like a model. She had big brown doe eyes, wheat-gold hair pulled back into a complicated braid and perfect sun-bronzed skin. No freckles, no wrinkles. It was enough to make me an eensy bit interested in what was in the little pink sample bags they’d handed out.

“So, what’s the story there?” Nick asked as we waited our turn, jerking his head to indicate our fuschia-wrapped friends.

“Beauty cult.”

“Huh?”

“You know, like the Back to Earth movement, only not. Less digging in the dirt and more miracle makeovers.”

“O-kay,” he said, smiling.

I huffed. “You know those sell-from-home cosmetic companies? They’re like legal pyramid schemes. You recruit ten people, and they recruit ten people… The cultish part comes in with the rules on how you should appear in public, because you’re always representing the brand. It’s not just a product, it’s a way of life…that sort of thing. Tina got drawn in a few years ago.”

Nick rummaged in his bag and came up with a catalogue featuring a smiling woman in a faux fur wrap. “Oh, I see, very ominous,” he said.

“Go ahead, laugh. But don’t come crying to me when you get suckered in by their manscaping gel or anti-aging aftershave.”

“Seriously?”

“Oh yeah. Spiro has a whole duffle bag full of product. At one point, I think he was going for customer of the year.”

“How’d that work out for him?”

“Well, he does have some pretty smooth skin. I think Jesus can attest to that.”

Speaking of whom… “Chica, have you seen the stuff in here? Do you know what these samples are worth?”

“No, why don’t you tell me in extreme detail.”

“Sarcasm does not wear well on you,” he answered with a sniff.

“Really? Do they have a cream for that?”

“Don’t make me separate you two,” Nick cut in.

Then it was our turn at the reception desk, where we were very efficiently set up with adjoining rooms.

“Like I’m your child or something,” Jesus complained.

“Heaven forefend,” Nick answered.

The reception guy, thank goodness not another model of female perfection but a maître de sort of man with a mustache that looked anemic next to Yiayia and Fergus’s facial hair, gave us a map and a schedule along with our keycards. I glanced down at the schedule—production meeting, rehearsal, rehearsal dinner… Production meeting? Were they kidding? All told, it looked like they’d left us maybe an hour and a half to ourselves over the next few days.

“Oh, and you’re expected to dress for dinner,” the reception guy said. “I’m sure they’ll explain everything in the meeting.”

Dress…as opposed to undress? I was about to ask when Nick elbowed me as if he could read my mind. I stuck my tongue out at him, and Jesus looked mildly disgusted at my immaturity. I could live with that. I was on vacation and, anyway, Christos was the head of the PI firm again now that we’d sprung him from the crazy Back to Earth cult, so I didn’t have to be the big boss.

And while I was reminded… “Has Christos Karacis checked in yet?” I asked the reception guy.

He typed a few keystrokes into his computer and said, “Yes, would you like me to connect you to his room?”

I told him I would and ended up leaving a message. He owed Apollo as much as I did…almost. He’d want to repay the debt, and considering that I had no idea exactly where to start my investigation, I could use all the help I could get. Normally, I’d start digging into the victim’s past, but when that comprised centuries and many of the tales had been lost or mutated by time and retellings…it was a tall order. I couldn’t begin with his routines and regular encounters, because he was away from all that here in Greece. He’d traveled from his present back into the land of his past.

So, the past it was. I had at least two primary sources onsite—Hermes and Apollo himself. Yiayia could fill me in on everyone’s more modern escapades. And meanwhile, maybe I could get lists from Uncle Hector and from Tina on anyone involved with the productions, wedding or film. Because with my family, it was always a production.

Fingers snapped before my face, and somebody grabbed my arm to steer me away from the reception desk.

“Earth to Tori,” Nick said, as if maybe it wasn’t the first time. “Lunch?”

“What? Oh, yeah.” Because now that he’d mentioned it, the croissants and grapes I’d had for breakfast hours ago were not cutting it.

“And shopping?” Jesus asked hopefully.

“Have you forgotten that we have a mystery to solve?” I asked him.

“Never fear. I’ll keep my eyes open for anything suspicious. Like a girl who doesn’t like to shop,” he added under his breath.

“I heard that.”

“Heard what?” he asked, all innocence.

“Never mind. We’ll meet back down here in twenty,” I told him. Shopping might not be a priority, but food and caffeination were other matters entirely.

“But—”

“Twenty or we leave without you.”

He gave a longsuffering sigh and a tight nod and led the way to the elevators. Our room was small but nice—photos of the nearby Temple of Apollo at sunset, some of the fallen columns and pedestals peeking out of a springtime profusion of flowers. Any other adornments were unnecessary. Nick headed straight for the window and twitched back the sheer curtain obscuring the view. He whistled, and I took a step back. The view looked out over…nothing. Or, more accurately, nothing but sky. We were above even the clouds, which seemed totally unnatural. Panic started to flutter against my breastbone like a frightened baby bird.

“Could you…?” I nodded at the curtains as Nick’s head whipped around in response to the tension in my voice. Instantly, he let the curtain fall back into place.

“Sorry. Are you sure you’re going to be all right to go out and eat? I could bring you back something.”

“I am not going to let this defeat me. Let’s go.”

He smiled. “That’s my girl. Just let me use the facilities.”

He disappeared into the bathroom. I fought down the baby bird and forced myself closer to the window a step. Then two, then I stopped, told myself it was just stupid and that I could handle this, but I knew I was lying. I made myself take the last few steps without pause. My inner alarms started blaring, my heart started racing, sweat broke out all over. What if this was my precog kicking in, telling me I was right to be afraid?

There was only one way to know. I reached out for the curtain like it was a live snake and twitched it back, flinching as I did, feeling stupid the whole time. Nothing happened. I didn’t get sucked into a vortex or whatever I subconsciously thought would happen. It didn’t lessen the fear.

I looked out. It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, and, now that I really looked, I could see that the view outside wasn’t an instant drop off. There was a lip of land where the groundskeepers had laid out a little garden with a bench to sit on and enjoy the view (ha) and a fountain gurgling away with a central figure shaped like one of the Korae pouring water out of an amphora.

But the Korae wasn’t alone. I felt something else down there. Someone else. Malevolent, glaring. I couldn’t see him…her…it, but that expression “if looks could kill” suddenly meant something deep down in the pit of my stomach. I momentarily forgot about the height, my need to know stronger than my fear. I stepped forward one more baby step and stared down. Nothing. Paranoia? Ambrosia withdrawal? Reality? I didn’t know. And the not knowing was worse than the growing ball of acid burning its way through my stomach.

“Ready?”

I jumped and spun around, that baby bird all riled up again.

Nick stood between me and the exit, hands up as though I might strike him. That was when I realized I’d ended up in a battle stance, ready to kick his ass from here to Athens and back again.

