Gods and Mortals: Fourteen Free Urban Fantasy & Paranormal Novels Featuring Thor, Loki, Greek Gods, Native American Spirits, Vampires, Werewolves, & More (70 page)

“It makes her happy,” Brad said. He tilted his head slightly and watched me for a few seconds, then added, “It’s just killing you, isn’t it?”

“What?” I asked, caught off-guard.

He grinned. “You’re smiling and making all the correct responses, but somewhere in there you really wish you had the guts to rip me a new asshole for what I put you through. Am I right?”

Well, I supposed he was, but I didn’t think I really wanted to give Brad the satisfaction of letting him know that. I suddenly recalled how I used to get annoyed by his know-it-all attitude. Had I really forgotten the way he used to say, “I know exactly how you’re feeling, Christa,” when I had known for a fact that he couldn’t possibly know for sure? A couple of times I’d just wanted to hurl something hard at his head.

To throw him off a little, I smiled sweetly and said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Brad.”

He gave me a skeptical look and drank some more of his margarita.

“Okay, fine,” I said. What was the point in lying, after all? But the fiasco with Luke had taught me one thing: Never make a scene in a restaurant. “I’ve thought about it. But what’s the point? It’s over and done with. I thought we were trying a fresh start.”

“We are,” he replied. “I just wanted to let you know that if you wanted to bring any of that up, it’s all right. I deserve it.”

There was nothing like actual contrition to take all the energy out of righteous indignation. I shook my head and said, “If you really want a new asshole ripped, I’ll call in Nina. I’m sure she’s got a few choice words on the subject, since she was the one I dumped all my angst on back in the day. But I’ve gotten over it. Seven years is a long time.”

“True.”

Our entrées arrived at that point, and we both busied ourselves with our meals. Food is a great distraction. After a minute or so, though, Brad remarked, “You’ve grown up a lot, Christa.”

I wasn’t sure whether I should be flattered or offended. After all, everyone wants to achieve some emotional maturity in this life, but I thought I still had a long way to go. And if that were the case, it meant I had been even more immature back then than I had realized.

Not wanting to really go into that, I just replied, “Thanks,” and helped myself to another mouthful of blue corn chicken enchilada. I figured I’d just stick with the whole “blue” theme throughout my meal. As I recalled, blue was Brad’s favorite color.

“No, really,” he said seriously. “I mean, I always thought you were a great person, even if you did tend to undervalue yourself, but there’s something different about you…a sort of confidence I didn’t see before.”

Well, I guess that’s what happens when you have raging-hot sex with the Devil
, I thought. Of course I couldn’t tell Brad that — God only knows what his reaction would be if I tried to convince him that the last guy I dated was actually the ruler of Hell — so again I was forced to merely say, “Thank you. Maybe it’s the new job.”

“Maybe,” he said, but he shot me a speculative little glance, as if he thought there were something else going on but couldn’t exactly put his finger on what.

The rest of dinner went by without incident, and afterward we decided the evening was young enough that we should go see a movie. We eventually settled on the not-so-suspenseful thriller Nina and I had passed on a couple of weeks earlier. Brad had never been the romantic-comedy type, and I delicately suggested that although I thought it was great he backed documentary filmmakers, I wasn’t quite in the mood for something that heavy on a Friday night.

As expected, the film was a little lackluster, but at least it passed the time. I always liked going to the movies on dates because it gave me a breather from having to come up with fascinating conversation for a few hours. Afterward, Brad suggested coffee or dessert. I still felt full from dinner, though, and wasn’t really in the mood for coffee, either. It had been a busy day for me, and right then all I really wanted to do was go home.

Of course, that proposition was fraught with problems as well. I had told Luke I didn’t kiss on the first date, and that really was my general rule, old-fashioned though it might be. But how did you handle a “first date” with someone you’d had a long-term relationship with in the past? After all, even though technically Brad and I had maintained separate residences the whole time we were dating, the truth of it was that for a good portion of that period I’d practically lived with him. He had his own apartment, while I shared campus housing with Nina, Micaela, and Jennifer. As much as I loved them, I certainly wasn’t going to have Brad stay over at my place. Anyway, Brad and I had a past together, and telling him I didn’t think that we should kiss at the end of the evening seemed somehow juvenile and prudish.

