by Lou Paduano
What are you doing? Her conscience demanded an answer but none was forthcoming. Everything blurred before her. Lights, sounds, even her friends as they danced and laughed without a care in the world. Couldn’t they see what was happening? Couldn’t they see him coming to take her from the waste her life had been for so long?
He was closer than ever, a smile flowing freely along his face. The heat was unbearable and she unbuttoned the top of her blouse. It did not help in the least nor did she care. She wanted him like no other. Nothing else mattered.
Then he was gone.
Eileen felt her heart stop. Someone had stepped between them—a woman, cutting them from the night of pure bliss she had formed in every thought since his arrival in her periphery. As she caught her breath, she felt a cool chill cut through her and she quickly fastened the undone button. Steph turned from the jukebox for the first time in over an hour and saw Eileen’s pale face.
“Everything all right, sweetie?” she asked, concerned.
“I don’t know. I don’t think I feel well all of a sudden.” Her hand rested on her forehead, cold sweat greeting it.
“Where’s your wedding ring?” Steph asked, her eyes scurrying to the floor in a panic.
“Oh.” Eileen reached deep within her pocket and found the piece of gold that had only previously been removed for its quarterly cleaning. She slipped it back on, her world of kids and marriage bearing down on her like a freight train. Her gaze fell upon the woman once more. She held out a shot to her companion and the man offered a smile that had once only been for Eileen.
“I have to go,” Eileen said. Cassie and Steph immediately attempted to stop her egress but Eileen pressed forward. “I’m sorry. I need to leave.”
Passing the man of her dreams and the brown-skinned harlot of her nightmares, she heard the woman utter the words she had planned to say before fate intervened.
“Care to join me?”
Chapter Seven
It did not take long for Soriya Greystone to find who she was seeking. As everyone in the club jammed in close in tight corners, there was a significant distance surrounding a single individual, a man wearing a V-neck shirt and jeans. A protective barrier encircled him, though no one seemed to notice. Soriya watched the man’s movements across the room from her stool at the bar and with two small glasses nestled between her fingers. He walked with confidence, if walking was even the correct term. The way his feet slid through the air, he appeared to glide across the room more than walk. When she noticed his eyes fixed on the young redheaded woman near the jukebox, Soriya stood.
Time to go to work.
The focus of his attentions was doing her best to draw him in all the way. She has no idea what she’s getting into, Soriya thought. Seamlessly moving between patrons, her eyes never left her target. The drinks in her hands never shook unsteadily, never spilled from the constant shifting of weight from one foot to the other. A smile spread across the man’s face as she neared. The woman’s top button slipped undone. Soriya was amazed at the unnoticed foreplay occurring among so many people. She was also amazed at the man’s talent. He loved this part. That much was obvious. He loved the thrill of it. The game.
The hunt.
Soriya stepped in front of him, shattering their connection. She smiled coyly, playing the game he needed to play. She held the two shot glasses up. Johnny Walker. Red Label. Nothing but top shelf for him, she thought.
“Care to join me?” she asked, confidently.
The man paused. His eyes, light enough to be mirrors rather than windows, looked her over. Every inch of her was catalogued in quick fashion and summarized for his pleasure. His look suggested confusion, a small joy she took from their encounter. It had taken her hours to prepare, dousing her body in subtle perfumes. A multitude of scents that complimented her but at the same time drowned his ability to get a true reading on an emotional level.
His lust-o-meter, she called it. Or, as the young redhead raced out of the club, eyes down on her wedding ring and nothing else, Soriya knew it better as his barometer-o-skankiness.
Satisfied with her presence, the man took one of the glasses. He raised it before her and she followed suit. Their eyes remained connected, refusing to break the stare. Around them, the night moved in quick order with the blasting of loud, obnoxious songs that Soriya knew were written long before her birth, but in their small protective circle on the floor of the club, time was barely in existence. There was only the two of them—exactly what each of them wanted in their own way. Though the man was careful and prudent, his gaze continually searching for some sign from Soriya and coming up short, he was arrogant. He tapped her glass with his and downed the drink in an instant. Soriya did the same. As the stinging liquid went down, she ran her tongue over her lips, lapping up the remains of the drink. The man’s smile grew wider. He took the glasses and placed them on the bar.