“You scared me,” I accused.

“Sorry, I wasn’t trying to.”

He had on khaki shorts and a deep blue V-neck tee that picked up the midnight blue of his eyes. Next to him, I was a rumpled mess. “Five minutes,” I promised him, looking at the room clock and knowing I’d never hear the end of it if Jesus made it to the lobby before I did.

“But while I change—” paranoia or precognition…I had to know, “—would you look out the window and tell me if you see…anything at all?”

Nick glanced from me to the window. “What am I looking for?”

“Anything,” I said, slipping away before he could ask any more questions. I didn’t want to lie and pretend I’d seen something I hadn’t, adding hallucinations on top of paranoia.

“Nothing,” Nick called to me as I hit the bathroom and squeezed toothpaste onto my brush. It was completely tasteless, by which I knew. Ambrosia withdrawal.

First taste, then color would leach out of the world. All of my senses, so sharp on the food of the gods, would deaden and dull. My mind would lose focus, my muscles their competency. Things were about to get ugly.

I was going to have to pin down an ambrosia supply. Just until we put this wedding behind us, saved Apollo, recaptured Zeus and Poseidon… Would it never end? I’d never know. As long as I continued on the ambrosia, I’d never be able to trust myself. Were the shakes hyper-caffeination or withdrawal? Was my concern paranoia or prudence? It was no way to live. I knew this. Knew it. I knew too that prolonged withdrawal could mean my death. But, if I was being perfectly honest, I didn’t believe in my own mortality. It was just an excuse.

I was an addict.

I pushed the thought forcibly aside and got ready as quickly as I could, given that I’d lost all enthusiasm for the outing. I owed it to Nick not to keep him cooped up in a hotel for his first visit to Greece, to show him something even I hadn’t seen of my native country. I owed it to Apollo to investigate. My own issues were going to have to take a number. Probably that of the beast.

We hit the lobby one minute behind schedule and still had to wait five more for Jesus.

The single road into town wound down the mountain without side streets so much as alleys here and there crowded with yet more houses. Shops took up the first floor of almost all, selling jewelry, souvenirs, local arts and everything else from postcards to purses.

“Oh my!” Jesus said, stopping short before one of the shops, awe in his voice. We halted to keep from crashing into him and followed his gaze up and up to a shelf above our heads in the doorway of the souvenir stand where a bottle of ouzo stood in a satyr-shaped bottle. The reaction was brought on by the fact that the satyr was, in typical satyr fashion…all revved up and ready to go. More than just erect, his equipment curled upward almost to his chin. The bottles were mainstays of every tourist trap in about every shop in Greece, but whenever I saw the proportions, all I could think of was, “ouch!”

“I’ve got to get one of these to take back with me,” Jesus announced, disappearing into the interior of the shop.

“What about you?” Nick asked, eyes crinkled in deep amusement.

“Who needs the bottle when you’ve got the real thing?”

He snorted, though the smile on his face said I’d scored points. But it vanished almost instantly, as something in the shop window caught his attention.

“Did you notice anyone following us?” he asked quietly.

I forced myself not to look around. “Where?” I asked.

“Two storefronts back on the other side of the street.”

I pulled a hair band out of my pocket and whipped my head to the side, the better to gather my hair into a ponytail, and spotted a man in a black robe, hair crazier than mine, unkempt, facial hair spread over his chest like a bib. He was pretending to study a display of jewelry with the kind of attention Spiro might give a pretty girl…or boy.

“I see him,” I said, finishing up with the hairband, lashing my unruly hair into place in case a chase was in the offing.

“You note the way he’s staring at the jewelry?” Nick asked.

“Ye-ah.”

“He was staring at us like that a second ago. Well, you specifically.”

You’re next. I felt oddly relieved rather than alarmed at the thought. That meant that I wasn’t crazy or paranoid. I’d felt someone watching back at the hotel. The man in black had to be the culprit, maybe even the one who’d left the note back in Athens. There couldn’t be two people stalking me. I wasn’t that popular.

So, he wasn’t a hallucination, but a real threat…potentially. Only one way to find out.

“You’re looking a little maniacal,” Nick said. “I’m almost afraid to ask what kind of plan is running through your head.”

“How about whammying him with the gorgon glare and dragging him off somewhere for questioning?”

Nick looked at me like I’d grown a second head. Okay, so maybe crazy wasn’t completely out of the question. “You want to kidnap a man off the street for looking at you funny?”

“Well, when you put it that way… What do you suggest?”

“We keep an eye on him and stop him if he makes a move.”

Oh sure, without a badge to flash or any kind of official standing, it was the most sensible course of action. I was just so much better at the direct approach.

“I was afraid you’d say something like that.”

Jesus came out then, looking ridiculously pleased with his purchase.

Nick glanced at his watch. “We don’t have much time left. Should we grab lunch, like we talked about?”

There was a lovely taverna on the other side of the road, but it was cantilevered out over the edge of the mountain, and there was no way that was happening. I said so.

“Gah, I’ll get us lunch to go,” Jesus said. He handed his precious bottle to Nick. “Here, hold this.”

The shape was apparent right through the clear plastic bag. Nick didn’t look like he was secure enough in his masculinity to be left holding it. I took pity on the poor man and relieved him of the package.

Jesus came back shortly juggling three Mythos beers and three gyros. We looked around for a place to eat them. The streets were narrow, with no margin at all between the cars cruising by and the walkway, so that we couldn’t sit on a curb without risking our feet, and with sidewalk and storefront space at such a premium, there were no benches.

“Chica, I hate to be the one to break this to you, but you are a pain in the ass,” Jesus said helpfully.

I looked at Nick. “A good boyfriend would disagree,” I told him.

“I’d have aimed higher,” he said to Jesus. “Pain in the neck, maybe.”

I stuck my tongue out in their general direction.

In the end, we risked our toes and ate on the curb, pulling our feet in whenever a vehicle came by. It wasn’t dignified, and I expected trouble at any moment over our location with the open containers and all, but as the taste of slow-cooked lamb, onions, tomatoes and tzatziki sauce burst over my taste buds, I forgot to care. In America, every Greek restaurant served gyros. In Greece, Jesus had been lucky to find them. They weren’t restaurant, but street food here, like hot dogs and soft pretzels in New York City. But here or there, they were just about perfection. Unfortunately, that first burst of flavor quickly faded away, leaving me unsatisfied. Bereft, even. And no matter how many bites I took, I still felt empty. Hunger gnawed at me like a junkyard dog at a bone.

I glanced up and down the street, looking for our tail, and found him across the way, staring into yet another storefront, not so subtly watching us via the reflection in the window. In that same window I caught sight of a second black-robed figure. I pretended to stretch so that I could casually look around. Behind us, half in and half out of a shop, pretending interest in a rack of postcards, was another man in black, more priestly than secret-agently. When he felt me looking, he grabbed up a few of the postcards and disappeared into the shop. I hoped the proprietor got at least a little business out of our creepy surveillance.

