In Dreams (9 page)

“Iris!” she shrieks, and grabs me in a boob-smashing hug. “I wasn’t expecting you just yet. Must mean trouble with the uncles.”

“Hi . . . um . . . Ms. Cypris,” I say when she finally releases me.

She slaps my arm playfully. “Get
out
of here. Call me
Aunt
Aphrodite! Come in, come in.”

She half drags me by the hand. I gesture toward Annie. “This is—”

“Annie . . .” Aphrodite says. “I know.”

Annie and I exchange glances. And then I get my first glimpse of the inside of Aphrodite’s apartment.

If Annie called the mural tacky, I have no idea what she would call the apartment. It is crammed—and I mean crammed—with tchotchkes. The coffee table alone has at least fifteen snow globes. I squint. They are of the Parthenon and Greek tourist attractions.

Bookshelves are filled with books on Greece, but also little statues of Greek gods and goddesses. On the walls are Greek icons in gold inlay and rich and vibrant colors that conflict with one another, dozens of icons crowding for space. I almost don’t know where to look—it’s dizzying.

Aphrodite sees Annie and me looking around at all her cluttered possessions.

“I miss Greece. What can I say? I adore my things!” She picks up a snow globe that says
I LOVE ATHENS
inside and shakes it. She laughs loudly—a deep, rich belly laugh that makes me almost want to laugh, too. “Snow globes! They never get old! I also love dribble glasses. And magnets.”

I glance into her kitchen. There is not a square inch on her refrigerator not covered with magnets.

She sweeps her hand toward the dining room table.
In the center is a silver candelabra made of cherubs, each holding a tapered, orchid-colored candle up in its arms. Now that I look around, there’s a
lot
of pink and red in the apartment, from curtains to pillows. It is hideous.

“Come and sit. We have a lot to talk about, my darlings!”

Annie and I take off our coats and hang them on the backs of our chairs and then sit, and Aphrodite dances—literally—into the kitchen. She returns with plates laden with baklava and other pastries and three Cokes.

“I don’t do Diet Coke,” she says.

She plops into a chair and pops a pastry into her mouth.

I smile at her, feeling awkward. “So . . . ? You’re Aphrodite.”

She laughs again. I love her laugh. “I bet you were expecting a supermodel!” She eats another pastry and then looks at Annie. “Eat, you skinny thing. Pastries are good for the soul.”

Annie takes a bite and looks at me, green eyes wide. “Oh my
God
, but these are awesome. They have to be, like . . . I don’t know. Made by gods.”

Aphrodite laughs again and bangs the table with
her hand. “Ha! No . . . these are made by Nico, down at the bakery on the corner. The guy
is
a god. You should see his body. But he’s mortal. And can he bake! What a catch!”

I pick up a pastry, a tiny Greek wedding cookie. It melts in my mouth.

Aphrodite looks at me. “You should eat to enjoy. That’s one reason I’m not a supermodel. And I’ll tell you why . . . I am the goddess of
beauty
, and there is
nothing
more unattractive than a woman who believes her beauty is only in her body. A woman who can’t eat a pastry and enjoy it. A woman who eats a pastry and mentally calculates how many miles she has to run on the treadmill to ‘earn’ that pastry. A woman who won’t belly laugh. No. I am a goddess. I have thousands of years of experience in what makes beauty. And I can tell you, American women have it wrong. At the first sign of wrinkles, women Botox their faces. Have you ever seen anything so ridiculous?” She pulls back on her face and purses her lips to look like a plastic-surgery victim.

Annie smirks. “The lady next door to me has had her lips so plumped she looks like a duck. Ruined her face.”

“Precisely!” Aphrodite says, releasing her face.
“Beauty, my darlings, is from within. It is from knowing
precisely
who you are and
loving
that person. And let me let you in on a little secret.”

We lean closer toward her.

“I have to
fight
the men off,” she whispers.

I look at Annie and grin. I love Aphrodite already.

“Now”—she spreads her hands palm down on the table—“I suppose you’ve come here because you have a lot of questions.”

“Understatement,” I say. Though I’m beginning to feel at home, I’m still a little nervous about starting down this rabbit hole of my family history. I glance at Annie.

Annie says, “I’ll start. Why did you leave the Underworld?”

