For The Love Of A God (22 page)

"You lay back, sweetie,” the nurse cooed, as if Maia even had the will to get up. “I'm going to give you a nice wash now."

Maia lay perfectly, deathly, still as the nurse washed her arms and legs with the warm sponge.

Not as warm as Eryx had been. Nothing would ever be so warm.

And as she felt the little droplets of water cascade down her arm, she prayed some of her guilt would be washed away too.

Six months after the night at the museum, or as Dino liked to call it, the “'bender from hell,” Maia found herself back at her job there. Not because she wanted to, but because she didn't know what else to do with herself.

She stared numbly at Dino and Sheila as they laughed about that night. Laughed about it. Neither of them actually remembered it, and they chalked it up to one too many lime daiquiris at the pub.

Their ignorance was a relief because Maia did not want to discuss it.

She didn't want to discuss anything. Sure, her other museum colleagues found her oddly quiet and solemn lately, but then she'd always been quirky to them. Her new introspective nature was just another quirk in their eyes.

As for her friends, and her dad, they didn't push her. They knew she'd been through some sort of ordeal, an ordeal which must have sent Eric Lord packing, and didn't want to upset her further.
"The poor thing is obviously suffering from a broken heart."

Strangely enough, she never heard any rumblings about the carnage at the museum either. Each day as she performed her job like an automaton, she expected to hear some old gossip about missing mummies or missing directors or mangled bird-women corpses littering the hallways. But never did.

She could only assume Dionysus and his pals did a thorough clean-up. Somehow it all got explained away so well no one ever even thought to look at her funny.

It was as if Eric Lord never existed. And, of course, no one ever believed Eryx existed anyway.

She wondered about Dionysus and the others, though. Bitterly, she fought back a tear, thinking at least one of them might have had enough heart to come and check on her all this time. To let her know if they'd heard anything about Nemesis and her new sex-slave. To make sure Maia was still alive. To make sure she didn't hate herself as much as she did.

But the gods were a no-show.

So, she went about her work quietly, and no one ever guessed at the torment within her. And each night, she went home to bed. The bed where he'd touched her. She'd lie there, desperately trying to absorb any leftover Eryx warmth in her sheets. It was a futile exercise. They were as cold as she was.

Until the dreams started again. Dreams in which Eryx would come to her and make love to her like a god, until Nemesis descended on them as a raging fury, plucking him away in her talons. Flying him off to God knew where.

The dreams were the worst part of her life now. Because they showed him as he once was. Powerful. Resplendent. Divine. They reminded her of what he'd given up for her.

Everyday she'd go back to work, smile thinly at people there, and pray for oblivion. She existed as a shadow, silently continuing her work in the Gallery of Greece. She stood in the background at the grand opening while the new director, a balding man with a paunch, toasted the contributions of the staff and made promises for a bright future. There were hairline cracks to be filled, marble surfaces to be cleaned, and Maia did it all without a word.

And in her head, as she restored the aging sculptures of ancient gods, she cursed them at the same time. Denounced the cruel entities who'd stayed away while Eryx was sacrificing the best part of himself for his mortal love.

Where was he now? The question tortured her again and again. Was he in a dark pit somewhere, unable to move? Was the monster with the crazy teeth feasting on his liver? Was he chained to stone? Was he chained to Nemesis's bed? She couldn't even fathom the possibilities. Six short months ago, she hadn't believed in Greek gods other than as the subject of stories. How could she possibly imagine the sort of punishment one god could inflict on another?

She didn't even have Eryx's statue to console her. Most days, she was glad. It would have been torture to have to stare at it. But on other days, during those mind-numbing moments of pure grief, she would have killed to see him, even if only in sculpture.

One day, about a week after the grand opening of the gallery, Dino offered to drive her to work and she accepted. She knew she couldn't avoid her friends forever, and they had tried so many times to make her smile.

She belted herself into his Audi and listened as he babbled about some new guy he'd met. “Maia, honey, you'll have to meet Geoff. You won't believe how fucking gorgeous he is. Tall, blond, buff, say no more. I swear to God, he's hotter than Eric Lord.” He considered for a moment. “Well, not really. No one's hotter than Eric Lord.” He clamped his mouth shut, realizing what he'd said, and turned to her. “Oh, honey, I'm so sorry."