“Yeah, I see them,” Nick said without me asking.

“The one who just went into the shop…I think I’d like to talk with him if you’ll keep an eye on his friend.”

There were no testosterone-fueled protestations that he should be the one to confront the creep, which was one of the many reasons I adored him.

“But no trouble,” he warned. “I shudder to think what your yiayia would do to me if you were arrested on my watch.”

I smiled at the very thought, almost tempted to find out. But not quite.

“I’ll be good,” I promised, giving him a quick kiss as I jumped off the curb.

I sauntered into the shop the man in black had disappeared into. I didn’t bother pretending interest in anything. I’d seen it all before—the embroidered linens, the baubles, the bangles, bottle openers in the shape of satyrs or nymphs, pottery, soaps and oils. I was shopping for a man in a black robe. The shop, as jam-packed with touristy trinkets as it was, wasn’t very big. I could almost see the whole place at a glance, and the only person in it was the proprietress, who bustled up to me, her reproduction coin earrings jingling, and asked what she could help me with.

Short of tearing apart her shop, all I could do was ask, “A man just came in here. I was hoping to talk with him.”

She glanced around the small shop and back at me. “There’s no one else here.” She looked me right in the eyes as she said it, a little too purposefully, and I knew she was lying. I couldn’t blame the man on my ambrosia withdrawal, not if Nick had seen him and this woman was covering for him. I wished, not for the first time, that my powers ran to compelling the truth out of people, but all I could do was stop her in her tracks.

“Freeze,” I said, putting everything I had into it.

She froze, mouth half open, as if it had been on the tip of her tongue to say more. But she was going to have to hold that thought.

I stalked to the checkout counter, where three postcards lay abandoned, and peered over it. There was no black-robed man crouching behind it. Just to be doubly sure, I rounded the counter for a closer look. Nothing. It took no time at all to survey the rest of the shop. There weren’t any other places to hide. There was a door at the back, covered over by a tapestry. I might have missed it if the pots in front of it hadn’t been slid away to allow access, disturbing the dirt on the shop floor. I dashed to the tapestry, pulled it aside to reveal the hidden door. I yanked on the handle, but it wouldn’t budge. Locked. And me without my lock picks. I thought about kicking it in, but given the disturbance in the dirt, the door opened toward and not away from me, and regardless of the way they made it look in movies, I’d break my leg before I’d break most doors. Oh yeah, and there was that whole not-getting-arrested thing. I’d promised.

Regretfully, I admitted temporary defeat and slunk back outside.

“Gone,” I said to Nick and Jesus as I approached.

“His friend too,” Nick said, nodding to where the other man in black had been.

“Skata. I’ve had enough of this cloak and dagger crap already. Why can’t we just have a nice, straightforward wedding?”

“Speaking of which, we’d probably better get back. Production meeting in T-minus twenty.”

“What’re you, an astronaut?” I asked, suddenly irritable. Another thing, maybe, to blame on ambrosia withdrawal.

“Am I the only one excited about this?” Jesus asked. “Come.” He linked an arm through each of ours, and I grabbed up his ouzo bottle from the curb so it wouldn’t be left behind.

We let Jesus drag us off. I continued to look into storefront windows to see if I could spot our sneaky surveillance, but there was no further sign of them.

We met Mom, Dad, Uncle Christos and his girlfriend—which seemed so weird to say at their age, since she was hardly a girl—coming through the door of the hotel, just back from a sightseeing trip of their own.

“Tori!” Mom gasped, throwing her arms around me and waving Dad in for a group hug. He grumbled, as always, but complied. I didn’t take it personally. Dad was the least touchy-feely guy I knew. Pretty ironic for someone whose livelihood and welfare depended on making contact—catching and being caught during the family acrobatic act. Maybe that was it. With life and death on the line there, maybe all other contact felt gratuitous. But Mom sure didn’t feel that way. She more than made up for him. And gods knew Spiro was touchy-feely enough for them both.

I hugged her back hard. It was so good seeing her again. It’d been hard when circumstances forced me to leave the Rialto Bros. Circus behind. I could have fought for my place, but…I think we’d all known I never really belonged.

When Dad dropped out of the hug and Mom finally let me go, I found I had tears in my eyes. I wiped them quickly away and introduced Nick, who was treated to a handshake from my father—two pumps and done—and a warm embrace from my mother.

“We were so glad when Tori found someone to keep her out of trouble,” Mom said, looking earnestly into Nick’s eyes. Mom was a petite woman, weighing in at maybe a hundred pounds—less after sweating some off in a performance. She had mounds of dark hair, brown eyes, long lashes and a heart-shaped face. People wanted to protect her. Me, that was a whole ’nother matter.

I shot Nick an amused glance, which he mirrored back to me. “Well, I try, ma’am, but it isn’t easy.”

“And who is this?” Dad barked, jutting a chin at Jesus, who smiled, bowed deeply and introduced himself.

“I’m Jesus, Christos and Tori’s executive assistant at the agency. When trouble calls, I’m the one who takes the message.”

I didn’t think that came out quite the way he’d intended, since it didn’t puff up his importance the way he liked. I blamed jet lag.

“Shall we?” he asked.

Christos made an “after you” gesture, and Jesus led the way to the meeting room—where I was jumped immediately upon entering.

“There you are!” Tina said, mugging me. I’d have called it a hug, but her arms were like steel bands propelling me forward, leaving the others in the dust. “Come on, they want to meet my bridesmaids.”

“They?”

She paused in her manhandling to give me a quick once over. “You look good, except for some puffiness around the eyes. Flying always makes me water-retentive too. Don’t worry, we’ve got a cream for that. Remind me to give you a sample.”

I bucked out of her embrace. “Good to see you too. Congratulations, by the way.”

Just like that, the disapproval left her face, and she beamed like a prison searchlight. “Sorry. I’m just…nervous. I want everything to be perfect, and I know the film stuff is paying for my dream wedding, but…OMG, the stress!”

A young blond man with a pompadour, a shiny vest and a clipboard bustled up to us. “This the last bridesmaid?” he asked, giving me the same critical stare I’d gotten from Tina. “Let’s get her with the others.”

It was his turn to hustle me about the room…or try to, anyway. When I growled, he drew back his arm and instead crowded me toward Althea and Junessa.

He eyed the three of us—the Amazon, the wispy wood nymph and me, the wild woman, probably still smelling of onions and tzatziki sauce. His face scrunched when he looked at me, but all he said was, “I can work with this.”

This.

“Hello. Living, breathing person right in front of you,” I snapped.

