by Lena Loneson
Then she was hugging the girls again, planting sloppy kisses on their cheeks, Giselle-style, laughing and thanking each of them in turn. When she caught hold of herself again she saw Dionysus standing awkwardly to the side, a streak of yellow paint in his own curls. He had on a pair of large painter’s overalls streaked with every color of the rainbow. She smiled shyly at him. “This was your idea?”
“It was all Dee,” Liv confirmed. “He emailed us all this morning, said it was an artistic emergency and you’d been with this boring house for too long.”
“Of course, ma cher, we’ve been saying that for years,” Giselle gushed. “Who knew it would take a man to wake you up to it!”
“Dee, huh?” Jaime arched an eyebrow at him.
He shrugged. “It’s a nickname.”
“I couldn’t remember the other name,” Liv explained. “Not once we got through the first few bottles of wine anyway.”
Jaime walked forward hesitantly. Seeing him amid her friends like this was different than her comfort with him before. Previously, as much as she’d liked him, he’d been The Magic Sex God from the Wine Bottle. Now, he seemed almost a part of her life.
You’ve known him for two days, Jaime.
So? You knew Keith for seven years and he never managed to get along with the girls.
To see Giselle smiling rather than cursing out a man was definitely a change.
Jaime hugged him, whispering in his ear, “Thank you, Dee. This was—incredible.” She placed a soft kiss on his mouth. “I have a surprise of my own for you later.”
At that, Missy, standing close, made an ooooh sound and kissing noises. Jaime laughed. “Shut up!”
“D’you think she wants us to leave?” Liv asked, winking broadly at Dionysus. Her freckles made her look younger than the rest of the women, though they were all in their early thirties. But she had always been the one with the dirtiest mind. She’d been the one to teach Jaime how to give a proper blowjob, practicing with a cucumber under the covers when they were teenagers.
“But we haven’t even done the bedroom yet!” Missy thrust a clean brush at her. “What do you want to paint there, James? And the bathroom.”
As the sun set everywhere but in her house, the moon grew brighter and the stars came out, the four old girlfriends and the new man painted the rest of the walls. They didn’t aim for perfection, sketching in broad strokes, but it was a work of art nonetheless. The bathroom was transformed into a desert island paradise of golden sand, and the bedroom a series of not-to-scale starred constellations in an indigo night.
Jaime and Dionysus worked together, Jaime remembering how it felt to hold a brush in her hands, showing him how to mix the paints and press the star-dots into the wall so they wouldn’t smear. Missy and Liv got into a mock-fight over how many stars comprised the Big Dipper, Liv balancing tipsily on the bed, reaching high to dot the constellation on the ceiling. Giselle gave up, claiming a cramped hand, and declared that she was going to set the living room to rights again and get rid of the painting cloths. The women sang along to music at the top of their lungs, and drank another four bottles of wine before there was a knock on the door. Missy’s ride had arrived.
When Jaime went to let him in, she walked by the stained-glass mirror they’d moved from her bedroom the night before. It was uncovered now, its blues twinkling ominously. A small twinge of fear stabbed at Jaime’s heart. Giselle must have done it, not realizing the blanket wasn’t another painting cloth. But that was fine, Jaime told herself, stuffing the fear down. It was easy to do now, with the house full of friends. She’d just have to remember to cover it again before bed. The terror of the djinn was part of the past. Laughter, wine, desire and friendship had tamed it.
She opened the front door. Missy’s husband Brian embraced her. “Jaime Leighton! It’s been too long.” He had a large, intimidating voice that didn’t match his small stature.
“Good to see you, Brian.” She’d always liked him. His warm smile and goofy red mustache reminded her of Yosemite Sam. “Like what we’ve done with the place?” Jaime gestured at the paintings.
“Gorgeous! I’ve been trying to get Miss to do up our house for years. I want a legion of hunting dogs along the bedroom wall. Irish wolfhounds, tall as the ceiling.”
Jaime remembered that request and knew he didn’t have a hope in hell of Missy fulfilling it. “That sounds really…interesting.”