Soriya grabbed his arm. “Let’s get out of here.”
He stopped her, his hand pulling hers off slowly. His fingers melted into her own, grazing down her palm.
“So soon,” he said. His voice was deep. Even over the speakers and the buzzing of the crowd, each word cut through her ears clearly. Something came alive in his voice, something that mirrored the look in his eyes. Soriya understood what the redhead felt in that moment, heat rising from her chest.
“Why wait?” she said. Her smile remained.
“I don’t even know your name,” he said, coyly.
She leaned in close, lifting her small frame on her toes so that her lips were scant centimeters from his left ear. “Will it matter after tonight?”
She fell back on her heels, taking his hand.
“How true,” he replied.
As soon as they vacated the club, Soriya’s companion took back the lead. Passing the line of people waiting for admission into the club, she felt the cold stares from the bouncer. He was concerned, had every right to be concerned but there was no time to discuss the situation with the brooding bouncer named Urg. Soriya easily dismissed him with a small wave and thin smile. They continued down the street, leaving behind the stares and the crowds. The man in the V-neck with the mirror eyes caught her straying gaze but she was quick to return it to him with an added bonus. Away from the crowds, she leaned in close. Her lips met his in a long kiss that startled even his confident grin. Any suspicion he held in that moment faded behind the deep pink of her lips. They parted and slowly moved back toward his ear, this time on the right side.
“My place isn’t far,” she whispered and felt his skin chill at the notion.
Taking his hand once more, she met resistance. Looking back, her eyes betrayed the smile still plastered in place. The man had stopped cold. She pointed down the block, in the shadows of the city.
“Here will be fine,” he said, standing within the mouth of the alley separating Night Owls from the two dive bars that made up the rest of the block. Darkness echoed the words. Nothing was visible in the deep night embedded in the alley. Soriya hesitated, quickly realizing the error in that judgment. Hoping to win him back, she stepped into the alley, letting her hair out of the ponytail so that it flowed against her shoulders.
“If you say so,” she replied. Kicking off her heels against the closest wall, she scanned the area. No exits. No witnesses. No help. “I was just thinking about some drinks and a nice couch or a bed or—”
His hand slammed against her shoulder and spun her around. In the blink of an eye, his other hand wrapped around her neck, lifting her against the wall of the alley. Even in the darkness, Soriya saw the change. The young man in the V-neck and jeans was gone. Where perfect skin and dimpled cheeks once lay across his face there was nothing but a cracked golden hue and black lips. The glow of his eyes, once magical and enticing, was nothing more than glassed-over orbs of gray light in the shadows. They showed nothing but rage, pure wrath spewing from his every word. She knew she had found her man, a term that did not relate to the beast that stood before her. No, god w
as more on point when it came down to it. His name screamed in her thoughts, her lungs fighting for air.
Anteros.
“No more talking,” he said, squeezing tighter. “It spoils my fun.”
Chapter Eight
“Love. You don’t even know what it can truly be,” Anteros spat. Soriya Greystone dangled by her throat, pressed against the wall of the alley, clawing at the man’s wrists for some leverage. Where there had been cracked skin moments before, of which flakes flew in the night air around them, a golden hue under the surface was revealed. Even the decayed, black lips of her attacker had changed to match the bronzed shell, hardening and shining in the dark. Where most cities dealt with wife beaters and deranged killers, Portents catered to a higher class of psychopath—that of the gods themselves.
She knew Anteros the way she knew most of his kind and any other deity. She read a lot of books. Anteros, brother to Eros, was the god of requited love. He was born to love Eros. The fancies of a lonely god. But loved in return? That wasn’t on the menu for Anteros. Hence the anger.
