Hearts and Arrows Box Set

by Staci Hart

  “I know, Ricky. I still have you, right?”

  He just looked at her with wide eyes.

  Her heart was in a vice, the screws so tight she couldn’t breathe. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”

  He kneaded his paws on her chest, and she ran her hand down his neck and back, but couldn’t be still. She grabbed her cat under the arms and stood, cradling him to her chest as she made her way into her bedroom and dumped him onto the bed, then peeled her sweaty clothes off and discarded into the hamper in her bathroom.

  She’d almost moved, had even stayed with her parents for some time, but in the end she decided to stay. Her older brother, Paul, offered to let her have his place, since they were both family properties, but their place was bigger, and with Gia pregnant, she couldn’t agree. Instead, she renovated. The once cheery, yellow walls had been painted grey, the claw foot replaced with a standing shower. It still smelled of paint and new construction, the scent lingering along with her memories.

  Josie turned on the water and stepped into the stream. A shiver ran through her, subsiding as the water warmed, then steamed. She turned it as hot as she could stand it and ran her hands over her hair, lifting her face to the water as she wished she could wash everything away, scrub and clean her heart until she was new again.

  The skin on her shoulders and chest were bright pink when she finally turned the shower off and stepped out. She dried off and dressed, feeling a little more grounded after the hot water burned down her memories until they were quiet again. Her hair was damp, and she twisted the copper mess up as she walked into the kitchen to grab a Pop Tart, not even bothering to put it in the toaster.

  Josie stopped in front of Anne’s door and laid her hand on the wood. Maybe she was ready. She’d have to go inside eventually, but she hadn’t been able to enter the room, not after the first time. It was only a few weeks after Anne died, and Josie was armed with boxes and resolve, but one look in that room was enough, and Josie closed the door. She hadn’t opened it again.

  Her hand slipped away, and she turned for her living room, glancing at the breakfast pastry. It looked like cardboard all of a sudden, and she dropped it in her desk trash, no longer hungry. She lay down on the couch to face the long wall that housed her crime shrine.

  Stretched across the length of the wall were columns of articles and photographs of the girls who he’d killed, papers and newspaper clippings, all connected by a web of red string with Rhodes in the center. They were divided by year starting with when Jane Bernard was killed, running all the way through Anne, and with every murder in between, every kill that she thought he might be connected with. Using the details of how Hannah and Jane were killed, Josie found dozens of unsolved murders that fit, mostly of hookers who had been found in the Hudson.

  It had started off innocently enough for Josie, just looking for any connection, anywhere. But before long, she was obsessively scouring the daily papers and the old archived databases looking for any murders that fit the bill. Strangulation. Women wrapped in plastic, dumped in a waterway. When there was an ID, the family members and friends claimed jewelry was missing.

  Josie searched for the keys to Rhodes’ MO and found dozens of cases starting the late 80’s that she believed he was responsible for. She weeded through them at lightning speed, quickly assembling the wall of connections. Saul recounted all of the lost evidence by memory and sent photocopies of the old newspaper articles on Jane Bernard’s death. Josie had access to all of the evidence on Hannah and Anne already, and from there, it was filling in the gap between Jane and Hannah.

  Hannah looked so much like Jane that Josie knew she must have triggered him. And Anne … the only thing that made sense was that Rhodes somehow knew they had information, and Anne surprised him when he came to steal it. All the girls in between Hannah and Jane were clean kills with no connections, who were missing for days before it was even reported.

  Josie had gotten reluctant help from her father, who was the Captain of the station handling Anne’s murder. Their agreement was that she would pass off anything she found to him, though she suspected he consented so he could keep an eye on her, knowing she would never give it up. Hank agreed on Rhodes’ pattern and the connections that Josie had made, but without DNA, evidence, or witnesses, they had nothing.

  That was when the real search began. Josie had pounded more pavement talking to detectives, hookers, and families and friends of the dead girls, trying to find out as much as she could with the hope that something would lead her back to Rhodes. Some detectives were forthcoming. Some wouldn’t give her the time. A few were convinced she’d uncovered a serial killer while others just called her crazy. But Josie never stopped looking.

