Aphrodite's War (26 page)

For the first time since leaving Eden she had truly lived. Maybe
humankind, with their brief duration on Earth, realized something her
kind did not: the pure joy of existing. The thought that she would never
learn that lesson grieved her.

“Are we there yet?” Although Ares could hear her thoughts, she
loathed sharing them. Speaking aloud gave her the illusion that perhaps
the sound of her morose voice could hide them. False optimism, but a
small comfort.

Almost. Ares grinned. Never a good sign. Mayhem went hand-in-hand
with Ares’ good humor. The door to the lab is here. He gestured to the
left.

The jiggle of a doorknob interrupted the drone of Strife’s footfalls. A
dark-skinned man wearing a white jacket matching hers poked his head
out from the doorway Ares had pointed out. His pocket tagged him as Dr.
Mehra. She thought she had been quiet enough to avoid arousing
awareness.

“Hello?” In that instant he reminded Strife of how Ranjan might
mature twenty years from now, with a slight paunch and double chin.
Bifocals perched on a generous nose. She smiled.

“No one else is supposed to be in this area,” he said, sliding his
glasses up. “Are you lost?”

“Yes. I, uh…” Strife lost his attention.
He stared at Ares with his mouth agape.

“My God.” His hoarse whisper filled the vacant hall. Incredulity and
wonder transformed his face from tired doctor to fascinated child. The
scent of turmeric and curry wafted from his skin.

Ares eyed him with malice. “Guess again.”
CHAPTER FORTY
“Poetry.”
She raised her aching head at the call of her name. She must be
hearing things, that sounded like Adrian.
Demonic eyes peered through the pitch. She gauged the approaching
monster at three meters tall. Or maybe it flew. She heard no footsteps.

Maybe Hugh decided not to keep her after all. Maybe he’d sent some
hell-spawned minion to finish her off. The idea almost made her laugh.
Now she’d started thinking crazy.

She no longer cared. Her bloodied hands were cramped from tapping
rocks into unyielding links for hours.

Death would be preferable to rotting in a dank cave, wasting away
from hunger and thirst. Or worse, submitting to Hugh’s warped idea of
worship. Whatever that was. She’d rather go out kicking and screaming
than find out.

She lobbed a stone at the creature, and hit a random stalactite. She
heard it crumble several meters away.
“Poetry?”

She mustered the fortitude to stand. This thing wasn’t going to take
her quietly. Her chains rasped along the ground, stirring up dust. She
sneezed, spitting mucus and dirt.

“Poetry, say something. Is that you?”
The orbs brightened, burning her light-deprived eyes.

Must be the mother of all flying vermin. Even through her dizziness,
she watched the lights hover and land. Subtle flapping preceded the steps
she’d expected earlier.

Poetry swallowed painfully. She presented her shaking fists, weaving
like a drunken boxer. She had no fear. She just wanted to get this over
with.

“Poetry, it’s me. Adrian.”
It advanced, and the surrounding radiance became tolerable as her
sight adjusted.
Her brow twitched. Since when do mythological beasts wear ties?
With gold sandals, helmet and a mask? Wielding a battleaxe.
Worst. Super-villain costume. Ever.
A cough interrupted her thoughts and the faceplate rose to expose
human features.

“Adrian?” She didn’t recognize the pathetic croak from her mouth,
but she’d know that intense gaze anywhere. Her eyes stung with unshed
tears. “Is it really you?”

His grin empowered her to lift her arms. Adrian tossed the weapon
aside and leapt into her clutches, squeezing her until she couldn’t
breathe.

He’s here. He’s right here holding me. He came for me.
“You found me.” Every word gnawed at her throat. “How did you
ever find me?”

Adrian held her at arms length and cupped her chin. His eyes sparkled
with happiness and relief. She fought the urge to pinch herself, despite
the damp softness of his shirt beneath her palms. Could this be real?

“Divine intervention,” he said, and folded her into his embrace once
more. “Lucky me.”

In the intimate silence Poetry bathed in Adrian’s love, and she
understood it was love. She went weak with the tenderness of his kiss,
the warmth of his affection. She buried her nose in his fresh musk.

All the terror of her ordeal faded. Even her shackles felt feather light.
But not for long.
“Adrian?” She pulled away and intertwined her fingers with his. “Can
you get me out of here?”