“Hmph! That’s artist code for something bad.”
She didn’t try to hide her smile. “Probably.”
“Brian!” It was Giselle’s turn to hug him now, bending down and then smacking each of his cheeks with her signature kisses. She’d never been to Europe but considered herself French enough. Giselle towered over him. Missy, Liv and Dionysus exited the bedroom to give their greetings.
“Bri, you gotta meet Jaime’s new man.”
“Oh,” Jaime objected half-heartedly, embarrassed. “We haven’t known each other that long.”
“Shut up, Jamison, take credit for hooking yourself a good one.”
Dionysus was grinning like the Cheshire Cat, all teeth and pride. Jaime mock swatted him. “Well, you have their approval, if not mine,” she teased.
“I’ll take it.”
“I don’t know,” Missy said with an exaggerated frown, standing on her tiptoes. “I think he’s too tall.” It was an ongoing joke -- they all knew Missy loved Brian’s height, since she barely topped five feet herself. Normally, Brian would join in and make some comment about signing up for stretching classes, or having been shrunk in the wash. He was one of the most good-natured people Jaime knew. Normally.
Brian had stopped in the center of the room, as if he’d seen a ghost.
“What is it, Bri?” Liv had noticed.
He was staring at the uncovered stained glass mirror. His hands shook. His face, pink enough to start with his red-haired complexion, was turning darker with anger. The whites of his eyes looked enormous.
Jaime’s blood grew cold. “Dee?” she asked, using the nickname Liv had given the god. The mirror was empty, save Brian’s reflection and that of the painted sky behind him. Jaime couldn’t see the djinn, as she’d feared she would. What did Brian see?
Dionysus moved closer, taking her hand.
“I don’t see him,” Jaime whispered. Dionysus shook his head—he didn’t either. The other women had grown quiet. Everyone could sense something was wrong, but no one knew what.
Brian’s face filled with sudden terror. And then he turned suddenly, his face growing vicious. “Missy!” he screamed. “What did you do to her?” He leapt at Jaime, hands out in front of him, reaching for her throat. Dionysus knocked her backward. She slid on a folded painting cloth, falling back against the couch, banging her hip into the arm rest. She clutched at it, holding herself up. She scanned the room for weapons but there were only a few brushes and rollers, everything moved aside for the painting. One of the other women screamed—she couldn’t tell who. Maybe it was Jaime herself.
Brian threw himself at Dionysus, lunging, trying to get past to Jaime. The god grappled with him, trying to pull the other man in a headlock, but he was the god of wine, not war, and was losing the fight. He knew it. Brian was in a senseless rage, and all he wanted was Jaime. Missy threw herself at him, screaming for him to stop, but he didn’t seem to hear her.
Then Dionysus turned and looked in Missy’s eyes. She quieted, then stopped. “Cover the mirror,” he said. She nodded. He turned and stared at Liv, then Giselle, making eye contact each time. Brian still thrashed against his hold, clawing at the god’s arms, butting with his head. It was senseless, mindless lashing out with no strategy or form. Jaime’s three girlfriends threw one of the painting cloths over the mirror.
And then he stopped.
Without Brian’s momentum pressing against him, Dionysus fell, taking the other man down with him. They collapsed in a heap on the floor. The other women, having completed the task of covering the mirror, were now free of Dionys
us’ gaze and began to sob. Giselle held Missy tightly as Liv moved to the couch to check on Jaime. Jaime clung to her friend’s arm as if it were a lifeline.
“What the fuck was that?” she asked.
“It’s okay now. He’s asleep for the moment,” Dionysus said, untangling himself from the other man.
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I know.” Dionysus lifted his head. “Everyone, could you look at my eyes please?”
Jaime closed her own eyes. She wanted the truth, not another glamour.
“Okay, everyone expect Jaime then.”
The other women, confused, obeyed him automatically. Jaime watched now, taking care not to make eye contact with the god.