“As if I could miss you breathing,” he sniped back.

Damned onions.

“Okay,” he said, clapping to get our attention as if we were wayward children. “Tomorrow you’re due at eleven a.m. sharp for hair and makeup,” he said to Althea and Junessa. He pointed to Tina and then to me. “You and you, ten a.m. You’re getting the works.”

I started to protest that I’d just gotten “the works”, courtesy of Christie, and I still wasn’t over it, but Tina looked so happy that I bit it back. Not my day, not my day, I chanted over and over to myself.

“Also tomorrow—no alcohol. No caffeine, if you can manage it. Makes you bloaty and adds to those dark circles under your eyes.” Why was he looking at me? “Now, off with you. The meeting will start momentarily, and that should tell you everything else you need to know.” He made shooing motions, and I stood my ground until Tina bumped my shoulder. “Thanks for this,” she said to me. “I know it’s not your thing.”

I looked down, feeling like a behemoth next to her, just like I had my mother. Tina, too, was a tiny little thing, small and wiry, the better to fold herself into impossible spaces as the contortionist for the Rialto Bros. sideshow, where Yiayia performed as the bearded lady and where Pappous, rest his soul, had once been the strong man.

Something was different about Tina. I struggled to put my finger on it.

“Your overbite!” I exclaimed. So tactful. And oh-so-observant. How had I not noticed right away?

But she didn’t slap me down as I deserved. “You like it? Jason is amazing! Did I tell you how we met?” Of course she had. She’d told anyone who would listen…twice…but I let her go on. “I had my jaw reset. Jason did the work on my face and then fell in love with it. That’s what he said. Have you met him yet? He’s unbelievable. Tori, I’m so in love!”

The wedding had pretty much tipped me off to that, but once again I bit my lip. Tina and I hadn’t always been close—the dainty flower and the tomboy—but we had always been family, and it was good to see her happy. Good to see everybody all together again after I’d been away for so long. For a second I was able to forget death threats and mysterious priestly stalker guys and think familial thoughts.

Tina’s gaze shifted suddenly to something—someone?—behind me, and I whirled, ready for a fight, only to see an unassuming man with his hands up in the universal “don’t hit me” sign.

I hadn’t realized I’d swung around into a ready stance. Twitchy. Hair trigger. I was going to have to get better control. I glanced back at Tina for assurance that she knew the stranger before me, and from the look on her face, figured that I’d just met Jason. Good thing he wouldn’t have a mark from the impression I’d just left on him.

“Whoa,” he said. “Down girl. I’m just here for my beautiful bride.”

I quickly got out of the way of the lovers as Tina leapt into his arms.

I studied them as they clung to each other. Jason was a head taller than Tina, with light brown hair. He was handsome in a baby-faced kind of way men often grew facial hair to disguise. No piercings or prison tats that I could see. No psycho, serial killer vibe that I could pick up, and my internal alarms didn’t buzz, which might not mean anything at all. They tended to be pretty danger-focused, and at the moment he looked like a lover, not a fighter.

Prissy blond boy with clipboard called the production meeting to order before I could be formally introduced, and I re-found Nick and Jesus and sat with them to listen to an hour about how we shouldn’t look right at the camera, interact with the stars, mug for shots, wear patterns that would strobe on film, drink too much, yada yada, etcetera so forth.

Even so, the room was buzzing with excitement when it was all over. The coffee, tea, fruit and cookies on the food service table at the back of the room gave people an excuse to linger and compare notes on what they’d wear and who might be willing to do who else’s hair or lend a hand on makeup.

Althea and Junessa were quick to offer miracle makeovers, though I had no idea when they’d find time to provide them between the rehearsal, dinner and eleven a.m. makeup call. I wondered if they could write off the wedding as an Eterné business expense. I’d bet they’d make a small fortune among the guests.

“I’ll catch up with you,” I told Nick as we left.

“Where are you going?”

“I have to check in on Apollo and see if he’s got a list for me yet of potential enemies. Plus, I want to see what he might know about the men in black.”

“I’ll go with you,” he said, putting a hand to my lower back to escort me.

I panicked. “No,” I said, and then thought furiously about what excuse to offer, since I couldn’t tell Nick about needing my ambrosia fix.

“I mean, yes, that would be great. But I have a better use for you.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked suggestively.

“Interviewing Serena.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t say ‘oh’ like it’s some hardship. I’m sure she’s recovered from her dead faint by now. But no seducing her secrets out of her.”

“What if she starts it?” he teased.

I hoped he was teasing, anyway.

“I’ll leave that up to you. Just know that while I’m currently unarmed, I’m still dangerous.”

“Aw, jealousy, the sincerest form of flattery. I’ll try not to be too irresistible.”

“Too late,” I told him. I stood on the balls of my feet to give him a kiss. Then I called Apollo to find out where he was and if he could tell us where Serena might be, but as soon as the call connected, I felt a zing of forewarning streak through my body and instead of “Hello,” I heard, “—answer that!” in a sharp female voice. I was pretty sure what had come before was the command, “Don’t.”

“I sent it to voicemail,” Apollo said on the other end of the phone line.

“Liar. Hand it over.”

I didn’t know the other voice, but she didn’t sound friendly, and my sixth sense sent me running for the stairs, once again ignoring the perfectly good elevator. Just recently, my precognition had developed its own GPS, and when I hit the top floor of the hotel, I looked left and right, and raced in the direction that made my heart pound. Nick pounded along behind me.

Just as we hit the door to Apollo’s room, we heard, “Well then, I’ll scream.” It was the same voice I’d heard on the phone. I had no idea what was going on, but I was going to find out.

“Hotel Security,” I called through the door. “Open up.”

“Your choice,” the woman inside said, too quietly to be intended for my ears, which meant whatever happened next would be up to Apollo.

“Mr. Demas, are you all right in there?” I called.

I reached for the door handle, even though I knew that it wouldn’t budge. I hated always being right.

“Help me!” the girl inside suddenly screamed. “He’s a beast!”

I planted one foot on the floor and lashed out with my other, like I’d learned in kickboxing class. The door didn’t give, but my leg did, pain arcing up like a lightning strike from my heel to my hip. I staggered back, into the far wall, using it to hold me up. Nick checked to see if I was okay and then took a running start at the door himself. As he struck, it seemed to buck on its hinges, splintering around them. He bounced back from the blow and took another shot at the door. This time it gave way, and Nick burst into the room. I pushed myself off the wall and staggered through behind him.

In the center of it, between a bed and a desk the size of an old mainframe computer stood a nearly naked girl, her dress torn and fire in her eyes. I thought she was aiming for fear, but what I saw there was triumph. She launched herself into Nick’s arms, sobbing and ranting about how Apollo had attacked her, while I looked from the girl to Nick to Apollo with shock written all over my face.