On the other hand, I wasn’t sure how I felt about kissing Brad. Even though I hadn’t had any contact with Luke for more than a week, it still felt like cheating.

Maybe you should stop second-guessing yourself and just see what happens
, I told myself as Brad retrieved his SUV from the valet.
Maybe he doesn’t even
want
to kiss you.

That seemed like a remote possibility, though, judging from the glance Brad gave me after he climbed into the Pathfinder and pointed it west on Olympic. Far from not wanting to kiss me, that look told me he probably wanted a lot more. That wasn’t going to happen, though, even if I somehow managed to flush Luke from the memory banks long enough to concentrate on Brad. From what I remembered, he was no slouch in the kissing department, either.

A light, misty rain had begun to fall by the time we got back to my apartment. We hurried over to the stairs and then climbed up to the second floor, where we both hesitated on the landing. It felt public but really wasn’t; my next-door neighbor worked nights, so I could have a hot-and-heavy make-out session there with no one really noticing. And better to kiss on the landing than to invite Brad inside. I was afraid what sort of message a suggestion like that might send.

“Well,” I said, after I had fished my keys out of my purse. “I had a really wonderful time — ”

And the next thing I knew Brad had taken me by the shoulders and given me a really thorough kiss. My memory hadn’t been faulty; his technique was still wonderful.

So why didn’t I feel anything?

Oh, I kissed him back. I knew I had to give this the old college try. My purse slipped from my fingers and fell to the ground, and I let Brad pull me against him as he continued to press his mouth on mine. He was a shade shorter than Luke, so I didn’t have to go up on my tiptoes to reach him comfortably. His lips, which should have felt familiar, could have been a stranger’s. I shut my eyes and tried to relax into it, tried to make myself respond. But all I could think of was how different he somehow felt from Luke, and how much I wanted it to be Luke kissing me instead.

After a few seconds, we broke apart. Brad looked a little puzzled, as if he’d sensed something was wrong but couldn’t say exactly what.

Eloquent as always, I managed to say, “Um…wow…I wasn’t expecting that.”

His expression cleared. I could almost see him telling himself that he’d just taken me by surprise. “Well, I know about your ‘first date’ rule, but I figured we could make an exception.”

“Oh, sure,” I replied, feeling like an idiot and a fraud at the same time. I knew I couldn’t possibly explain to Brad what was really going on, but I also couldn’t decide how best to handle the situation. However, I figured it was best to keep things where they were and leave any really important decisions for later, when I might actually have my head screwed on straight. “But I think we should leave it there for now.”

Brad frowned slightly, but said without hesitation, “Of course. I’m willing to take it slow.”

Well, at least that would give me some breathing space. I smiled and said, “Thanks for understanding.”

In answer Brad leaned down and kissed me again, a little more softly this time. It was a good kiss and I knew it, but that realization only underscored the fact that the wrong man was kissing me.

“Are you busy tomorrow?” he asked.

Despite myself, I laughed. “That’s taking it slow?”

He smiled. “Well, maybe not exactly, but I was hoping….”

“Sure,” I said without thinking. Maybe it was a bad idea, but at least I could give him a second chance and see how I felt. If I had the same reaction to him the following day, then at least I’d know it was because I really had gone certifiably insane and not just that I hadn’t had time to adjust to seeing Brad again after all these years.

“Great. Is seven still all right?”

“Sure,” I repeated, feeling a little dazed. All I really wanted at that moment was to go inside, crawl into bed, and sleep for about a hundred years.

“I’ll see you then.” Brad kissed me for a third time, again on the lips, but quickly — just his way of saying good-bye.

I nodded, not sure exactly what I had done. The keys to my apartment were still in my hand, so I turned and opened the door, then said, “Good night,” before slipping quickly inside. I didn’t want him to even try to follow me, so I closed the door just as hastily and hoped it didn’t seem too rude.