“Poor, deluded humanity and your concept of love,” he said. “You fornicate, cheat, and lie then call it love. But you do not know its meaning.”
With a scream, Anteros tossed her aside as if she weighed as little as the air around them. Soriya’s body slammed against the cement hard, rolling deeper into the alley. Her lungs filled with air that never tasted sweeter, even among the garbage piles and dumpsters. Holding her body up with her hands, she breathed deep, calming every inch. Anteros moved for her quickly.
“I was born out of love. Born to love but never loved. Denied for me for all eternity. Just as I will deny you that love.”
Anteros lifted her up by the neck once more, his eyes wide with anticipation. They, however, failed to see the thin, pink ribbon snaking down Soriya’s left arm and out of the sleeve of her blouse. Or the vengeful grin spread across her cheeks.
“Not this time, Anteros,” she spat back. The pink ribbons shot out of her sleeve, wrapping tight against Anteros’ wrist. The ribbons, a gift from the Hindu Death Goddess Kali, acted with a mind of their own but always listened to the situation. As they tightened against the golden flesh of the Greek god, Anteros saw smoke rise from his arm. He screamed over the sound of his flesh burning from the ribbons, and dropped Soriya to the ground. She landed on her feet, glad to have removed her heels upon their arrival. The ribbon retracted and she let it hang down her left side, ready for anything.
“You bitch!” Anteros screamed. His fist swung through the air but made no connection. Taking the opportunity, Soriya waited for her opening and unleashed an uppercut to his chin. He staggered back and she continued, slamming her fist against his face.
“Now, that’s no way to talk to a lady, Anteros,” she replied with a grin. “Anteros, right? The lost, little brother of Eros. Couldn’t make it as an angel like him, couldn’t cut it as a demon like the rest of the siblings. Poor Anteros. Created to be a pet. The family cat no one really needs except for five minutes a day to remind them how much better off they are in comparison. How their lives mattered compared to yours.”
His blood ran along her fists, more added with each blow pummeling deeper into the alley. Lost in the moment, she failed to notice the small pile of debris and refuse that had collected near her left foot. She tripped forward, Anteros sidestepping her blow and allowing her to fall before him. Her hands braced for it and she quickly spun to face him once more but it was too late. He grabbed tight to her black hair and pulled her toward him.
“I was born of love, you peasant,” he spat. “I was a child of Zeus!”
Soriya pushed off the ground, her whole body airborne. Her right foot snapped out, slamming into Anteros’ left knee. Any normal knee would have shattered from the blow but the god felt nothing more than a sting. Her left foot finished the combination, however, hitting his chin. Anteros flew backward from the blow, deeper into the alley. Soriya casually completed her flip in the air, landing catlike with a smile. The small pouch on her right side opened and she pulled out the item she had carried with her since she was four years old.
The stone of grey—or as she was more likely to call it since taking it as her namesake, the Greystone. It was the same as it had always been, cold to the touch on the hottest of days and warm on the coldest. It fit squarely in a single palm now, and she held it before her, facing her attacker one last time.
“Daddy left you a present.” Her words were hardly audible over the crackling sounds ripping through the air above them. The Greystone, after a long moment of appearing little more than what it seemed, lit up before the unsuspecting Anteros. The bright light wiped away all shadows within the alley, then receded to form a single symbol upon the stone’s surface. A rune.
“What are you…?” Anteros did not know its meaning, only knew that it was meant for him. The crackling air around him kicked into a gale force wind. The symbol was one Soriya learned at a young age and it always brought joy to her face upon seeing its impact. Hagalaz was the name of the rune. As its meaning was becoming more and more clear to Anteros, it symbolized the wrath of nature. Symbolized, and through the power of the stone, summoned it forth.
“Say goodnight, Anty,” yelled the young woman over the wind.