"It's okay."

"No, it's not,” Dino said guiltily. “I promised Sheila I wouldn't mention him in front of you, and look what I did.” He reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze as he maneuvered through the downtown traffic. A Jeep cut him off and he leaned on his horn, yelling out his open window, “Watch your back, asshole!"

In spite of herself, Maia began to laugh. She laughed so hard she began to cry.

Stricken by her reaction, Dino pulled into an empty lot and pulled her close. “Sweetheart, what did he do to you? Please tell me. You have to tell someone."

She wiped her eyes and met her friend's gaze. “It's not what he did to me. It's what he did
for
me. He did something so ... horrible, but so wonderful, and I can never make it up to him."

Puzzled and misty-eyed too now, Dino just held her, not knowing what to say. He considered her disheveled appearance, her puffy eyes, and inhaled deeply. Finally, he declared, “Maia, you are coming out with us tonight, and I will not take no for an answer. Girlfriend, you need to party with some gays."

Stifling another laugh, Maia smiled genuinely for the first time in half a year. And then she heard herself say, “All right."

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Maia had seen a lot of flamboyant gay bars. This one was flaming hotter than a pink flamingo on fire. The chairs were pink. The dancers were dressed in pink. Even many of the drinks were pink.

"Isn't this great?” Sheila yelled over the pounding music, between gulps of her martini. She squeezed Maia's arm. “I'm so glad you're here with us!"

A very tall drag queen sashayed by their little group and pointed at Maia's Holly Hobby bag with her painted red nails. “Oh my God, love it!” And then she wandered away.

Her head pounding, Maia grinned and took her first sip of alcohol in a long time. She'd never drunk scotch, but it reminded her of Eryx and she wanted to try it. Her head exploded as it burned a path down her throat. But the burn was good.

Dino hustled them through the crowd on the dance floor and over to a small table wedged between a group of biker dudes and some lipstick lesbians.

"Is Geoff meeting us?” Maia shouted so she could be heard.

"You bet. Keep an eye out for beautiful blond hair. Oh, and girls,” he said conspiratorially, “the curtains match the rug."

Sheila tittered and the two of them launched into a discussion of bad male dye jobs. Maia settled into her plush chair and watched the colorful crowd. Between the loud music, the shameless flirting everywhere and the howling laughter at her table, she could barely hear herself think.

It was a good thing. Not being able to think.

Maybe this night was just what she needed.

With a sigh, she took another small sip of scotch and indulged in some people-watching. She was trying to decide which drag queen's outfit she liked better, the J. Lo or the Paris Hilton. The J. Lo's sequined ensemble showed off her conspicuous manly bubble butt, but Paris's short skirt highlighted her long legs. As Maia raised her eyes to inspect their perfect makeup applications, a flash of shimmering gold hair caught her eye.

She turned toward it, thinking she'd spotted Dino's Geoff.

From across the crowded room, Eryx stared back at her.

Her temperature soared. Her eyes fluttered. And in that moment, he was gone.

"Maia,” Sheila said. “Are you okay? You spilled your drink."

So she had. She was still clutching the overturned glass but the scotch had poured into her skirt and was dripping onto the sparkly pink floor tiles. She shifted her feet out of the fragrant puddle, still staring at the other side of the room. “Oh. Right. I'm ... I'm okay."

Dino pried the scotch glass out of her clawed hands. “Why don't we get you cleaned up?"

"No. Thanks. I'll go."

She dove into the crowd and headed for the bathroom, figuring her insanity was written all over her face. She pushed open a door labeled “Queens,” hoping very much it was meant for women. She breathed a sigh of relief upon not finding any urinals, and plowed inside. Once in, she splashed cold water on her face and some on her skirt. Then, she entered one of the stalls and locked the door behind her.

Not needing to pee, she lowered the seat lid and plunked herself down. Within seconds, her hands came up to support her aching head.

She was seeing him now.