  Josie spent much of her free time tailing Rhodes. She knew him, knew his daily routine. His favorite coffee shop, what time he worked out. If she watched him, she could catch him. If she could follow him, she could stop him from hurting anyone again. But he’d never put a toe out of line, and on her worst days, she wondered if she’d stretched the whole thing together, patched it up with duct tape and bubblegum and convinced herself he was a killer. It was all she had to hold on to, and she felt it was right, but how could she even be sure? Most days she didn’t think about it, but the ones when she did were dark.

  No one knew how much of her time and energy she put into Rhodes. They couldn’t understand. They’d think she’d lost it, and maybe they’d be right, but it was the only thing in her life that made sense, chasing Rhodes, and she couldn’t let it go. Not as long as he was walking free.

  ———— Olympus ————

  The wind whipped Artemis’ robes against her legs as she clung to the side of a high rock face with her eyes on a cave opening above her. Her legs strained as she clung to the side of the cliff and pushed off, swinging to another hold, finding footholds easily as she leveraged her way up with grace and ease. She hoisted herself onto the ledge, pausing for a moment to catch her breath at the entrance to Echo’s cave.

  Echo was a tree nymph who was known for telling beautiful tales of love and adventure, and would often entertain the gods and nymphs alike. On the day she was cursed, she distracted Hera with one of her stories as Zeus escaped a tryst with one of her nymph sisters, and when Hera realized what happened, she cursed Echo, and from that moment on, she was only able to speak the last words she’d heard. Years later, Echo fell in love with Narcissus, a beautiful man who could only love himself, and she wasted away pining after him until nothing was left but her voice.

  Artemis was the goddess of all nymphs, the caregiver to all creatures of the wild, and when they fled Earth to make their home in the new Olympus, Echo followed. Preferring solitude, she made her home high in a mountain cave.

  Artemis’ hands were on her hips as she breathed deep, looking out over her realm as the wind swept across her body. Mountains stretched out into the distance, green and lush, and rolling hills and meadows dotted with trees filled the valley below. A waterfall roared from the top of the cliff, misting her with water, and she was thankful for it after the climb.

  She walked into the cool, stone passage, laying her palm against the slate as she walked through, hearing water rush somewhere above her. When she stepped out of the other side, she was in Echo’s cave.

  Water poured in from the skylight of the domed cave, collecting in a topaz pool ringed with myrtles and laurels that stood in spring grass peppered with flowers. Small birds flitted near the opening where the sunshine poured in, tweeting and chirping merrily.

  At the far end of the cave were shelves made of stone, filled with Echo’s things. There were pots and paintings, scrolls and wild flowers. The light caught on the mirror, and Artemis was relieved it was still in the nymph’s possession.

  “Echo?” Artemis called, but there was no echo of the sound, an eerie sensation in the open rock. She looked around for the nymph, usually able to see her by the soft sheen of her spirit, but Artemis found her nowhere.

  An entrance to anothe
r passage laid just beyond Echo’s shelves, and Artemis made her way through it. The path grew darker and blacker with every step she took, and the sound of her footsteps bounced off the walls.

  “Echo?”

  The word was absorbed into the blackness.

  Goosebumps prickled Artemis’s skin as she followed the trickling sound of water, and the passage opened up again into a smaller chamber, dark and heavy.

  “Echo? It is I, Artemis.”

  Echo was a wisp, a shimmering apparition, though with no light to interfere, Artemis could see the nymph who once was. Echo looked down into a small pool of water in the rock floor. Her hair hung in loose waves, and her face was spritely, with wide lips and a dainty nose. She turned her sad eyes to Artemis and smiled.

  “Artemis,” she said, her voice hollow, though her own.

  “Hello, friend.” Artemis took a seat next to her on the cold stone, watching as she shimmered and shone, blues and whites and purples, the only source of light in the room.

  “Hello, friend.” The nymph folded her hands in her lap.

  “I hope that you are well. It has been too long.”

  Echo nodded, though her face held curiosity.

