by Sierra Dean
I killed your son twice, and you did nothing.
It was spiteful, but effectively cruel. Exactly the sort of thing a goddess would dream up.
“How did he die?”
Hecate held up her wrists, and lines sliced open along the veins, blood rushing from the illusory wounds and puddling the ground around her feet with red droplets that resembled fresh poppies. The dark spots at the center of each drop grew legs and transformed into beetles, scuttling away from her feet as fast as they could.
“He killed himself.” I didn’t phrase it as a question.
“Yes. And then he changed his mind.”
“I didn’t think that was allowed.”
“As with most things, how do you know unless you ask? Leo asked.”
“And you just let him go?”
“Not just. Do you imagine I am in the business of restoring mortal lives for free? If so, you have very naïve views.”
“I don’t think you do anything for free.”
“Cynical, but slightly more accurate.” The gaping wounds on her arms healed as quickly as they’d formed. One of the blood beetles skittered across my foot in its hurry to get away. I wasn’t sure what had the newborn bugs so scared, but I admired their survival instinct.
Too bad they were living in a place where only the dead could walk.
“What did you make him offer?”
Hecate laughed, and if I could have turned into a beetle and scurried away from the sound, I would have. She clapped me on the shoulder, chuckling like she thought I’d made the funniest joke she’d ever heard. She shook her head, and each turn of the cheek changed how she looked. Young, old, normal. Young, old, normal.
Did I mention I needed a vacation?
“I’m not going to divulge my arrangements with Leo Marquette to you. What is said between me and the dead is not for the ears of others.”
“And what about the things said between you and the living?”
She gave my arm a tender squeeze. “I won’t tell Seth about our arrangement, if that’s what has you worried. But I was not the only one in the room.”
I doubted Mormo would get any benefits from tattling on me, especially not given his devotion to Hecate. Cade…well…his life was no more his own than mine was. He wouldn’t want to rat me out, but if Ardra asked, he couldn’t lie to her.
Then again, what were the chances of the bad-luck goddess asking, “Did Tallulah make any binding promises to gods other than Seth?”
I was probably okay.
“Show me.” I tried to be subtle about shrugging free of her touch. She frowned anyway.
“Very well.”
Hecate pointed to the forks of the path. “The way is simple for those who can acknowledge the life they have lived. There is the path you are on.” She indicated the ground beneath our feet. “There is the path of the wicked. The path of the righteous. The path of the humble. The path of the wise.”
“And where do they go?” If the path of the wicked didn’t lead straight to the underworld, I’d be shocked.
“The journey is different for everyone who walks it, and thus so is the destination.” As if she’d read my mind, she said, “The underworld doesn’t need to be an awful place, little one. Not every eternity is an infernal one.”
“That’s your mystical, godlike way of saying you won’t tell me where they go.”
A light laugh. “Yes.”
“Well, if you ask me, the path of the humble is bullshit.”
Hecate raised one brow and regarded me with interest. She said nothing, but her expression clearly indicated she wanted me to continue.
“If someone was truly humble, they wouldn’t call themselves humble. It would be like bragging about how humble they are, and that would be counterintuitive.”
This made her smile brightly, and her adult visage was more beautiful than I’d ever seen her before. Arresting was the only correct word. Breathtaking.
“It is also the path of the liar. The self-deceiver,” Hecate explained.
“So nothing here is as it seems.”
“Everything is as it is. What it seems is merely a projection you have brought into it yourself.”
“Fucking riddles.”
Hecate took my hand and squeezed it, looking down each path. From this angle she appeared to be a child, and it was hard not to trust her just because of the innocent veneer.
“This is not a test or a trick. I want you to pick the path you would choose if you were standing here for real. And if you choose correctly, I will show you Leo.”
My gaze trailed over the options. I wasn’t truly wicked, and wouldn’t have chosen the path of the humble even if I hadn’t spotted the obvious fallacy in its name.
Righteousness or wisdom, then.
Did self-righteousness count? I’d been accused of that more than once. And no one had ever accused me of being terribly smart, in spite of my own opinions on the matter.
I was about to start a mental game of “Eeny, meeny, miny, moe” to pick a path when the answer came to me.
“No.”