No. It was impossible. Right now, he was probably being forced to pleasure Nemesis in all sorts of ungodly ways, if he was even still alive. Knowing her, she'd probably killed him out of spite.

"No,” she assured herself. “What you saw was just a very handsome gay man who looks like Eryx. Stop daydreaming."

But unable to shake the sensation she was being watched, she exited the bathroom.

Making her hasty apologies to Dino and Sheila, telling them she didn't feel well, which was mostly true, she left the bar. She hailed a cab and headed home.

When the cabbie took a shortcut through Chinatown, and she spied what appeared to be Dionysus in the company of several alluring Asian women, she just turned her head. It couldn't be him.

She continued to tell herself so, even as he waved at her, a twinkle in his dark eye.

By the time the cabbie made it to her building, she was almost sick to her stomach. Maia stumbled out of the cab and paid him. As she fished for some change for a tip, she was vaguely aware of a couple passing on the other side of the street. A blond man and a brunette woman. Holding hands. Flashes of gold and silver.

Apollo and Artemis.

But by the time she looked up, they were gone.

Not for the first time, Maia feared for her sanity. She raced into the building and into the elevator. She'd never quite wanted to see her bed so much. She wanted an end to her strange hallucinations and an end to the night in general.

As the elevator reached her floor, she breathed deeply. By the time her key was in the lock, she was debating the merits of booking a bulky timeslot with her friendly neighborhood shrink, as opposed to spilling the beans inside a dark confessional at St. Leo's around the corner.

Maybe she needed to get everything off her chest, even if no one would believe her. Hell, she wasn't even sure she believed any of it anymore. She was beginning to think she'd made Eryx up completely.

But then she opened her door, and there he was.

Sitting on her couch. Body tensed. Dressed in plain jeans and a plain T-shirt which didn't make him look even slightly plain. Smiling at her, despite the melancholy turn of his green eyes.

"I hope you don't mind,” he said quietly in the deep voice which still gave her the shivers. “I let myself in."

And, as Maia so often felt compelled to do in his staggering presence, she hit the floor in a dead faint.

Cradling her on the floor where he'd caught her, Eryx watched her eyes flutter open and felt sheer joy tear through his gut.

Gods, she was beautiful. Dark circles and pale skin and a couple of new, gray hairs notwithstanding. She was the most perfect sight in the world. And anyway, he had a few new gray hairs himself, thanks to Nemesis.

But he wouldn't allow himself to think of the witch here and now. Not with Maia in his arms.

Smiling, he glanced down at her shirt. This one had a cartoon image of Wonder Woman on it.

Fucking awesome.

He stroked his fingers through her hair, gently removing her hair pins. “Come back to me, baby. You're just as white as the day I said I'd send your statue to Russia.” And then he laughed.

She just stared at him, afraid to move. Her eyes were so dark and haunted. It killed him that those eyes had glimpsed such terror and felt such pain because of him.

"You're not dreaming, Maia,” he said quietly. “It's me."

"Eryx?” Her chest heaved, and he felt her sorrow in her wracked breath.

His heart simultaneously breaking and rejoicing, he picked her up and carried her into her bedroom. She was a blessed weight in his arms, all soft and lush, and he was dying to make love to her. But he couldn't rush her, or she'd end up round the bend. Her nerves were clearly on edge as it was.

"I have so much to tell you,” he said as he deposited her gently on the bed. When she inched away from him, he gritted his teeth, hating the distrust in her eyes. As much as he wanted to lay her down next to him, under him, over him, any damn way possible, he took a breath and merely sat next to her. “I've been many things, Maia, but I'm not a ghost. I swear it."

"But how...? Nemesis..."

He choked back the bile in his throat at the mention of the name. “Nemesis is no longer an issue. I promise you."

She must have glimpsed the momentary hate in his eyes, because something in her own eyes softened. Tears formed there, and he could see the barrier slip even as she stared at him. She was starting to believe ... again. “It's really you?"

"And I'll never leave you again, Maia.” He reached for her hand, loving its softness, loving its delicate lines. “I'll tell you everything you want to know."

"Oh God,” she cried, as the barricade in her mind finally tumbled. “Just kiss me first!"

He did. Thoroughly.