“Dare I ask what happened?” I said to Apollo, who watched the girl like she was a viper who might suddenly strike.

“Nothing, I swear to you! She did that to herself. Well, first she tried to seduce me for a part in the movie. When that didn’t work, she tore her dress and said she’d cry rape if I didn’t go along with her.”

The sobbing had quieted significantly, I noticed, while the girl listened for what Apollo would say.

“Liar,” she yelled, turning on him, but staying within the protection of Nick’s arms. She raised tearful eyes to me, squeezing out a drop of moisture. “He saw me in the hotel and said I’d be just perfect for a part in his film. I didn’t know I’d be auditioning in his bed. When I refused, he went crazy. He tore my dress and he…he…he would have…if you hadn’t come along…”

Disgust made me want to backhand her, but that would only give her a mark that might help with her story. With all the actual abuse that went on in the world, the thought of someone using a false accusation to get ahead made me more than sick. It made me mad. And I knew it was false. Apollo might not have the best reputation in the world, but if his condition didn’t make assault highly unlikely, what I’d overheard of their conversation certainly did.

“Get out,” I said to her.

She looked utterly dumbfounded. I was a woman. I should believe her. She turned watery eyes to Nick. I had to admit, she was quite the actress. “Please, you have to believe me. You have to help. What if he does it again and you’re not here to stop him?”

Nick took this one. “I don’t know the penalty here for filing a false police report, but in the States there’s jail time.”

Her eyes got really wide. “But, I’m telling the truth.”

“Uh huh.”

“Tell them,” she said, appealing to, of all people, Apollo himself. “I’ll drop the whole thing, if you’ll just—”

“No,” he said.

“Freeze,” I said, not prepared to take any more.

She froze, her mouth opened in mid-protest.

I looked from the girl in her ripped dress—sleek chestnut hair straightened to within an inch of its life falling in a shining curtain down to her waist, not at all mussed as if there’d been a struggle over her virtue—to Apollo—looking a lot less spooked now.

“I swear, I never touched her,” he said again.

I believed him. But still, she could cause trouble if she really wanted to. “I’m not sure the press will care. It’d be juicy enough to hurt you and the film Uncle Hector’s so invested in.”

Nick shook his head at me. “You can’t just go around freezing people.”

“What would you suggest?” I asked.

Because freezing her had been the most civil of my thoughts. The ease with which we could hide her body being the least. Not that I’d been serious about that idea.

“Sadly,” said Apollo, “this isn’t the first time something like this has happened. But last time was back in the States, and I was, uh, with someone already when the girl broke in.”

I rolled my eyes.

“We’re calling hotel security,” Nick cut in, offering that suggestion I’d asked for. “Or the police.”

Apollo and I exchanged a glance. That would be the by-the-book way to play it. It was also a likely path to accusations and tabloid headlines. We’d both been there and done that.

“Or I could switch clothes with the girl and we could put her out into the hallway,” I suggested.

Nick’s eyes narrowed at me, and I didn’t think it was just because of the disparity in our sizes. My clothes would likely swim on the girl. “If you strip her down, that’s assault.”

I sighed. I could see his point, even if I didn’t like it.

“Serena could cover for you,” I told Apollo. “You’re trying to bulk up your ‘romance’ to promote your film, right? Would she say she was with you when crazy-girl broke in?”

Nick threw his hands into the air and paced to the phone over on the desk. “You will not suborn perjury,” he said, reaching for the receiver.

I turned on him. “Oh, like you told Internal Affairs that Detective Lau flew off on the back of a dragon? Or that Zeus and Poseidon were ancient Greek gods?”

His tension didn’t ease. “I left things out. I didn’t lie,” he said. “And you,” he accused Apollo, “are awfully blasé about this whole thing.”

Apollo looked as though he tried to grimace and couldn’t. “I feel like I’ve had Botox all over my body. I can barely move. My heart is struggling to beat. Look for me tomorrow and you may find me a grave man.”

My heart sank. It was a bad thing when an actor began quoting Shakespearean soliloquies. This one hadn’t turned out so well for Mercutio.

Crazy-girl twitched, and I demanded again that she freeze. One problem at a time.

“So what do we do?” I repeated.

“I’ll go have a talk with hotel security,” Nick announced, brooking no argument. “They need to know they have a breech in any case. I’ll tell them what we overheard and what we saw, and we’ll get this all worked out. You two…” He glared at each of us in turn. I felt like I was back in L.A., facing him across an interrogation table, back when we were more adversaries than anything. It hurt. “Try not to conspire while I’m gone.”

He about-faced and left, sucking much of the air out of the room with him.

Apollo and I looked at each other. He was…less than he had been without his typical glint and smirk to draw you in. His eyes had lost their sparkle. His mouth was set.

“I wish there was something I could do for you,” I said, meaning it wholeheartedly.

“I wish you could too. I guess this would be the time to mention you might have a point about Serena. Apparently, she’s already campaigning to have me replaced.”

“But you said—”

“I know what I said, but if this petrification keeps up, I don’t see that they’ll have any choice but to find somebody new. It makes me wonder if she knows something we don’t about my chances of recovery.”

“So she knows your paralysis isn’t limited to…” My gaze dropped somewhere south of the border.

“It’s starting to become obvious.”

I hadn’t liked Serena from the start. It was probably terribly unprofessional of me to feel a little leap of joy at the idea of collaring her for the crimes against Apollo.

“I was planning to have Nick interview her. In the meantime—”

“Ambrosia?” he asked.

“How can you tell?”

“You’re shaking.”

I looked down at my hands. I hadn’t even noticed. Not good. Seriously not good. I wondered if Nick…of course he had. He was a detective. He noticed everything. Crud cakes.

“Do you have any with you, and would it help your situation?” I asked.

“No and no. Gods don’t need ambrosia to heal—not from anything natural. As for the unnatural, we can’t undo what another power has done…not unless it’s in our wheelhouse. In other words, Zeus could dispel a storm someone else raised, but he couldn’t return to water what Dionysus had made into wine. Make sense?”

“Sure, clear as mud. I think I need some kind of course in remedial mythology. You say ‘another power’. So it wouldn’t take a god to do this then?”

“Circe could have done it. Or some other enchantress. A few others. No, it wouldn’t take a god.”

“Gah, this just keeps getting better and better. Anything else I need to know? Any other potential players in this drama? Nymphs…banshees…Big Foot?”

“Nymphs, maybe. I’ve, uh, had run-ins with a few of them.” And by that, he meant liaisons, not all of which would have ended well. “Sirens are water divinities, so they’d be loyal to Poseidon. Can’t rule them out. Banshees are second cousins to the sirens, but they only predict the deaths others cause. As for Big Foot, you’ve got me. Maybe one of the giants still roaming the Earth?”