Aphrodite rolls her eyes. “The drama. The backstabbing. I guess I was tired of it all. So I came to live among the mortals. Maybe I just wanted a change. Maybe I just wanted Nico’s pastries.” She grins devilishly. “And Nico.”

“But it’s not like humans don’t backstab, too,” I say, thinking of the meanest girl in our high school, a girl in my English class—Harper. She’s treacherous, spreading rumors about Annie and, worst of all, doing it all with a smile, pretending she is some
churchgoing Goody Two-shoes. Meanwhile, she tries her hardest to destroy anyone she doesn’t like. And she’s never happy. She’s always got some new enemy she has to get even with. Annie is only one of many. This week’s frenemy. It will be someone else next week. And the week after that.

“I know.” Aphrodite smiles. “But you all live, what? Seventy years? Eighty? Maybe ninety, if you never eat pastries or drink good wine? In god terms, you’re pikers. Some of your behaviors are strangely endearing because you’re
such
babies. But the dramas down in the Underworld? Honey, I’ve been living them for
centuries
. Besides, I
know
love and beauty. I really thought I could help people. And I do. I know when two people are meant to be together. I’m the world’s best matchmaker.”

I want to ask about Sebastian, but before I can, Annie blurts out, “So do you know who I’m supposed to be with?”

Aphrodite tosses her long hair behind her shoulders and laughs—squeals actually. “If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.”

Annie grabs Aphrodite’s arm. “
Please?
Please tell me.”

“All right. You, Annie, are going to get married
when you’re twenty-six. And you’re going to be so happy—a soul-mate match. Zeus help me, I love those.”

“Who?” Annie asks. “Do I know him?”

I know Annie is hoping it’s Ryan, the goalie on the guys’ soccer team. She’s been crushing on him since eighth grade.

“In fact, you do.”

Annie smiles.

Then Aphrodite says, “It’s Henry Wu.”

My mouth drops open. “Henry-in-math-class Henry?”

Annie adds, “Henry-with-the-GPA-of-4.35, sure-to-be-valedictorian-and-going-to-Harvard Henry?”

“Beanpole Henry?” I add. Henry Wu is six feet three and, despite eating five hot dogs every day for lunch, can’t seem to gain an ounce—hasn’t since junior high. He’s just gotten taller. Aphrodite may be a goddess, but now I think she’s delusional.

Annie shakes her head. “He is most certainly
not
my soul mate.”

“Ah, but you can’t see what I see. Henry, dear Henry, will pack on forty pounds in college rowing crew for Harvard. Wait till you
see
his biceps. He will invent the next Facebook.”

“The
next
Facebook?” I ask.

“He’ll be worth billions. Zillions.”

“Henry Wu?” I ask incredulously.

“Yes. Henry Wu. But see the inner, my darlings. Despite being worth zillions, it won’t change him. He’s deep-down good. The very best kind of good, right down to the core. He won’t become a player. And then he’ll donate to Annie’s foundation, the girl he’s carried a torch for since freshman year of high school. And the rest, my little lovebirds, is all a matter of the heart.”

“My foundation?” Annie asks. “What foundation?”

“The one you’re going to establish. Teaching soccer to inner-city kids. Henry is going to fund the entire thing in eight years. He’ll purchase land for you upstate to build a summer camp. Trust me. Henry Wu is a dreamboat in disguise. You just need to look a little closer. Pay attention to what really counts.”

Annie looks stunned. But I have more important matters to discuss than Henry Wu. “What about Sebastian?”

“Ah, yes.” Aphrodite’s face grows serious. “The path from Annie to Henry Wu, while unlikely, is a simple one compared to yours. Tell me about how you
feel
when you see him.”

My face flushes. It’s so stupid. He’s a
dream
. But I tell her anyway. “I had never actually seen him until the last two dreams. I’d just heard him. I’ve been hearing him for as long as I can remember. This voice. He would call for me to find him. Or sometimes, when I was having a nightmare, he would whisper to me not to be scared. I would hear that voice, and I would feel safe somehow. And even though I never saw him, I just knew deep down that the voice I heard was somehow . . .” I trail off.

“Your destiny,” Aphrodite finishes.

“Yeah. Crazy, huh?”

“Not at all.”

“And then, just a few days ago, I saw him.”

“He’s beautiful.”

I nod.

