Aphrodite's War (23 page)

Aphrodite’s tormented glare, filled with grief and hatred, compelled
the larger woman to withdraw a step. Something passed between them
for long seconds as the deities spoke with their eyes. The wind resumed
its mournful keening, rain continued to pound at the window.
Freya ducked her head. “I am truly sorry.”

Aphrodite ignored her adversary’s token sympathy and set her sights
on Adrian. Once again she became the heartbroken mother who’d
emerged from the television and into his life.

“These belonged to Hermes.” Her sorrow formed a lump in Adrian’s
chest. “When he was our young messenger, before he peddled flowers,
he wore these to bring our word to mortals and to steal prized artifacts.”

She stroked each sole in turn and the anxious flapping ceased. The
magick pair drooped, nearly passing for ordinary footwear.
“They remember Hephaestus and will help you find him. They are
faster than a car, but not as quick as a jet.”
Aphrodite dropped the shoes, and they strolled to him of their own
accord.
“Hey!” Adrian almost tripped as the sandals wrestled themselves onto
his feet and strapped in.
A shining hat appeared in Aphrodite’s other hand. It also bore
feathered accents. Adrian recognized it from a florist’s logo.
“Mercury’s helmet,” he said.

“That was his Roman name, yes.” Aphrodite placed the ornamental
headgear firmly on Adrian’s skull. It felt snug and confining, but he was
grateful to have it. Better than nothing.

“I have said the sandals are not as quick as a jet. That does not mean
you will not need protection. This will shield you from the elements.”
Freya eyed him with humor and approval. “Not the ideal uniform,”
she said. “But it will do. It is courage that counts.”

Adrian tried to picture himself; rumpled shirt, skewed tie, and a
hodge-podge of enchanted gear. Perfect costume for a Bruce Campbell
movie. Lucky him.

“I feel like a goof.” He took a deep stabilizing breath. “Doesn’t
matter.” He set his shoulders and corrected his posture. “Now. Where do
we go from here? What happens next?”

Aphrodite looked uncomfortable. Thunder rolled from a distance but
the rain slowed to a patter. Freya’s face grew somber, as though she knew
something unpleasant.

“I cannot go with you,” Aphrodite said, her gaze dropping to the floor.
“What?” Adrian asked, his resolve fading. “Why not?”

“I understand now that Strife killed Hermes, but not Poetry. Knowing
the apple monger and Ares this means they have a more sinister agenda,
one that does not involve our game.”

“Like what?”
“Ares is the god of war, Strife sows discord wherever she treads. She
poisons the minds of the masses and incites violent civil upheavals.”

Adrian’s gut twisted for the umpteenth time that day. Pieces of the
puzzle crammed into place in his brain. The riots, the explosions…As
hard as it was for him to believe, Aphrodite’s theories made sense of the
chaos in the last two weeks.

“I won. You love Poetry.” Aphrodite didn’t look victorious. “But it
means nothing if Ares conquers this world. He will not stop at North
America. He will crush your democracies and divide the races. Disband
the United Nations and strike indiscriminately at the rest of the planet.
He will become too mighty to stop and Earth will suffer in war.”

Weariness etched lines in Aphrodite’s face, leeching away her
loveliness. Behind her, Freya also paled.

“I have been a fool.” The love goddess shook her golden curls. “And
my son paid with his life.” When she looked upon Adrian, her green eyes
shone liquid angst. “It is my fault, and I must make amends.”

Adrian accepted her refusal, but choked on his dread. “Freya?”
The Norse titan sighed. “I like you, New Worlder, but I will not join
you.” She blessed him with a smile that would melt ice. “This is your
hero’s quest. You will succeed, or die trying.” She shrugged,
unconcerned. “If you and your lover die, it is of no consequence.”

Freya tilted her hand like a scale. “However, a victory for Ares would
mean a dangerous shift of power for all of our kind and the mortals who
feed our strength.” Her lips curled in an imitation of camaraderie.
“Aphrodite will need my help.”

Judging from the shocked ‘o’ of Aphrodite’s mouth, she hadn’t
foreseen the offer.
“You would help me?”

“I understand vengeance. My brethren and I have as much to lose as
yours. Unless you do not wish for my assistance?” Her tone was coy.
Only Amir’s contented purr disturbed the quiet. Another staring contest
ensued.