  “I’m sure you must be wondering the purpose of my visit.”

  The nymph nodded again.

  “I came to petition you on behalf of Aphrodite.”

  Echo raised an eyebrow. “Aphrodite?”

  Artemis smiled. “Yes, Aphrodite. She has lost Adonis.”

  “Lost Adonis?” Her brows knit together.

  “She left him, and he drank Lethe.”

  “Lethe…” she breathed, and her hand covered her mouth.

  “Yes. He has forgotten everything.” Artemis glanced into the black pool of water. “You still have Aphrodite’s mirror. May I ask if you still watch Narcissus in Asphodel?”

  Echo bit her lip and nodded.

  “Often?”

  She shook her head.

  Artemis felt the weight of Echo’s curse, mourned the life the nymph could have had, felt the grief over all she’d lost, but she pushed the thought away, finding resolve. Echo loved so much that she lost everything, which was exactly the reason that Artemis was convinced that love was more cruel than kind.

  “Aphrodite has only just lost her love. I thought that perhaps you might give the mirror back.”

  “Give the mirror back?” There was fear in her words, and Artemis wished she could offer the comfort of touch.

  Instead, she trailed her fingers in the water of the pool. “Aphrodite has given you Narcissus for all these years. I only ask that you consider returning the favor.”

  Echo looked back to the pool for a long moment, finally nodding with her eyes on her reflection. She rose and floated back through to the main chamber, and Artemis followed. When they reached her shelves, Echo stopped in front of the mirror. Artemis could barely see her in the brightness of the main cave, only a shimmer, the occasional ripple that revealed the features of her face as it bent in sadness.

  The nymph picked up the gilded hand mirror, and the glass glimmered in a wave. Narcissus was there, walking through Asphodel in the sunshine. He bent and picked a poppy, smiling brilliantly.

  Echo laid the mirror to her chest and turned to face Artemis, dropping into a small bow.

  Bisoux’s leg thumped when Dita dragged the brush over his rump, wondering what she was going to do next. She’d painted her nails, organized her underwear drawer, rearranged her living room, and put on makeup, which was something she only did for occasions. She’d been alone all morning, and was bordering on stir crazy.

  She considered napping but decided against it. Her sleep the night before had been restless, empty and vague. She was tired, but would take tired over fitful sleep that left her hollow when she woke.

  Elysium had been her home in her dreams for thousands of years, and Adonis her confidant, her love. It was all gone, and she could never have it back. She felt abandoned and exposed, and her loneliness plagued her. She missed the solace in his touch, his arms around her, his lips against hers, but she would never have them again.

  Dita knew her craving for touch would get to the point that it was undeniable, and she contemplated finding a human lover, or string of lovers. The idea was infinitely appealing. She wanted something easy, something that didn’t require thought, just to be held, but that had always been her solution. She had to change. How could she ever know herself if she was never alone? To ever heal, truly heal, she needed solitude.

  Her chest ached, and she turned her wandering thoughts to Jon and Josie. Their first meeting wasn’t terrible, but there was nothing on the horizon until they ran into each other again. She’d gotten Jon to the Duke, fudged the books at Jerry J’s so they’d call both bounty hunters in, but she wasn’t sure what was next, or what Artemis had in store for the humans.

  Really, what Dita needed was a plan.

  She bit her lip as she put Bisoux’s brush down and ran her hand down his silky back. Josie wasn’t over Jon, not even close, but she was as stubborn and solitary as Artemis. No one got in, not after everything she had been through. Bisoux hopped off her lap and trotted to his red velvet floor pillow to pick up a squeaky toy in the shape of a Fury. He gnawed on its wings as Dita looked around the room for something to do, but her thoughts drifted back to Adonis.

  She pictured his smile, heard his laugh, thought of the long hours they lazed in the meadow under the olive tree, but she stopped herself. She needed a distraction, and decided it had been long enough that she could go to Perry’s again. The day before was occupied with movies, pizza, and a stupid amount of cupcakes from the minute the competition started until Dita was so exhausted that she fell into bed.