“Really?” I asked, momentarily sidetracked. “Whatever. I’ll talk to Serena, but in case we’re barking up the wrong tree—” Apollo gave me a dirty look, “—I need a list of every divinity you’ve pissed off in the last millennium. I can run them past Yiayia for last known whereabouts and find out who’s in the area.”

“Done,” he said.

“And the ambrosia—”

“Ask Hermes.”

“Hermes?”

He stared. “You haven’t figured it out? Tori, Hermes runs a worldwide messenger service. The only one as far as the ancients are concerned. Anything imported or exported he’s got a piece of the action.”

“So the Back to Earth movement—you think he knew about their secret ingredient?” We’d busted the Back to Earth cult just months ago. It had been run by Dionysus…the Dionysus. He’d not only resurrected his fertility cult, but was lacing the food of his adherents with a special additive, trying to turn his own followers into super-humans, essentially his own Latter-Day Olympians. The problem was, not all survived the transformation. He’d been getting ready to distribute Back to Earth produce on a national level.

“I can’t say what he knew about their end game, but their supplies…yeah, he’d have been involved.”

I seethed. I could feel the steam building in my gut, getting ready to burst forth and sear everything in its path. Hermes. That dirty, rotten, sleazy, conniving bastard.

“How much can she hear?” Apollo asked suddenly, nodding toward the frozen floozy in our midst.

“Huh?” It was so far off my train of thought that it took me a second to process. Then I knew fear.

“I’ve—uh—never tested it.” I knew there was disorientation after the freezing, but how much would she have heard and understood? “It’s not like anyone would believe what she had to say,” I told him, in a whisper now. “I mean, raving about gods and banshees.”

“They might. Some do believe that sort of thing. Otherwise we’d all have long since faded away.”

There was a knock at the broken door, which seemed to startle the girl out of her paralysis, which was a good thing, because hotel security didn’t wait to be invited before sauntering in.

The girl reeled and looked about frantically. She spotted the man in the suit coming through the doorway and launched herself at him. “These people are crazy!” She started. “Please, you have to listen!”

The whites shone all around her eyes, and she looked like a deer in headlights. The security man grabbed her hands as they reached for his shoulders, or maybe his neck, to cling to him. He took them gently but firmly in his hands and looked her in the eyes. “Why don’t you come to my office and tell me all about it?”

I sensed the steel under the suggestion, but she seemed to feel that she was getting somewhere and sagged with relief.

Security guy looked over her head at the rest of us. “I’ll want your statements as well. Later.”

We all nodded back solemnly. The girl didn’t have a leg to stand on, but the sick feeling inside my gut said that wouldn’t stop her. “You need a keeper,” I told Apollo when they left. Only as the words came out of my mouth did I realize I was echoing Jesus.

“Are you volunteering?” Apollo asked.

Nick growled.

“There’s not enough money in the world,” I told him. Ambrosia? Apparently that was another story.

“Nick, why don’t you talk to Serena, like we planned. Also ask her about trying to get Apollo replaced on the film. Apollo, you get working on that list. I have to see a man about a—” drug habit “—suspect.” And so it began…the lies, the slipping out on my own. No, I didn’t have a problem. But apparently it had me.

“Who died and made you boss?” Nick asked.

“No one, yet. I’d like to keep it that way,” I answered.

“Oh the drama. I think you might have missed your calling,” Apollo said helpfully.

I gave him the stink-eye. “Hey, this is your drama. I’m just along for the ride. Everyone has their assignments. We’ll reconvene later.”

“It’ll have to be a lot later,” Apollo said. “Sounds like I’ll have to talk with security, and then I have to get into makeup. We’re doing some of the sunset shots tonight. The conditions are supposed to be perfect. With any luck, the half lighting will hide my…condition.”

“You get gorgeous,” Nick said. “Don’t worry, we’ll do all the heavy lifting.”

I rolled my eyes. The testosterone levels were starting to get cloying.

I pushed Nick out ahead of me, but thought of something just as we were leaving and turned back.

“Have you noticed any priestly types hanging around, all dressed in black, none-too-subtle?”

Apollo looked surprised. “You mean like Greek Orthodox priests?” Because they too wore the black cassocks.

“Not exactly. Kind of hermit-y looking, really, like they might only come to civilization now and then for supplies?”

He had his thinking face on, eyes up and to the left, as if he were visibly reviewing his mental files. “I don’t know about the various sects anymore. Back when our sanctuaries were held sacred, each god and goddess had their acolytes. Now…the men in black could be anybody.”

“Well, keep an eye out. Nick and I were followed today.”

“I will. And, Tori, thank you.”

I blinked. “Just evening the score.”

“Still.”

“You’re welcome,” Nick called from the doorway, a reminder that he hadn’t been thanked—for his help or the sidelining of his girlfriend.

“Thank you too,” Apollo called. “I owe you a boon.”

“Just stay away from my girl,” Nick said.

My girl—like there was some ownership involved.

“I keep trying,” Apollo said, “but apparently our weaves are intertwined.”

Before I’d “met” the Fates—Clotho, Atropos and Lachesis, that would have seemed like poetic drivel. But the three sisters wove our destinies. I’d seen my thread nearly cut from the great weave, the pattern more complex than I could ever follow. I knew that what Apollo said was true. If our destinies were interwoven, it was beyond even his power to untangle them. And it was clear to me that Clotho, Atropos and Lachesis had watched way too many soap operas in their time. They enjoyed the drama.

I didn’t want to think about that. I finished pushing Nick out the door, followed him through and shut it behind me as best I could

“Seriously,” Nick asked, once we were alone, “what do you see in that guy?”

“I don’t see anything in him. I’m with you.”

“Uh huh. Try telling him that. Anyway, I guess I’m off to interview a gorgeous, green-eyed starlet. But not to worry, I’m with you.”

Jealousy kicked me in the gut even though the interview was my idea. “Fine. Point taken. I’ll try not to be an ass about it if you aren’t.”

Nick smiled, and it lit up those midnight blue eyes of his. “Deal.”

Serena would never know what hit her.

I pulled out my phone and dialed Hermes. “Where are you?” I demanded.

“The hotel bar,” he answered, amusement thick in his voice. “Where are you? And while we’re on this path, what are you wearing?”

“I’m on my way.”

“And to the second question?” he asked.

“My butt-kicking boots.”

“Nothing else?” he asked hopefully.

“No, I’m prowling the hotel au naturel.” A cleaning lady I passed looked at me, startled. “You’ll see for yourself in a moment. Stay where you are.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” he said and hung up.

He wouldn’t believe me, as well he shouldn’t, but maybe I’d intrigued him enough to stay put. We needed to have words.