“I accept.”
Adrian sucked in oxygen. He really didn’t want to know what would
happen if a fight broke out between these two.
“Adrian.” Aphrodite pointed to his shoes, and they buzzed with life.
He felt light on his feet, almost airborne. “It is time for you to go.”
Amir streaked forward and bit Adrian’s toe. The mischievous kitten
blinked up at him.
“Ow, dammit.” Adrian rubbed his smarting foot. “Stop doing that.”
Amir mewed a song. Adrian straightened and looked askance at
Freya.
“What did he say?”
Freya chuckled. “He says he shall stop biting your tasty feet if you
bring his mommy home.”

Adrian sighed. “I’ll do my best, buddy.” The promise felt hollow. He
didn’t know what frightened him more, challenging a god alone or war
on a global scale. Either way, his chances of survival were slim.

“Enough,” Aphrodite said. “Time to go, Adrian. May the Energy be
with you.”

The bedroom window opened to the cleansing after scents of a rain.
Adrian crunched into a ball as the animated sandals propelled him
through the screen and into the damp dusk.

# # #
“Adrian, Adrian.” The mocking sneer floated to Poetry across the inky
black. She still couldn’t see. “What could he do for you that I could not?”

Poetry snuffled and tried to pull herself together. She attempted to
wipe her eyes but the weight of shackles on her wrists made the motion
arduous. She struggled to her feet to greet her visitor. She recognized that
voice.

“Hugh? Where are you? Why did you do this to me?”

The quiet continued for so long Poetry wondered if the taunt was a
figment of her imagination. She only heard the laughing trickle of dirty
smelling water and the incessant squeaking of hundreds of bats.

She heard a click and a single beam of light pierced the absolute
darkness so abruptly Poetry winced at the stab of pain in her temples.
“I’ve done everything for you,” Hugh said. Why was he angry? “You
horde my favors.”

Poetry waited for her vision to adjust to the unpleasant surroundings.
Not much to see but the shine of rocks and beady red eyes everywhere
she looked. “I thought we were friends.”

“Friends?” Hugh’s grim laughter rang hollow through the cave.
“Friendship is reciprocity. What have you ever offered me?”
His footfalls grew louder. Rank body odor drifted to Poetry’s
twitching nostrils despite the mucus clogging them. Hugh smelled ripe.

Once her eyes adjusted, Poetry stole a glance at her jailer. A sheen of
sweat covered Hugh’s face and head like glitter, but there was no beauty
in that visage. His pupils and irises darkened with resentment. The whites
glowed in the flashlight’s beam.

“Human females are so entitled. Always expecting something for
nothing.”
Poetry shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

“I gave you my time, my expertise. I mentored you,” Hugh said,
bucking his head like an angry bull. “In your moment of need I gave you
shelter.”

“But I thought…” I thought he cared about me.
She rubbed the gooseflesh on her arms, adrenaline sharpening her
senses and tensing her muscles.

What was it about her that attracted crazies? Poetry hadn’t missed
how Hugh referred to her as a ‘human’, and when she peered into Hugh’s
face, she didn’t recognize him. Hugh was gone, leaving some bitter nutjob in his place.

“I loved you,” Hugh said. “I tried to make you want me. I resorted to
magicks.”
Poetry struggled against the chains. She really didn’t like the direction
of this conversation.
“But you gave the gems away to this…” Hugh’s lips tightened.
“Adrian. They were meant to be worn by you, not him.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. How was she supposed to know? But she’d say
almost anything to get out of this infested mushroom farm. “I thought
you gave them to me to use any way I…”

“Shut up!” He closed the gap between them, shouting her down.
“When will you stupid mortals learn that everything comes with a price?
Did you think I gifted them to you just so you could throw them at
another?”

He gripped her jaw, forcing her to stare into his deep pools of
madness. His fingers pinched her flesh and bruised her gums. His breath
reeked like old meat. When Hugh spoke again his sinister hissing
weakened Poetry’s knees.

“There are other ways I could have you.” Now Poetry understood the
real threat behind his words, his true intentions. Still clutching her chin,
he set the flashlight on the ground. The gleam resembled moonlight on a
lake in Poetry’s watering vision.

He cupped one her breasts, brushing a thumb over the cold-sharpened
nipple. Poetry tried to wriggle free but Hugh covered her mouth with his,
sliding his pasty tongue past her teeth.