Apparently not; I heard him whistling as he descended the stairwell. That was another thing I’d forgotten — Brad was a very good whistler. Obviously he was pleased enough with how the evening had gone, even if he hadn’t been allowed back inside the sanctum.

For myself, I just wished I didn’t feel so relieved. That was a bad sign, wasn’t it?

Shaking my head, I dropped my purse on the floor and headed toward the kitchen. I was thirsty and thought a glass of water sounded like a good idea, even though I’d had a small diet Coke during the movie. Probably all those chips and salsa catching up with me.

I stopped short in the living room, though, and stared at my MacBook in consternation. I could have sworn that I had shut it before I went to answer the door. But it sat on the coffee table, open, the forest screensaver showing a serene progression of woodland images. Had I really been so out of it that I’d just thought I’d closed the damn thing?

Frowning, I touched the pad to deactivate the screensaver. My mail program stared back at me, even though I clearly remembered closing that window and opening Firefox. I should have been looking at the browser, not Mail. But there was my inbox — no new messages, but for some reason the email from Luke now had the little gray arrow next to its subject line, indicating that I had replied to it.

But I hadn’t. I had opened it and read it, then closed the window. I hadn’t responded.

Fingers shaking a little, I clicked on the “Sent Items” folder. Had some poltergeist decided to take up residence in my apartment and start playing mind games with me?

Sure enough, a reply to Luke’s email was at the top of the list, with a time stamp of eight-fifteen. Of course I couldn’t have replied to it then — I’d been five miles away at El Cholo. And although Danny and his friends were up to a little industrial espionage and outright spying, I thought even they would draw the line at breaking and entering. Anyway, my laptop always stayed at home — it had never even been anyplace where Victor Nguyen could get his prying fingers on it. And Danny and I had worked everything out…hadn’t we?

The mystery message turned out to be short and sweet, just three words.

I miss you.

I cringed when I read the email. Oh, it was the truth, absolutely, but that still didn’t mean I wanted my computer to be spontaneously sending off pathetic messages on my behalf. How the hell was I supposed to stick to my guns about not apologizing to Luke when my laptop had betrayed me and made me sound like some needy clinging vine?

Getting angry helped, because it kept me from being severely freaked out. Still, I wandered the apartment, checking to make sure I hadn’t left the back door unlocked (no dice), and that all the windows were securely shut. Normally I’d leave one or two open, but because of the uncertain weather I’d closed them all and fastened the latches, since one or two had been known to blow open in the past if the wind kicked up enough. My apartment was locked down tight as a drum, and if someone had forced entry they had to be a career criminal or with the NSA, because I couldn’t find any signs that anyone except me had been in the place. So how the hell had my computer sent off a reply to an email when I was miles away?

I shivered, even though I’d left the heater on while I was gone, and the apartment was warm enough. At that same second, I heard the little chime that signaled an incoming email message. Again my heart began to beat a little faster. I rushed over to the computer to see who it was from.

Not Luke. I saw that right away — there was no reassuring “Luke Nicolini” in the address line. It was completely blank, which was strange, since even spam has to come from somewhere. The subject line was also empty. Curiosity overcame my judgment. I clicked on the email and prayed that my Mac’s superior virus resistance would cover my ass in case there was anything particularly nasty attached to the message.

There were no attachments. There was only one word:

Believe.

“Believe,” I said aloud. Now, what the hell was
that
supposed to mean? Believe in what? God? The Devil? The power of love? That Nordstrom would finally put that pair of Marc Jacobs boots I lusted after on sale? What?

Of course I got no answers. That one little word just sat there, staring at me, surrounded by white space, until finally I swore and shut the MacBook so I wouldn’t have to look at it anymore.

It would have been a lot easier for me to believe if I had known exactly what I was supposed to believe in.

T
he phone rang
promptly at ten o’clock the next morning. I follow the ten/ten rule (“don’t call before ten in the morning or after ten at night unless you have explicit permission or someone’s dead”), so I figured it was probably Nina checking in to see how the date with Brad had gone. Sure enough, it was her cell number on the display. With a sigh I picked up my phone and headed for the couch; I had a feeling this might take awhile.