He glanced to her wrists as if noticing her chains for the first time.
“Oh. Yeah.” Adrian let go and retrieved the blade. “The best way to
break bindings from a forge-god is with a forge-god’s weapon.”

She gave him plenty of room, shielding her face from sparks as
Adrian cleaved into steel.
“Watch the hands,” she said. “I kind of need those.”
She shrugged her ears into her collarbone, flinching with every
ringing blow until he freed both arms.

Adrian gestured with the remains of the tool. “We can probably
remove those cuffs when we get home.” He inspected the ruined metal
chunks clinging to the handle. They resembled shards of broken glass.
He cast them aside.

Poetry had so many questions. “What do you mean ‘forge-god’?
Where is Hugh?” She took in Adrian’s blood drenched get-up, with gold
on his head and feet. “What the hell are you wearing?”

“Where do I begin?” He left her field of vision, but she heard stones
banging together as he rummaged. “Today has been interesting. Your ex
trashed my Bentley. I bought you a bouquet of roses, but someone killed
Hermes.” His shuffling ceased with the yip of a zipper. “I met a goddess
who says you and I are part of some game she has going with another
god and-Hey, look what I found.”

Adrian returned, up to his elbows in a duffle.

“Is that water?” Poetry asked. She slid her sandpaper tongue over the
dry cracks and flakes on her lips. To think, sustenance sat only meters
away all this time. Hugh was a bastard.

Adrian opened the bottle and she snatched it from his fingers. Cool
rivers bathed her cheeks. She gulped greedily, drenching her parched
gullet. Clarity returned with hydration.

Kevin wrecked Adrian’s car. Jerk. Poetry felt terrible, as if she
brought it upon Adrian herself. And who was Hermes?

“I don’t understand,” she said, wiping away spills with the remnants
of her dress. “You’ve been talking to gods? About us?” Had she heard
correctly? Or was her mind playing tricks on her?

He handed her a Granny Smith apple, and she rolled her eyes in
pleasure with the first bite. Normally she didn’t care for its sharpness, but
right now it tasted like the crisp outdoors she’d thought she’d never see
again.

“Aphrodite, yeah. And Freya. Amir told us Hephaestus took you, and
Aphrodite said…”

“Amir told you Hugh is a god named Hephaestus?”
“Actually, he told Freya. She speaks cat.”
“Really…” A deity Dr. Dolittle. Why not?
“Weird, huh?”

“Let me guess,” Poetry chewed slowly, trying to process Adrian’s
bizarre tale. “It’s going to get weirder, isn’t it?”
Trepidation spread across Adrian’s face. “Ares has been causing the
riots and bombings. Aphrodite and Freya are going to confront him.”

He wasn’t joking. Had Adrian lost his sanity while she’d been gone?
Maybe this was just an elaborate hallucination her overwrought brain
dreamed up, complete with sensory details and legends from ancient
Greece and Scandinavia.

“I had no idea how to find you. But I did, thanks to this necklace.” He
lifted it with a thumb and the glimmer played along cave walls. “I only
had to think of you.” Adrian leaned forward and planted a gentle kiss that
stung her abused mouth.

That didn’t feel like her imagination.
Adrian made a shoulder check before taking her hand. “You ready to
leave?”

Poetry took her first uncertain steps from her prison. Pebbles, cold
and pointy, poked the soles of her bare feet. Small price to pay for liberty.
She was weak but determined to walk.

“Let me.” Adrian placed her arm over his back, trying to carry her.
“No,” she said, taking his hand. “I need to leave on my own.” Then
she could believe this rescue for herself. Only then would this be reality.

After about fifteen minutes of hesitant inching, a worrisome thought
occurred to her. “Where is Hugh? I mean, Hephaestus? Did you…” She
didn’t want to ask, but the blood on Adrian’s shirt begged the question.
“Did you kill him?”

Poetry sensed weary tension in Adrian’s taut muscles.
“God, I hope so.”

No sooner had the words left his lips, than they heard an unearthly
roar. Startled bats swooped and dove over their heads.

Poetry peered through the gloom to see the starry sky.
And the hulking shadow that barred their exit.
“Shit.” Adrian’s grip grew clammy. “Asshole won’t stay dead.”

The beast she’d once called friend stomped toward them, his
unbalanced tread thudding throughout the cavern. He panted like a
vicious dog.