Thank gods this hotel bar was on the ground floor rather than the rooftop with a grand view out over the clouds. I still hadn’t managed to catch a full breath, and felt on the verge of hyperventilating or blowing up into a full-on panic attack at any second. If Tina had picked some mountaintop chapel for her ceremony—and, really, what other options were there here at the top of the world?—I was going to lose it. Maybe it wasn’t ambrosia I needed. Maybe it was Xanax. Or a cyber-café where they could just Skype me in for the ceremony.

I found Hermes drinking alone at the bar, two tall glasses in front of him full of clear liquid. Water? Surely not.

He slid one toward me as I sat down on the stool next to him, and I gave him the hairy eyeball. “What is it?” I asked.

“Try it and see.”

I looked around for the bartender, hoping for a straighter answer, but no one was in evidence. I held the glass up to my nose and sniffed. My eyes nearly rolled back into my head at the scent. When I tried to chase down a comparison, the smell seemed to shift on me—jasmine and honeysuckle one minute, then vanilla and sandalwood, cinnamon and cloves… In short, heaven.

“What is it?” I asked again, unable to wait for his answer before tipping the glass back to let just a drop touch my lips.

The taste exploded on my tongue, starting small and then overpowering my taste buds like one of those kids’ toys that expanded exponentially in water. It was—

“Nectar,” he said, the glint in his eyes jollier than Old Saint Nick’s and at least a hundred times more mischievous.

My heart kicked, and I would have spat it back, but it had disappeared, seemingly straight into my being, skipping mundane things like my stomach.

“Nectar as in…nectar. Of the Gods?”

“Is there any other kind?”

“But—”

“Oh, the bartender won’t mind. I slipped him a very nice tip to assure he wouldn’t notice me pouring from my own flask.”

“But I’m not—”

“A god? Well on your way, I’d say. You’ve survived the ambrosia. And you know what they say—what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”

My hands trembled as I pushed the glass away. It took all my willpower to actually let it go. I knew, knew nothing would ever taste the same again, and considering that everything had already gone to ashes…

I glared at Hermes. “What’s happening to me?” I asked him. He always seemed to know more than he should. Maybe he had answers he shouldn’t.

“You tell me.”

“Why are you trying to suck me deeper in?” I asked.

“Why are you trying to get out?” he countered.

“None of your business,” I said. This wasn’t going at all the way I intended. I had to retake control, if I’d ever had it. “Look, I do want to get out, but not until after this whole wedding thing and—” I couldn’t say it. Bad enough going to Apollo, but he was the one who’d hooked me, and I felt that in some twisted way he owed me, even though the ambrosia had saved my life. But this—this was like meeting my dealer. I’d lied to Nick…or anyway left out a critical part of the truth…and I felt like I was about to make a deal with the devil.

“And what?” he asked.

“Nothing. Forget I mentioned it.” I started to stand, and Hermes grabbed my arm, stopping me. I was afraid he’d feel me shaking and tried to pull back.

“Wait,” he insisted. “You came here for a reason. Here, I’ll buy you a drink more to your liking.” He snapped his fingers, and the bartender appeared like magic from a narrow doorway in the back wall, practically hidden behind a wood-latticed area with wine bottles filling every slot.

“What’ll you have?” Hermes asked. I was surprised he’d bothered to solicit my opinion, he’d been so high-handed so far.

“Diet Coke,” I ordered.

“Come,” he said, “you can do better than that.”

“You asked. I answered,” I said, waiting to see if it took before retaking my seat.

The bartender waited, looking for Hermes’s approval before making a move. Either he was a male chauvinist by nature or that’d been a helluva tip Hermes had given him. Hermes gave the bartender a wink and a nod, and I watched carefully to make sure there were no special additives. Even then, I took only a small sip before committing. Seemed fine. Tasted like swamp water. I sighed and looked longingly at the nectar.

“So, you came for more than my scintillating company?” Hermes asked.

“What did you know about the Back to Earth movement, and when did you know it?” I snapped.

“Is that the question you really want to ask?” he said, downing the last of the nectar in his glass and pushing it aside, just like my question. “What’s done is done. No longer relevant.”

“It’s relevant to me.”

“What’s relevant to me is that you sit here in a bar discussing a case that is closed instead of looking into what ails my friend Apollo.”

“Fine, what do you know about that?”

“Nothing. If I’d wished him harm, I would have taken a backseat when Dionysus and his bacchae were out for his blood. Or when Hades and his brood…”

“You didn’t exactly help.”

“No, but I warned. As far as the fight, what would have been in it for me?”

I wanted to hit something. Him, by preference. But I had the feeling that wouldn’t go well. Not in my current, shaky, under-oxygenated state.

Hermes was playing some kind of game. He was always in the thick of things—warning, needling, riddling. Never quite helping or hindering. But he’d just given something away I don’t think he’d intended. Whatever he had done, there’d been something in it for him. I just had to figure out what.

“You tell me,” I said, echoing his earlier words. “What’s in it for you now?”

“No,” he said simply. Cheerfully. “That’s for me to know and for you to figure out. So much more fun that way. Here, we’ll play twenty questions. By my count, you’ve already used, hmm, let’s say ten, so choose the rest wisely, Grasshopper. And for every question I answer, I get to ask another.”

Gah! More games.

“Fine. First question: did Dionysus get his ambrosia supply from you?”

“Yes. My turn.”

“Wait, yes? Just like that. Did you know what he was planning to do with all that ambrosia?”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, you’re really not very good at this, are you? That was two more questions already. You are down to seven and I haven’t even asked my first.”

I was afraid my teeth would crack from me grinding them.

“Fine,” I said again. “Shoot.”

“How many gifts has Apollo given you?”

It took me a minute to process. I’d expected Hermes to go for something crazy personal, like my bra size, or grill me about Christie and how best to get into her bikini briefs. I’d never expected a serious question. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask why he wanted to know, but thank goodness I wasn’t oxygen-deprived enough to let it out and waste yet another of my questions. Which meant the strategy of answering a question with a question was right out. No playing dumb for me. And I didn’t know Hermes well, but it didn’t take a genius to realize that if I didn’t answer his query, he’d be finished answering mine.

“Just the one,” I said. He hadn’t asked me what the gifts were. Just how many. Two could play at his game of minimalist responses.

“Very good,” he said, eyes glittering.

“Now, about that ambrosia,” I prompted.

“I never asked Dionysus what he intended with it,” Hermes said.

Ah ha. “That wasn’t my question,” I told him, pinning him with my no-nonsense gaze. “I asked what you knew, not what you inquired or what you were told.”

The glittering in his eyes took on a more sinister glint, like snake venom.

“I knew that it was too much ambrosia for personal use. Beyond that, I could only speculate.”

Damn, and double damn. Hypothesizing didn’t count as knowing. I was going to have to start thinking like a lawyer. Or a snake-in-the-grass trickster god.