She didn’t even bother to say hello. “So?” she asked.

“So what?” I said.

“So how did it go? Did you pledge your undying love to one another?”

“Very funny,” I commented, then lifted the remote and turned down the sound on my stereo. I’d actually been up for hours; even with my roaming around the house and the general edginess that resulted from trying to figure out who had sent the mystery email the night before, I was still in bed by midnight. When Nina called, I had been trying to catch up with my housework, so my obligatory belly-dance music was blaring from the speakers. It was great for getting my energy levels up, but not so great as background music.

“You don’t seem all that thrilled,” Nina said. “Does this mean that the magic is gone?”

I hesitated.

“There’s a whole book about this same thing. It’s called
You Can’t Go Home Again
.”

“Boy, you’re just full of zingers this morning,” I said, my tone sour. “Is Allan D’Al-whatever going to get you a booking at the Laugh Factory?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Maybe because I don’t want to.”

Nina was silent for a few seconds. Then she said, “I’m getting an ‘I don’t want to talk about it’ vibe.”

“How perceptive of you.” I sighed. “Look, Nina, it was fine, but yeah, you’re right, I wasn’t getting a lot of sparks.”

“Because of
him
.”

I didn’t bother to ask which “him” she meant. It sure as hell wasn’t Danny. “Maybe,” I admitted.

“I told you it was too soon.”

“So pat yourself on the back for being right,” I snapped, then said immediately, “Sorry, Nina — I just hate feeling like Luke’s ruined me for all other men or something. I mean, I used to be absolutely nuts for Brad. Well…you know.”

“Believe me, I do,” she said, in tones of heavy significance. “Look, don’t beat yourself up about it. People change. Just because you guys really clicked when you were back in college doesn’t necessarily mean that you’re right for each other now. I’m sure you thought of a gentle way to let Brad know that.”

“Well.…”

Nina’s voice sharpened. “Oh, no, you didn’t.”

“Well.…”

“Tell me you didn’t sleep with him.”

“Of course not!” I retorted, stung. “I’m not
that
stupid.”

“So then?”

“So we kissed. And it’s like I could tell he was a good kisser, but I just didn’t care. It was awful. But — ” I hesitated.

“But what?”

“But I still said I’d go out with him again tonight.”

Nina made a disgusted sound.

“Well, I figured it would be better to give it one more try, just to see if I was having an off night or if I needed to work through some more stuff about Luke before I wrote Brad off completely.” That sounded lame even to me.

Obviously Nina was of the same opinion. “So you’re going to magically get your Luke issues worked out before Brad picks you up tonight? That doesn’t make a whole hell of a lot of sense.”

“I don’t know,” I said. And the horrible thing was that I really didn’t. My email had been empty of new messages this morning. No reply from Luke. No more mysterious notes from the ether, instructing me next to think or to dream or whatever else would be of absolutely no help in this situation.

“Geez, girl, and I thought
I
was the one who didn’t know what she wanted.”

“Maybe I should just become a nun,” I remarked.

“Danny would love that.”

For some reason, her comment made me burst out laughing, and after a second or two Nina joined in. Maybe it was the whole “if I don’t laugh, I’ll cry” mentality. I didn’t know for sure. All I did know was that it felt awfully good to laugh.

“I guess I figured one more night couldn’t hurt,” I said at length. “He really did want to see me again, and maybe some more time together will help me decide if the chemistry’s really gone, or whether I just need to stop obsessing over Luke.”

“Well, you need to do that, regardless of what you end up deciding about Brad,” Nina replied. “I mean, he was amazingly dreamy, but he’s just one man. There are plenty more out there.”

No, there aren’t
, I thought. Everyone wanted to be thought of as unique, but in his case that desire was the simple truth. Luke existed unto himself. It wasn’t as if I could go back to Lola’s with the girls and find another being just like him.