“What do I do?” Poetry stole a glance at Adrian. He’d gone white and
shook as though he would come apart. Sweat spotted his nose and chin.
“I already killed him once.” His resignation and hopelessness frightened
her more than Hephaestus’ approach.

She smelled fresh mountain air, so close. They’d almost made it. But
weaponless and exhausted, they were easy pickings.
Poetry resented it. To just die like sitting ducks after everything she’d
endured, after Adrian’s victory in the name of love. It wasn’t fair.
The god’s gore-encrusted face materialized like a butchered jack o’
lantern.

Gathering her courage, Poetry pried her fingers from Adrian’s. She
wanted payback before checking out. She surged ahead to deliver a final
act of defiance.

A satisfying thud filled her ears as her foot connected with
Hephaestus’ testicles. It halted him in mid-charge, and he hit the ground
with a moan. Apparently immortals had vulnerabilities too.

“Ohh…” Adrian’s hands shielded his groin. She gawped in
amazement. She didn’t think that would work.
“That’s for kidnapping me, you prick.”

Hephaestus curled into a fetal position. Poetry prepared to boot his
unprotected back, but Adrian dragged her toward freedom. “He’s down.
We gotta go. Now.”

He hoisted her legs around his hips. She buried her head in his back
and held tight.
With a flurry of wing beats they swam to meet the clouds.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

“Was that necessary?” Strife choked down tears and regurgitated
turmeric, thinking of the poor man who had the misfortune of having his
head roasted at Ares’ touch. She could still smell the acrid odor of
charred flesh and hair.

He could see me.
As if that alone justified his actions. But that was Ares; eye contact
with the almighty war-god meant death.

Are you just going to stand there sniveling? He admired a contraption
of metal, bolts, and wires enclosed in a plexiglass room. Or must I do
everything myself?

Strife would prefer the latter, but it was a rhetorical question.
Disobedience was not an option.
“What is your bidding, Master?”

Flip the switch. He pointed to the control panel on the wall. It housed
a large red handle, presumably for powering the isotope processing
apparatus.

Ares sounded so casual. Never mind that thousands of humans would
die by those words. Strife remembered when his impudent remarks
would cause her to squirm with glee. She once loved mayhem. Now it
tortured her heart.

Strife shuffled to the other side of the sterile room and yanked the
lever down. The lights flickered. No going back now. This was her lot in
life. Her existence.

The mechanical cylinder, the cyclotron, spun into action. The hum
rapidly built to a crescendo. It exuded tremendous energy for such a
small engine. No wonder they kept it enclosed.

“I fail to understand how this will accomplish your objective,” she
said, sauntering her way to the computer in a very sloth-like manner.
“Despite its power, it is rather puny.”

Ares smiled, a sight that made her nerves tingle with fear.
Have you heard the term ‘dirty bomb’ Strife? This is merely another
instrument of jihad.
“But why here? Extremists do not war against Canada. It is the
Americans they hate.”

It is time they united with their allies in war. This city is ripe with
ethnicity. As we speak, tourists from all over the world are visiting
Earth’s largest retail establishment, complete with amusement park and
waterslides. Ares winked. Strife’s insides rolled with awful realization.
This may as well have been her idea.

Thank you for the inspiration, even though your water-tampering
potions are wearing off. Tonight we attack on a larger scale. This act of
aggression will eclipse 9/11. Watch and learn.

He raised his arms and lightning crackled from his hands. The jagged
strings of fire seeped into the plexiglass, leaving melted pock marks as
they engulfed the machine inside.

Strife did not think it possible, but the cylinder rolled even faster and
whined at a higher pitch that pained her ears. The noise and vibration
rattled her teeth. Metal went from silver to black to sunset orange. The
heat warmed her skin like an impending sunburn.

Strife, monitor the current velocity. Ares dropped his stance and
peered warily around the room. We have guests.
She experienced it as well, the influx of new power.

It was the tell-tale sign, an inside hurricane, stealing the breath from
her lungs. Papers flew in all directions; staplers, pens, and various office
supplies clattered and tumbled to the floor.

Aphrodite materialized across from Ares. Her magnificence bathed
the lab in the color of sunrise.

She was not alone. An abnormally tall woman joined her. She radiated
moonlight, creating an eerie silver contrast. She wore winter rabbit pelts
to match her braids and carried a heavy-looking sword.

Strife had never met a Norse deity before, but she had no doubts
about her identity. That intense, passionate potency could only belong to
the lust and fertility goddess, Freya.