She resisted the kiss, pushing both hands against his naked chest
while trying to wrench her face away. If he didn’t let her go, she’d puke.
She slapped him across the cheek as hard as her chains allowed and
he shoved her backward.
His brutal retaliation sent her to the ground. Her ears rang from the
blow.
“Bitch.” In the shadows, Poetry saw Hugh rubbing at the red handprint
she left. Building rage clouded his features.

“You will learn gratitude, little whore,” he said with a growl. “By the
time I am finished with you, you’ll beg to suck my cock for a sip of
water.”

Poetry said nothing as he retrieved the only illumination and stomped
away. She listened to his withdrawal until she knew she was alone. Her
head throbbed and her body ached, but the physical pain meant nothing
in comparison to her lost hope.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Sarah threw back her head and laughed for the first time in what felt
like years. Her face hurt from smiling. She savored the wind drifting in
through the car’s open windows, letting it scatter her hair.

She’d enjoyed herself immensely with Ranjan. She brushed away
strands to gaze at his cuteness as he drove. He’d been sweet enough to
invite her to dinner at his parent’s house. What a noisy, silly, and heartwarming experience.

“They can be a real handful,” he said. “Sorry about my nephews.
They’re both really friendly and curious. Especially little Hammad.”

Sarah remembered how the chubby toddler had crawled into her lap,
grinned at her with his brown saucer-eyes wide, and squeezed one of her
breasts.

“They’re adorable.” She recalled their boisterous shouts. “Honestly.
Your sister and her family are wonderful.”
Ranjan’s face split with love and pride, exposing flawless teeth.
“Yeah, they’re a loud bunch but I’m crazy about them.”

“Do you have other brothers and sisters?” she asked. “Or just Nadia?”
Even as the question left her lips, Sarah experienced a pang of confusion.
She’d asked about Ranjan’s siblings. Her face tightened and for a
moment she wondered why she cared.

“My older brother, Pulak, lives in Calgary,” Ranjan was saying,
distracting her from her confusion. “He’s an engineer and has two boys
as well. Hopefully you’ll get to meet him one of these days.”

“I’d like that.”

Sarah let her misgivings ride and stretched like a cat. It wasn’t quite
dusk, but the city twinkled with life. The breeze smelled of dust and
petunias. The temperature had dropped to a comfortable level. It was a
gorgeous summer night and she didn’t want it to end.

She licked her lips, tasting curry once again.

“Your mother is a fantastic cook. I can’t remember the last time I had
Indian food.” Sarah pictured the robust woman in the blue sari with a
charming smile and thick accent, piling food on her plate and imploring
her to eat. Sarah developed an instant bond with her.

“You enjoyed it?”
“Loved it. What was that dip again? With the chillies?”

“Dal Nawabi. With Naan. I swear she makes the best flatbread this
side of the world. And her coconut rice…” His obnoxious smacking
sounds made Sarah giggle.

“I could get used to that,” she said, and let the implication hang. She
glanced over to see Ranjan’s mouth turn up. A comfortable silence
passed. Nothing disturbed it but the hush of vehicles driving by and the
drone of rubber on pavement.

“Listen, Sarah,” He finally broke the silence. “Do you have anything
planned for tonight?”

“I hadn’t thought about it,” she said, but Sarah had a nagging feeling.
I’m forgetting something.

After a short pause she dismissed the idea. If it was important, it
would come to her.

“I live across from the University campus. Would you like to see the
house, do some research?” He wiped a hand down his mouth. “I mean,
you said you’re good at chemistry, right? Maybe you’d like to look into
attending?”

He’d mentioned that earlier, and she found herself warming to the
subject.
“That sounds like a great plan.”
Ranjan took a ramp off the freeway marked 112 Street. “Great. We’re
almost there.”

Sarah stuck her hand out the window to let summer air flow through
her splayed fingers. The clanging of the LRT crossing faded as they sped
away. Picture-perfect houses with immaculate yards whizzed past, and
Sarah daydreamed of a future.

One that involved an education in a green city, a career, and a
handsome Indian man.
# # #
“Here we are,” Ranjan said, welcoming Sarah inside with a flourish.
“This is home.”

Like many of the properties on the street, this one had been updated
with new siding and old-fashioned embellishments such as woodworked
arches and restored windows.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, taking in the tasteful décor as she perched on
the sofa. Not what she expected from a man. She’d anticipated a sloppier
environment, a bachelor pad full of dirty laundry and empty beer cans. “I
love what you did with it. Is the hardwood floor original?”