The night remained clear. There was not a single cloud in the sky, or the chance of a dribble of rain. Out of that clear sky, a bolt of lightning ripped from the heavens. It shot with a clear purpose and target. Soriya saw Anteros’ glass eyes close at its advance. She heard his screams for mercy.
Too late.
The lightning bolt crashed into him and Anteros was no more.
Soriya lowered the stone, the rune of the Elder Futhark fading from its surface. The wind died down around her and she felt the ribbons of Kali sidling up her left arm. She placed the stone back into the small, cloth pouch attached to her right hip.
Where once a golden Greek God stood, now there was nothing but ashes, remnants of his body to be swept away with the rest of the trash in the Portents alley. Soriya towered over them, her hand rubbing gently along her neck from her fight. The wound stung but she gladly bore it compared to Anteros’ fate. Four women were dead by his hand. He forfeited his future with those actions. Soriya hoped that wherever and whenever Anteros ended up, it was truly over. Somehow, she doubted it. The crazy ones always managed to find their way back after a time.
Footfalls inched into the alley. She spun to greet them, hand reaching once more for the cloth pouch and the profound weapon it contained. The shadows shifted at the mouth of the alley and a lone figure stepped out of the dim light. He sported a thin, white beard on his cheeks to match his thick hair. Down his left temple, there was a single scar streaking toward his ear. She did not need to see him to know who it was. She did not need to see the thin slits where his eyes stared down upon her or the pursed lips always ready to debate. She did not need to see the dark, green overcoat he wore over his hunched frame or the worn-out sneakers on his feet. She knew who it was the second his voice ripped through the shadows. The second she heard the cold gravel of his words digging into her.
“Took you long enough,” said the man called Mentor.
Chapter Nine
There was a time when Soriya saw only darkness. In the days that turned to weeks that stretched to months after the accident, Soriya knew only the shadows of her life and never the light. She was a girl of four without name or origin. She was a mystery to all, even her own thoughts. Those days, those weeks, those months were difficult ones. Many lessons were learned during that time from many teachers, children and adult alike. Still, there was no light in her world. Until he came for her.
Until Mentor showed her the sun.
“You’re welcome,” Soriya exclaimed, standing over the ashes of her assailant. The Greystone worked its miracles in secret under her wing, its origins as mysterious as her own. She asked Mentor from time to time but the answers always returned the same. Answers were not his to share
but hers to discover. Lessons were the only parenting tool he commanded and he commanded them well over the years. The stone was cool against her hip, surprisingly so considering the justice it had unleashed on the unsuspecting Anteros moments earlier. The pride of the moment, the feeling of accomplishment melted with a look to Mentor, his eyes glowering down upon her.
It was the look only a father gave, but he refused the title. He never wanted it though she mistakenly took him as one in the early years together. He was a simple teacher in need of a student, and she was nothing if not eager to know something. If not about her own life, her own beginnings, then she would know that of everything else there was in the world if she was able.
“This was a mistake,” Mentor replied, stepping further into the alley away from the neon lights of the clubs and the stray glances of passersby curious about a random lightning strike on a clear night. None were curious enough to remain for more than the flicker of a moment before remembering their own destinations, plans, and dreams.
Soriya’s chest rose and fell heavy, still slowing from the fight. Her smile refused to fade. Mentor discouraged such raw emotion during the job. It was a distraction. Everything was a distraction, Soriya always shot back in a tone that harkened back to days of teenage angst better left forgotten. It was true, however, but secretly he smirked at the youthful exuberance she put into the task they shared. Always when he believed he was alone, away from her watchful eye.
“You should not have put yourself in this situation,” he continued. Soriya turned away when he neared, heading for the brick wall. She retrieved her heels and placed them back on her feet, then rested with her back to the wall. “He could have—”
“It was the best way to draw him out,” she cut him off. The same fears were not theirs to share. While the rest of the world did what they could to forget their own mortality, she needed it to do the job.