Deer in Headlights (Hearts and Arrows 1) (Good god series) (2 page)

A solitary eyebrow inched up Perry’s forehead. “Your lust for meat never ceases to amaze me.”

“Don’t judge, cupcake whore,” Dita said around a mouthful of bacon, nodding to the pile of cupcakes in front of Perry.
 

Bisoux trotted across the counter and sat expectantly in front of Dita. She handed him a strip of bacon, and he laid it down, holding it with his fuzzy paw to tear a piece off. He ran on ambrosia, and bacon flavor was his favorite.

“Morning, losers.” Ares swaggered in and snatched a piece of bacon from Dita’s plate, winking at her as he walked around the bar. Bisoux bared his tiny teeth and wrinkled his nose as a growl rumbled through him.
 

Dita wondered what she’d ever seen in him as her eyes scanned his dark, heavy brow and his deep blue, brooding eyes. His Pantera t-shirt was stretched tight across his broad chest, and she lingered for a moment where his jeans hung low on his hips.
 

Oh, right.
He was a demon in the sack.
 

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Hephaestus tense. Every meal was like an awkward Thanksgiving dinner when the three of them were in the room together.

“Well, hello, Heff.” Ares leaned onto the counter across from Hephaestus with a hot-shot smile plastered all over his jerk face. “I think it’s about time to pay the piper, don’t you?” He tossed the bacon into his mouth.

“The game isn’t over yet, douchebag. The alarm hasn’t sounded.” Heff gestured to the alarm that stood in the corner of the room. White-hot lava rolled around in the glass column of the device as it had since their competition began.
 

The gods were eternally bored and constantly bickering, so Zeus came up with a game to apply their antagonism to something constructive. They had been playing for thousands on thousands of years, one god against another, using humans as their game pieces. Heff and Ares had been going at it since the seventies when Heff chose Apple and Ares picked Microsoft.

“Listen, genius,” Ares said. “There’s no way that Apple can win now that Jobs isn’t in the picture.”

“Too soon, man.” Heff took a bite of egg, grimaced, then put his fork down.
 

Dita couldn’t understand how Heff could find anything Ares said shocking after living with the asshole for thousands of years. She popped another piece of bacon into her mouth as she watched.

“Just give it up. My guy won, and this challenge has been going on too long. Jobs is gone. Pay up.”

Apollo didn’t look up from the horoscope section of the newspaper as he butted in. “It’s true, Heff. You should call it now and save yourself the trouble of dragging it out. Trust me. They don’t call me the Oracle of Amazing Awesomeness for nothing.” Apollo rarely lied, and his visions of the future were generally bang on.

“No one calls you that,” Artemis, Apollo’s twin sister, said matter-of-factly and stuck a spoonful of Cheerios into her mouth.

Apollo pouted as he uncrossed and recrossed his legs, shaking his newspaper out with a snap.
 

Heff reluctantly stretched out his leg and reached into his jeans pocket. He pulled out his fist and extended his hand, uncurling his fingers to reveal a glass orb the size of a ping pong ball with white magma churning inside. Heff tossed his token across the bar to Ares. “Here you go. Don’t spend it all in one place.”
 

Ares grabbed it mid-air, looking all too satisfied with himself as the alarm in the corner disappeared. Their game was over.

“Who’s on deck next?” Ares loved a good competition, preferably of the unfriendly variety.

Hermes reached into his back pocket and pulled out his iPhone. “Hang on. I have an app for that.”

“Traitor,” murmured Ares.

“Looks like Dita’s up, and no one has beaten her in … 3,127 years.” Hermes raised his eyebrows at Dita.
 

Dita gave a smug grin. She never lost. Ever.

The last of the Olympians straggled in and took seats at either the bar or the enormous table, sensing the beginning of a new competition. Zeus even put down his paper, though he still looked spectacularly bored. Vain Hera side-eyed the room as she fiddled with her curlers, hastily pulling them from her golden hair while attempting to look nonchalant.
 

Hermes, ever the showman, stood up and walked around the kitchen, his long legs pacing him through the crowd in his Converse, his eyes twinkling in his long face.

“All right, gang, we’re going old school rules, as usual. I’ll go ahead and restate them for Zeus, since we all know how he loves the law.” He smiled at Zeus, who glared at him from across the room.

“Aphrodite will go toe-to-toe in a battle of wits against each of the twelve Olympians, starting with Apollo. Dita and her opponent will each choose a human player, and she’ll have to get them together before the clock runs out in four human weeks. Apollo’s task, and a mighty one at that, will be to keep the humans apart.

“The winner will receive a token from the loser, which will grant them any favor, a favor that cannot be refused.”
 

Whistles and shouts rose from the crowd, and Hermes held up a hand to quiet them. “Settle down, folks. We all know how valuable these little babies are.” He rolled his wrist in a flourish, and a glass orb appeared between his thumb and forefinger.

“Now, since the only way to win this glorious little favor is through the competitions, it’s only fair that a token should be played if you want another god to help you. Otherwise, you’re on your own. One of the only times a favor can be refused, other than if a previous oath is in place, is if you’re trying to cash it in to win a competition. For instance, if you asked me to help you, I would politely request that you sod off, because the last thing I want to do is help any of you assholes acquire another token.”

A chuckle rolled through the crowd. Hermes had been slain in his last competition and was still pouting.
 

“All right, let’s talk about our humans, shall we? Our players need to stay alive, so no gods may kill, maim, inflict disease, or impose any other permanent physical or mental damage on either of them. And, to keep the game fair, neither human can be interfered with directly. This includes, but is not limited to, possession, embodiment, or direct communication. All other humans are fair game.”
 