“Everything will be all right.” His voice was soothing. “We all just had too much wine. You’ll remember this as a dream.” He kept his voice modulated, at the volume of a gentle rain. The other women relaxed visibly as it poured over their bodies, seeping into their consciousness. Liv, next to Jaime on the couch, leaned into her. Jaime could feel her trembling stop. She hugged her friend close.
“Everything will be all right,” he repeated. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. Now, could you help me with Brian?” His voice was still gentle. He spoke to them as if they were scared rabbits who could flee at any moment. Jaime supposed they were.
Missy and Giselle helped the god lift Brian into an armchair on the far side of the room, away from Jaime. She stayed on the couch curled up with Liv. Although the danger seemed to be over, she couldn’t relax the way the other women had. The other women sat on the arms of the chair with Brian.
Dionysus leaned over Brian, shaking him awake. Missy’s husband blinked, yawning as if he’d just come out of a long sleep. His face twitched a few times, the mustache comically twitching with it. Hard to believe Jaime had been terrified of him a few short minutes ago. But she could believe it, and so she clasped Liv’s hand tightly.
“You okay, James?” Liv whispered in her ear. Jaime nodded.
“What’s going on?” Brian asked drowsily.
“I don’t know,” Missy replied. “But fuck, do I have a killer hangover.”
At the sound of her voice, Brian seemed to wake up fully. His face paled with momentary terror until he saw she was sitting next to him. “I thought you were dead.”
Missy made a sympathetic noise and patted his shoulder. “I’m right here, silly.”
“It was just a nightmare,” Dionysus said.
“A nightmare?”
“It’s okay. You drank too much wine. Nothing was real. What did you see?”
“It was ridiculous.” Brian pursed his lips, reluctant to talk.
“It’s okay, sweetie,” Missy soothed him. “It wasn’t real.”
“I thought—I walked in, and Jaime hugged me, like always. Then I saw you. Was there a mirror? I thought I saw your reflection. On the ground. You were covered in blood.”
“Yikes!” Missy giggled now, all traces of her former terror gone. Jaime could feel Liv’s body beside her rippling with suppressed laughter as well.
“You thought I killed her,” Jaime said. That’s why he attacked me.
“It’s funny what people will dream sometimes, isn’t it?” Dionysus gave her a warning look.
“I’m sorry, Jaime,” Brian said with a rueful smile. ’Course I know you’d never do something like that in real life. Hope I didn’t say anything in my sleep.”
Jaime shook her head. Dionysus ushered her friends out the door. They followed him easily, as if still in a trance. Jaime hung back, not giving any hugs goodnight this time. She still wasn’t comfortable getting close to Brian. She blamed it on a headache from all the wine they’d had. “I’ll be better after a night’s sleep. Thanks again, guys. I love the paintings.” Her heart wasn’t in it, but she said the words.
After they were gone, Dionysus gathered her in a tight hug. They stood in the middle of the living room. Her sofa and chairs were off-kilter, moved about in the scuffle. Painting cloths were everywhere, some folded, some still draped over tables. The mirror was covered. She pressed her body tightly against his and buried her face in his warm neck. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know how far the djinn’s power extended.” He kept one hand tangled in her hair, the other encircling her waist as if he might need to catch her at any moment. But she was stronger now. She lengthened her spine, standing tall, and pulled back to look at the god.
“So it was him, then.”
“It must have been. Just as I have influence over women, it seems he was able to make your friend’s husband see something in the mirror.”
“Ugh. I want them out of here. Not just covered. I want them gone. We can put them in the basement, close it up.”
“Jaime,” he said, “the djinn has moved beyond spying, now. I don’t know what he’ll do next.”
Jaime looked around her, taking strength from the paintings on the wall. She was strong, she realized, bright as the colors her friends had given her. She could do this. “But he only has power in the mirrors?”
“That’s what I think. I can’t say for sure, but as long as I’m the one tied to the bottle, I’m in this world and he is free in the demon world only. He should be content to remain there—that was his goal all along.”