Of course I couldn’t tell Nina that. I couldn’t tell her the truth about Luke, and it wasn’t my place to do so even if I thought she’d believe me. Even though it was fairly obvious he’d discarded me with as little concern as someone throwing away an empty soda can, I wouldn’t let my hurt and anger allow me to expose him for who and what he was. I still loved him too much for that.

So I just said, “I know I need to get over him. It’s just going to take me a while.”

“And I’m not sure going out with Brad is the best way to do it,” she replied. “I mean, I know you’re going to do what you want. I can’t stop you. But really, maybe you should slow down and think about what you’re doing.”

“You’re right,” I said, without really thinking.

“Excuse me? Could you repeat that? Speak into the microphone.”

“Ha,” I said. “I’m not so petty that I can’t admit you might be right about Brad. I’ll handle it.”

“Good girl. Well, if you end up ditching him, give me a call. Allan told me about this really hot party that’s going on in the Hills tonight.”

“Oh, it’s ‘Allan’ now, is it?” I asked caustically. I hoped the whole acting/modeling thing hadn’t been just a ploy to get into Nina’s pants. Then again, if Allan thought he was going to get away with that sort of thing around Nina and live to tell the tale, he wasn’t as savvy as he looked.

“Shut up,” Nina said. “We weren’t talking about my personal life, we were talking about yours.”

“Oh, so now Mr. D’Ala-whatsis is part of your personal life?”

“
D’Alessandro
. And shut up.”

That made me laugh, as she had probably intended it to, and I promised that if I really did give Brad the brush-off I’d give her a call. I didn’t think I would, though. If I didn’t want to see him again, I figured I should at least tell him to his face and let him know that it had nothing to do with him and everything to do with me.

I hung up the phone and wondered what I used to do with my spare time before my life got so complicated.

C
omplicated life or not
, I needed to go to the grocery store that afternoon, since I was out of just about everything. Grocery shopping in my neighborhood was sort of like planning a combat mission — everything depended on timing and preparation. For some reason, Saturdays around two o’clock tended to be dead, unless there was a big football game later in the day. But of course by mid-February football season was safely behind me, and I figured I could run in and get what I needed without losing more than, say, an hour of my life.

Both of the stores closest to me were owned by Ralphs, so it really just depended on which particular traffic nightmare I wanted to deal with. The Ralphs on La Brea was a little closer, but its lot was completely inadequate. The store at the Beverly Connection had more parking, but since it shared its parking structure with a bunch of other shops, sometimes you ended up having to park on a different level from the store itself and then bring your purchases up in the elevator. For some reason I found something fundamentally wrong with having to put a grocery cart in an elevator, so I decided to head to the La Brea store and take my chances.

Luck or God or chance or whatever force ruled the universe seemed to be smiling on me, since I pulled into the parking lot just as a minivan backed out of one of the choice spots in the row that faced the storefront. I aimed my Mercedes into the space before any of the predatory-looking cars that were trolling the lot could try to lay claim to it. As I got out of the car, I felt rather than saw several people giving me the evil eye, but I ignored them. It wasn’t as if I had cut anyone off — they just weren’t fast enough.

I selected a cart, made sure it didn’t have any wobbly wheels or trash left inside (I hated that), and moved off to collect my purchases in an orderly manner so I could get out of there as quickly as possible. I hated grocery shopping anyway — spending money on consumables isn’t my idea of a fun time. But even I needed more than the one ancient container of yogurt that currently resided in my fridge, so I resigned myself to stocking up and told myself that at least I only had to worry about feeding one person. Small comfort. I got the feeling that I could even get used to cooking on a regular basis if I were doing it for Luke.

The store really wasn’t that crowded; the smallish parking lot always made it seem as if there should be more people inside than there ever actually were. I trundled my cart along, moving in my usual pattern from dairy to frozen to regular dry goods, until I finally ended up in the produce department. Of course I wasn’t a dedicated vegan like my mother, but I did tend to eat a lot of fruit; it was tasty and good for me, and I could feel somewhat virtuous when eating it.