“He loves you, Iris. He’s been hiding in your dreams for a long time. He knows you. Knows what you’re afraid of . . . your nightmares. Knows your hopes and dreams. It’s an intimate place, the world of dreams. Dreams are unique to each dreamer. Sure, some dreams are universal—ever have the one where your teeth fall out? Or the one where you’re falling?”

Annie and I both nod.

“I hate the teeth one,” Annie says.

“But,” Aphrodite continues, “each dreamer’s dreams have symbols and clues uniquely theirs.”

When I think about it, Sebastian knowing my dreams feels very strange—I feel exposed, almost like I’m naked. He knows so much about me, yet I know nothing about him.

“So you are two young lovers who need to find a way to be together,” Aphrodite says.

“I guess. I don’t really know him, but I . . . I want to. He said he wanted to come with me. Back here. But I don’t know how that’s possible. I’m . . . you know . . . human. Um, half human. And he’s . . . a dream. Immortal.”

“The passage back is crossing the River of Sorrows. Epiales and his realm—it’s a vast, almost endless room of nightmares. What are your nightmares, Iris? What are you afraid of?”

“That’s easy,” I say, holding up my hand and counting off my top-five things to fear. “One, clowns.”

“Clowns?” Annie asks. “Really?”

I shrug. “They freak me out.”

“White paint, red noses, balloon animals.” Annie shakes her head. “Terrifying.” She rolls her eyes. “All right, keep going.”

“Cockroaches. Spiders. The dark—I sleep with a light on,” I say. “And rats.”

Aphrodite looks at me intently. “Iris, those aren’t nightmares.”

“They are. I mean, those are the things I’m afraid of.”

“No. For the god of nightmares, they’re nothing. Nightmares, the worst of nightmares, are things you cannot even imagine. And why can’t you imagine them right now? Because your mind just doesn’t go there. Those are the things Epiales will use against you. The unspoken fears. The things you won’t even
breathe
because they’re just too horrible.”

“Like in horror movies?” I ask. “Serial killers and all that?”

Aphrodite shakes her head. “Boogeymen are terrifying. That’s what a horror movie is, after all. Replacing that childhood fear of what’s hiding underneath the bed or in the closet with some awful imagining of it. But really? It doesn’t take much imagination to invent a slasher film. They’re not terribly clever.”

“I hate them,” Annie says.

“Take a woman and destroy her in the most sadistic way possible. Invent new ways to do it. Saws and machetes and . . .” Aphrodite shudders. “That’s
entertainment
? Why are we entertained
by that? Why should we appeal to the basest and ugliest of human nature? They’re scary, but they’re born of humans. No, Epiales will search deeper, deep inside your dreams for what you love. And he’ll then try to take that away.” She lowers her voice to a whisper. “I don’t even want to give voice to how. I don’t want to plant any ideas in your head, nothing for you to take
to
the Underworld in your dreams. But in order for Sebastian to come here, the two of you would have to pass through that realm of darkness, of the things you can’t speak of.”

I think of my nightmares. The really horrible ones of being chased by something, or the ones about being locked in a tiny, dark room. With rats. I exhale to calm myself.

“But aren’t the gods supposed to be above this?” Annie asks. “They’re gods, after all, not mortals with weaknesses like ours.”

“Epiales may be a god,” Aphrodite says, “but he’s a jealous, angry god. The worst kind!”

“What is he jealous of?” I ask. That word again. Jealous. Why would anyone be jealous of
me
?

“Your humanity. Think of it, darling. He’s the god of nightmares, living since the dawn of time in the ugliest part of the Underworld, on the far shores of Oceanus, in a place near eternal Night. He haunts
people, playing with them like a cat toying with a mouse. But you have power, too, Iris.”

If I have power, I’m not sure what it is. I certainly don’t feel as though I’m in control here.

“
Own
your power. You are half goddess. You’re stronger than you realize. And you have humanity—humanity is powerful. You have love—your mother, your grandfather, Annie . . . you have things you’re not afraid to fight for. Use that. And any time you are really afraid, remember,
It’s only a dream
.”

“I know, but lately, my dreams follow me here.” I think back to the attack on Grandpa and me. My bruise certainly feels real enough.

“Yes, I’m not surprised. But the gods are less powerful here. When we take human form, we can bleed. Gods can’t defy physics in the mortal realm. At least not totally. You can defeat him.”

“But if you saw how strong Epiales is . . .”

Aphrodite pats my hand. “You’re strong, too. Koios will help you.”