Jaime had been puzzling over this earlier. Why was this the first time the djinn had attacked one of Dionysus’ mistresses? “What is it about me that’s special?” she asked out loud. Wow, way to sound arrogant, James. She smiled a little at the return of her inner critic. She was feeling more like herself. “If he’s only after me, it must mean something. He wants to stay free, and he can only do that if you’re still cursed.”
Understanding dawned in the god’s eyes. His full lips quirked into the hint of a smile and he leaned forward to kiss her nose, a quick, soft dampness that made her smile in return. “You think you’re the one who can break the curse,” he said.
“Out loud it sounds pretty egotistical, doesn’t it?” Jaime scoffed at herself.
“No.” Dionysus was grinning outright now, the spark of laughter back in his eyes. “No—it doesn’t at all. I think you’re right.”
“So, what do we do about it? Figure out how to break it?”
“You want to break the curse?”
She tilted her head at him. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I? You want to get out of the bottle and go back to doing godly things, right? What is it you do anyway, other than run around in the woods with women and drink wine?”
“I just thought—if you free me, then you won’t get your remaining fantasies. It’s very selfless of you.”
Really? Jaime didn’t see it as selfless. Why would anyone want to keep another person—or supernatural being, or whatever a god counted as—from being free? Wasn’t that just natural? Of course, she supposed, Dionysus came from a time when slavery was normal. Where he was from, women couldn’t vote, and were treated as chattel. Jaime had never considered herself a militant feminist, but it was hard to go to an arts school in Canada without having at least some exposure to it.
Maybe that was the explanation for the myths she’d read. Dionysus had shown her nothing but respect, and had the same for her friends. Though he’d used his powers to exert influence and calm them this evening, he’d never forced them or her to do anything against their will. In the tales, he’d simply opened up women’s individual desires—for sex, or nature, or art.
It must have been pretty threatening to the men at the time.
“Maybe I can still have one of my fantasies,” Jaime said. She ran fingers through his hair slowly, tangling in the curls. She tugged at them and he murmured in pleasure. She leaned in and touched her mouth to his throat, then kissed up the side of his neck. She whispered in his ear, “We’ve got tonight. I think I’m too mentally exhausted for curse-busting and planning right now—that can wait. But my body still has energy, and I’m all warmed up from painting.”
“That’s a plan I can handle.”
&
nbsp; They left the mess in the living room and moved to the bedroom. He stripped out of the paint-splattered overalls and Jaime gave him one of the bags she’d brought home from shopping. They dumped it out on the bedroom floor, clothes tumbling over hardwood, laughing together. They were both relieved to be having fun, a break from worrying over what the djinn’s next move might be.
She had picked up a few items and they both reached for a shirt at the same time, laughing.
“You choose something,” she said. “I want you fully clothed so I can remove them later.” Feeling bossy, she added, “And shower the paint off. I want a fresh canvass.” She sent him to the bathroom so she could change herself, slipping on the lingerie she’d purchased under her silk robe. Then she busied herself around the room.
She lit a few candles, placing them on the bedside table and dressers, an artistic touch that Jaime couldn’t resist. It would be mostly for her benefit, since she planned to blindfold the god. The scent of plum and wax filled the room, covering the lingering scent of paint. She would have to be careful not to touch the walls. A light rain pattered on the roof above them. It was the perfect night to spend indoors. Jaime felt cocooned by it, safe in the house with the god nearby. The sound of the shower turning on complemented the rain overhead. She could almost forget the vision of the djinn she’d seen. Almost.
Now, though, the evening was about their pleasure, not fear. Jaime wanted this fantasy to be about both of them. Although she was his mistress, his pleasure mattered just as much, especially after what he’d done for her today. She’d dated men before who planned romantic gestures—roses, a nice dinner out, the usual suspects. But she’d never had someone really think of her the way the god had. Men usually fled from her friends. Four extroverted art majors in one room, drinking wine, giggling and painting, was their nightmare. And for him to actually plan that whole evening, just for her? To pick up on what she’d said about her house feeling bare and drab, and how much she missed her painting?
If only he were her real boyfriend. If he were free of the curse, would he still choose her?