I had paused by the apples, ruminating on the merits of Gala over Granny Smith (I hated Delicious, which as far as I was concerned were anything but), when I noticed a man who stood across the aisle from me, a shopping basket over one tweed-clad arm. He appeared to be in his late sixties and looked a little familiar, even though I couldn’t really place where I’d seen him before. Then he smiled, and it suddenly hit me. The elderly gentleman from Lola’s. The one who had been with Luke.

His gaze met mine, and for some reason I felt a little shiver run through me. Oh, he looked completely harmless — sweet and kind, actually, but there was something about the dark eyes under their heavy gray-frosted brows that made me want to stand up a little straighter.

“Difficult decision?” he asked. His voice was calm and a little deep, with just the slightest hint of an indefinable accent that sounded vaguely Eastern European. In fact, in appearance he reminded me of the elderly Jewish men who frequented the shops along Fairfax and Third Street, gray and tweedy and with an odd sort of shabby elegance.

I had the sudden idea that he wasn’t referring to the apples, but I still picked one up and weighed it in my hand. “I’m partial to Galas, but I think they’re getting a little out of season.”

“Perhaps, but I think you’d still enjoy them the most,” he replied.

“Then I’ll take your advice,” I said, and began selecting the most likely subjects out of the pile next to me.

“I’m glad to hear it,” he said, then stepped a little closer. “Would you humor an old man and take another piece of advice?”

“Um, sure,” I replied, as a ripple of nervous anticipation ran through me. But I just had to ask. “I — I have seen you before, haven’t I?”

“Yes,” he said, and gave me another one of those peculiarly sweet smiles. “I believe we have a mutual friend.”

“Oh,” I faltered, not sure of what I should say next. If this man was really who I thought He was, then no doubt He already knew all about Luke’s and my difficulties. What He thought of the entire situation, I shuddered to think. “Is he — is he really a friend?”

The calm, dark gaze didn’t flicker. “Oh, of course. We have known one another for quite some time.”

Just an eternity or so
, I thought. Well, at least Luke had apparently been telling me the truth about that. “So have you spoken lately?” I inquired, in a voice that shook only a little.

“Oh, yes.” His mouth twitched, and I got the impression He was laughing at me, just a little, and completely without malice. “I’ve been treated to quite the diatribe on the nature of men’s souls and the complete incomprehensibility of the feminine psyche. As if that were my fault.”

I just had to ask. “Er…isn’t it?”

He looked surprised. “No. At least, not completely. Poor Luke, he’s always had issues understanding the whole concept of free will. To be expected, of course, considering his background. Still, it does lead to some confusion.”

My head was reeling. Then again, it’s not every day that you stand in the produce department of your local grocery store discussing free will and the Devil with God. If that was who this kindly old man actually turned out to be.

“Oh, your instincts are correct,” He said, still smiling.

My mouth dropped a little.

“I suppose I should stop doing that,” He mused, picking up an apple from the display and inspecting it minutely. “It does tend to put people off. Old habits are difficult to shake.”

Feeling more than a little out of my depth, I just stared back at Him. I wasn’t sure of the protocol in such situations, although dropping to my knees and prostrating myself didn’t seem like a very good idea. For one thing, I’d be sure to attract attention, and for another, all I could hear in my head was the voice of God from that Monty Python movie about the Holy Grail where He snapped, “And stop groveling! I hate groveling!”

So I stood where I was, fingers clenched around the handle of my shopping cart.

“Wise choice,” He said approvingly. “You wouldn’t want to attract that sort of attention.”

“So what should I do?” I asked at last. After all, if I’d actually been blessed with a private audience with God, I figured I should make the most of it.

“‘Do’?” He repeated, looking a little surprised. “I should think that would be obvious.”

“Well, it’s not obvious to me,” I replied.

“Oh, it is, even if you have chosen to blind yourself to the path you should take.”

Was it possible to get disgruntled with God? I cocked my eyebrow and crossed my arms, waiting.

“I probably shouldn’t tell you this,” He commented. “Rules and all that.” His dark eyes took on a certain twinkle. “However, since I created them, I suppose I can bend them as well. Have you heard of a certain saying, ‘Pride goeth before a fall’?”