  Guilt chewed at her heart when she considered how much of Perry’s time she’d occupied, but she didn’t feel right leaning on anyone else in the way she leaned on Perry. Dita had other friends, of course, but no one else she’d burden with her bullshit. The only other person who she could seriously consider was Heff. He would be there for her, but she didn’t want to talk to him about Ares or Adonis. It hurt too badly to see the pain behind his bright eyes, and she didn’t want to be the cause of it. She had Apollo too, but they weren’t at the level where she could really bare her heart and soul. She wouldn’t trust anyone with that like she would her best friend.

  And so, she picked up her dog and headed to the elevator, hoping that Perry was fresh enough to handle her for just a little longer. Surely she’d be right again soon.

  When she reached the underworld, she sat Bisoux down, and he ran straight for Cerberus. Watching them play was highly entertaining, since the three-headed hellhound was about eight hundred times the size of the mini Pom.

  “In here.” Perry waved a hand over the back of the couch.

  “I come bearing gifts.” With the snap of Dita’s fingers, several bars of Toblerone and a stack of movies appeared on the coffee table, but she paused when she rounded the couch and found Perry lying in Hades arms.

  The couple looked lazy and happy, and Hades looked comfortable even in tailored slacks and a button down, long and lean with his dark hair slightly mussed. His sleeves were rolled up, and his tie was loose, the top button undone. Perry’s fingers were slipped into the space between buttons, resting on his chest.

  “Oh,” Dita said, flushing, embarrassed for assuming her friend would be alone. “I’m sorry to interrupt. Perry, want to just come up later if you have time?”

  Hades smiled and kissed the top of his wife’s head. “Don’t leave on account of me. I had some paperwork that needed my attention anyway.”

  Perry pouted a little as he slipped out from under her and left the room. She sighed and reached for a bar of chocolate.

  “Come to mama.” She licked her lips as she opened the triangular box.

  Dita sat at the other end of the couch and propped her feet on the table, trying not to feel like a worm for being relieved that Hades left.

  “Wassup?” Pe
rry asked with her mouth full of chocolate and nougat.

  “Well, I just dicked with about a million things at my place, so I came down to see if you were ready to go for movie madness, part deux.”

  “Mmm.” It was a non-committal sound. “We barely even talked about the competition yesterday.”

  Dita wiggled her toes on the coffee table as her arches warmed up from the fire in the black marble fireplace. “We were too distracted by teenage John Cusack. Who can resist Lloyd Dobbler in a trench coat with a boom box?”

  Perry laughed. “The same percentage of people who can resist Paul Varjek from Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Zero.”

  “Oh, or Gene Kelly from Singing in the Rain. I miss old Hollywood. Movies had a feeling to them that is just lost now. Where are the Kubricks and Hitchcocks?” Dita asked.

  “Now Hitchcock knew suspense. He was next-level, climb-into-your-head-and-make-a-nest-out-of-human-hair dark and creepy. Not like the cheap tricks they use now. Like Human Centipede. I mean, I’ll give points for creativity, but come on.”

  “So fucking gross. It’s not even scary, just disgusting.” Dita said with her nose wrinkled.

  “Speaking of hot asses—” Perry waggled her eyebrows.

  “EW. You’re never allowed to make hot ass references in conjunction with Human Centipede.” Dita gave her the stankiest face she could manage.

  Perry giggled. “Jon’s way prettier than German dungeon horror.”

  “That is true,” Dita said with a nod.

  “And a smartass. Always a plus.”

  “It really is so hot. I know I can get him and Josie together, if she doesn’t kill him first.”

  “I can see how murder would put a damper on things.”

  Dita snorted and held out her hand for a piece of chocolate. “I’m sure Artemis would do a freaking jig.”

  “What kind of plays do you think she’ll make?” Perry laid a piece in her waiting palm.

  Dita popped it in her mouth and thought about Artemis as she sucked on a triangle of milky chocolate. “It’s hard to say. She’s sort of immune to love. I mean, not totally immune, but she definitely doesn’t get it. She always picks some kind of huntress. Remember when she picked that gold digger in Victorian London?”