“Now,” he said, “what exactly has Apollo given you and what have you given in return?”

He cupped his hands together under his chin and stared steadily at me, awaiting my response.

“That’s two questions,” I said, “linked together by an ‘and’.”

He gave me a crocodile smile. “Why, so it is. Which brings us neck and neck at seven questions remaining.”

“Fine. He’s given me precognition and I haven’t given him a thing.” Except grief, but I was pretty sure that didn’t count.

I had to think carefully about my next questions. “So let me be really clear,” I said after a moment. “The Back to Earth plans to addict people to ambrosia are no more.” I made it a statement. “Do you have plans to pick up where they left off?”

“You’re getting better at this,” he commented. “There is far too much regulation in the food industry. No, I have no intention of picking up their mantle. Now, back to Apollo. You haven’t yet given him anything in return. But what do you owe?”

The question chilled me, because the answer was more complicated than it should have been. Overtly, I didn’t owe anything. I hadn’t asked for my precognition, and Apollo had never mentioned any strings attached, but I knew the story of Cassandra, the prophetess of Troy. Apollo had given her the power to see the future, only to curse her never to be believed when she spurned his advances. Hermes had centuries more knowledge of Apollo than I had. Could it be that my bill had not yet come due? Or could Apollo have learned from his mistakes and outlived his past? I knew what I wanted to believe. But wanting didn’t make it so.

“I don’t know,” I answered.

“Ah,” he said, unhelpfully. “Ah.”

Now I was torn. As much as I wanted to ask him about the consequences of doing the little dance Apollo and I were doing, I only had six questions left. I suspected that Hermes was trying to sidetrack me, which meant I couldn’t let it happen. Plus, the wedding rehearsal beckoned and I still had to change. I needed to start asking essay questions. Yes and no answers were getting me nowhere.

“What’s your present scheme?” I asked him.

“Scheme? Singular? Oh ho, girl, I’m hurt. You underestimate me.”

“You haven’t answered the question.”

“I’m trying to play fair. Do I tell you about my very explicit plans for your charming friend or do I share with you…no, no, I think I’ll keep that one to myself. Let’s just say that Back to Earth, in addition to showing poor judgment, thought too small. Health food, bah. Some will want it, yes, but not enough. Ask yourself, what is it that everyone wants? Where’s the real money?”

My heart clenched. People were dead because of the Back to Earth cult. If Hermes was thinking even bigger we were in trouble. Was he still trafficking in ambrosia? Nectar? Either one was more addictive than crack and twice as deadly to kick, at least for mere mortals. Even granted that the gods weren’t known for keeping it in their pants, so traces of their bloodline would be flowing through a whole lot of veins, it still left tons of people in danger. Even those with a smidgen of divine blood weren’t guaranteed to survive the kind of changes ambrosia would make to their system. And should access to the drug suddenly stop for any reason, death was the likely end game.

“You can’t,” I gasped.

“My dear, I don’t know who you think you’re talking to, but I surely can. Also, you still have no idea what exactly we’re talking about.”

“So enlighten me.”

Hermes clicked a finger against his teeth thoughtfully, annoyingly. “Have you not heard all the doomsday prophecies?” he asked. “They’re not really about the end of the world. They’re about the end of this incarnation. Out with the old, in with the new. The system’s broken. Rapture or zombie apocalypse, either way things aren’t intended to stay the same. I’m just planning to—” he pretended to pluck the right phrase out of mid air “—guide the course of future events.”

He was a maniac. Unconsciously, I’d distanced myself, leaning away.

“You’re insane,” I told him.

He looked me dead in the eyes. “Am I? If you saw a train wreck coming, wouldn’t you wrest control of the train to avert the crisis? I know you. You’d do it in a heartbeat. We’re the same.”

“We’re not.”

“I assure you, we are. And you don’t want to be a thorn in my side on this. Thorns get removed. With prejudice.”

I stared, stunned, unable to form a response. Suddenly everything—Apollo’s petrification problem, my ambrosia withdrawal and overcomplicated love life—seemed petty. What was Hermes up to? What was his end game? Was there—

My brain stuttered to a stop, and it took everything I had to force it to go on.

Was there a chance that I’d somehow been a pawn in Hermes’s game, whatever it was? Had he helped me before so that I would remove the greater gods from the playing field—Zeus, Poseidon, Dionysus, Hephaestus, even Hades to the extent that he was still sulking? Who was left to stop him? Little old me? My gorgon glare didn’t work on the older gods. What else did I have? My precognition was no good without the power to stop my visions.

“Are you responsible for what’s happening to Apollo?” I asked suddenly.

“You’re getting colder. As I’ve said, I don’t have anything against Apollo. Even if I did, I’d hardly need to waste my time on him with Zeus and Poseidon on the loose and happy to run him down.”

Hermes reached in front of me and grabbed my glass of nectar, tossing back the remainder. Then he returned the glass to the bar and rose from his stool.

“By my count, there are still questions to be asked and answered. However, I believe you have a rehearsal to get to, and I have a…thing. So, we’ll have to pick up again another time.”

He threw money down on to the bar to cover my soda—too much—and strode out as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Meanwhile, he’d just rocked mine, and not in the good way. I tossed back my soda like it was something a helluva lot stronger and sat there stunned as it bubbled its way down.

But not for long. I didn’t have the luxury of time to process what I’d just heard. I had notes to compare with Nick and a wedding rehearsal to get to. If Hermes was in business with Uncle Hector, maybe I could even manage to squeeze some information out of him between learning where to stand and how to adjust the bride’s train just so for pictures.

I pulled out my phone to call the room, to see if Nick had escaped Serena’s clutches so I’d know where to meet him—changing seemed a no-go given how much time the interview with Hermes had set me back. But the phone just rang until the hotel voicemail picked up. I left a message telling him I was on my way, in case he got back to the room before I did, then hung up and dialed Christie. I was going to have to warn her off Hermes and find a way to make sure the warning took. I didn’t know what he was up to besides “no good”, but I didn’t want her stuck in the middle of it.

I decided to take the stairs rather than the elevator up to my room, afraid I’d lose cell service. I took the steps two at a time while I waited for Christie to answer…and waited. She was probably off at her shoot. I hit my floor and stepped out of the stairwell, about to leave Christie a message, when something lashed out from nowhere to knock the phone from my hand. It was so close to my ear that the blow caught that too, and my head whipped around with the force of the impact. I caught a glimpse of black robes, and then that black seemed to fly at my head and was suddenly smothering me. Fabric choked off my vision and my air as something was yanked over my head. Frenzied, I lashed out every which way. I made impact with something that oofed, but then I got lightheaded. The hood over my head smelled sickly sweet and…

My body fell like a disarticulated skeleton. I lost consciousness before I ever hit the floor.