A device appeared on the bar, summoned by Heff. A small replica of Dita stood on a seashell in a pool of water, golden hair waving behind her. Waves lapped a small beach ringing the platform where her likeness stood, and tiny mechanical doves flew around her. The iridescent water seemed all colors and none.

Dita pushed her chair back and stepped over to the statue. When she ran her finger through the sand, the doves flew to where she had touched the display and pecked around for a moment before taking wing again. She turned to Heff, beaming.
 

“It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

He smiled down at his breakfast and pushed his eggs around his plate. “You’re welcome.”

She ran her hand across his shoulders as she walked past him and sat down, turning her attention back to Hermes.

Hermes sauntered over to the alarm and gestured to the statue. “You all know what this is,” he said, “though to avoid any legal issues through the course of the competition, let it be stated, for the record.
 

“This statue is the alarm for the contest. The water will change color, based upon the outcome. If you cheat, the water will turn orange. Green means the couple has chosen to be together. If they’re separated irreparably, the water will turn red, and if the timer runs out, the water will turn black. Once the contest is over, that’s it. No take-backs if the couple gets together or breaks up once the alarm has gone off.”

Turning to the crowd, Hermes asked, “Apollo, since we’re going alphabetically, you’re up first. Are you willing to play?”

“Absolutely.”
 

Dita swung out of her chair, coffee in hand, and strutted up to Apollo. She slapped him on the shoulder with a cheery smile. “Game on. You think you can win this time?”

The sadness that lined his face surprised her as he looked up at her and said, “Gods, I hope so.”

Apollo had been given a few hours to choose his player, and he had to choose wisely. The chance was rare to compete with Dita for a token, and it was a chance he had to take full advantage of. It was the only way Dita would give Daphne back to him.

He chewed on his thumbnail as he paced his bright apartment, worrying over which human he should choose in an attempt to narrow down his list to some of his favorites. There were always a few who he felt tied to more than others, humans who shared his traits, his passions. They were the ones who he had the greatest influence on, and always creative types: musicians, artists, actors. The trick to competing with Dita was to find someone who was so damaged that they couldn’t possibly be fixed in twenty-eight days. Running down the clock was the best chance any of them had against her.

He stopped in front of his wall of windows and looked down into Central Park, considering his options. He could pick Joe, an artist who painted nudes. The guy could never keep it in his pants, since the opportunity was present all day, every day. He was too good-looking and had far too many naked models around for chastity. Joe could definitely be a formidable player, but if Dita found the right girl … well, anyone could change, for the right girl.
 

Daphne’s face flashed through his thoughts, and his heart lurched. He had to win, for both of them. It was the only way they could be free.

He took a breath, sat down on his low, white leather couch, and picked up a pad and pen. He listed the names of his potentials, then crossed out a few that would be too easy for Dita to beat. He had two left. Joe or Dean, the musician.

He stared at the list for a few minutes before deciding. It had to be Dean.
 

Apollo had watched Dean for years, guiding him to channel his pain into his music. To say Dean was jaded was the understatement of the century. He suffered emotional detachment the likes of which Apollo hadn’t seen in ages, and Apollo was sure Dean was the perfect player for the competition. Ace in the hole.
 

Hopefully.
 

It was the best he had, and he filled with optimism. He’d waited for the chance to get a token from Dita for so long, and there was no way he would let it go to waste.

Dita walked into the theater room that evening, and excitement rolled over her when the murmurs and chatter hit her. Perry popped her head over the back of a leather chair in the front row and waved. Dita made her way to the front of the room, greeting a few of her friends along the way before she sat next to Perry.

“Are you excited?” Perry asked.

“I’m ready. There are a handful of people who I think he might pick, and I’ve already got plans in motion for all of them.”

Perry shook her head. “Poor Apollo. He’s so predictable.”

“I know. He makes it really easy for me, though.”

“Even so, I still love competitions with him. He always picks the dreamiest players.”

“Apollo definitely has style, I’ll give him that. But you know with him and me, it’s never just about the game.”

A few gods cheered and whistled when Hermes walked to the front of the room and the lights dimmed.

“All right, all right. Settle down, everybody. Apollo, come on up.”

Apollo made his way to the front of the room, looking right sexy in tailored gray pants and navy oxfords. His cardigan sleeves were rolled up, the collar of his plaid button-down crisp, and his fedora sat on top of his blond hair like it had been made just for him, which, Dita figured, it probably had.
 

Thousand-year-old-feud or not, she couldn’t help but admire his fashion sense.
 

Hermes handed Apollo the remote, and Apollo pointed it at the ninety-inch screen as he mashed a few buttons.

The screen showed an image of a man sitting in a low, gray armchair, bent over his guitar with his fingers to the strings and a pencil gripped between his teeth. A black shock of hair fell into his face as he looked down at his guitar with quiet, green eyes. A glass of whiskey and a half empty bottle sat on the built-in bookshelves behind him that housed what looked like several hundred records.

“Ladies and gentlemen, meet Dean Monroe.”

Dean strummed his guitar, hearing the chords in his head before his fingers touched the strings. The words came to him, and he took the pencil from his mouth and jotted into his notebook that lay on the coffee table in front of him. His chest ached like it always did when he wrote, as if his heart thumped to life only during those moments.
 

A small knock rapped on the door of his apartment, and his brow quirked. He propped his guitar on the couch and walked to the door. When he opened it, he was surprised to find Jenny standing in the hallway with wild eyes, a wicked grin, and a bottle of whiskey.

Jenny had been at band practice every day for months, ever since she started dating Elliot, their drummer. She’d never given Dean a second glance, or at least not one that transmitted that she was into him, and he happily complied with her lack of interest. The band had gone through a string of drummers, each one gone after their girlfriends had thrown themselves at Dean, though the real issue was that he never refused.