Her grip tightened, and her hair fell over her shoulder, blocking my view of her face. The more she squeezed the more it began to hurt, until I yelped, wrenching my hand free.
“No isn’t an answer.”
“No is an answer.” I planted my feet firmly, worried she might try to force me to move. “You told me yourself it was what Leo chose, and if I expect to see him, I should take the same path he did, shouldn’t I?”
I totally deserved to take the path of the wise when I got here for real. No one else would be able to tell me differently.
The hag’s face turned a milky eye on me, her wrinkles creasing deeply as she furrowed her brow and sneered. Then the sneer softened, and Hecate faced me as the middle woman, easing the tension with a gentle smile. “I knew I’d made the right choice with you.”
“Great.”
“Now you have earned what you are looking for.”
Without further explanation she shoved me, both hands on my chest. I stumbled backward and went down, expecting to land on my ass on the ground. Instead I kept falling. The trees melted away into black streaks of nothingness, and the night road vanished, Hecate along with it. I fell and kept falling until I was sure this was the shape of eternity and I would pass the remainder of my days plummeting into an inky void that was the absence of anything.
Then came the smell of spice. Sharp, brilliant chilies and sweet sugar. Beneath it was a fetid reek of piss and vomit, but far enough away it was like an insinuation instead of an insult. Then I landed hard, thumping butt first down on rough wood floor panels. The room was dark, but compared to the void, it was downright luminous.
I made out the familiar shapes of furniture: a dresser, a bed.
In the distance, voices shouted merrily and music throbbed.
I wasn’t in my motel room in Shreveport. There was no sign of Cade, or Fen, and mercifully no sign of Mormo.
My head swam, and I tried to stand, but my body reeled, and a sudden wave of nausea crashed into me.
I bolted for the thin line of light on the floor, praying it was a bathroom.
Knocking open the door, I first struck a wall of steam, then smacked into a much more solid wall of warm skin and firm muscle.
Belonging to a very naked man.
Chapter Sixteen
No time for embarrassment or modesty.
I shoved past the man and found the toilet. Knocking his neatly folded clothes onto the floor, I lifted the lid and tossed my cookies. The retching sound apparently was enough to drive my new nude friend out of the room with a deep, “Oh fuck, gross.”
Yeah, well, he should be grateful I didn’t do it on his bedroom floor.
When my entire stomach and entrails felt like they’d been exhumed into the toilet, I slumped back onto the tile floor and glanced around the little bathroom. It was old and cramped, so we were probably in an apartment. The floor was white hexagonal tiles with inte
rmittent black ones thrown in willy-nilly to make an obsessive-compulsive person nuts.
An ivy plant hung in a basket above the toilet, tendrils of leaves snaking out over the mirror and wrapping around the silver shower rod. Inside the tub were minimal toiletries and some men’s shampoo and body wash in aggressively masculine gray packaging.
The clothing on the floor next to me was a pair of jeans so well-worn there were holes underneath the back pockets, and a T-shirt in similar disrepair. Splatters of drywall mud and paint were the only things that made me think tradesman instead of pretentious hipster.
Outside the door, he cleared his throat loudly.
“Lady, are you done yakking in my john?”
I glared at the toilet like it was my sworn enemy. “For now.”
He pushed open the door, and his body filled the frame—still mostly naked, but for a pair of boxer briefs—and his presence loomed large in the room.
Really large, judging by the underwear.
“Put that thing away,” I grumbled, throwing his jeans at him.
Gods knew why, but he complied, pulling the pants on hurriedly but not bothering to do up the zipper or button. Whatever, I suppose it was his place. I took a look at him without the distraction of his mighty package being so close to escaping. He was tall, pushing six-foot-five or more, though it was hard to know for sure given that I was on the floor.
His skin was light brown, with a similar rosy glow to Sido’s. He also had her same tight curls, though his were cut a fair bit shorter. His eyes surprised me though, a light gray, the color of a passing storm.
The same color Seth’s eyes turned when he was pleased about something.
“Well I’ll be. You’re Leo Marquette, aren’t you?”
“Maybe. Depends who you are and why you broke into my apartment.” He had a wonderful New Orleans accent that was charming and inviting even when he was grilling me about my inadvertent B&E.
“I didn’t break in.”
“Sure, you just materialized here.” He rolled his eyes.
“Actually…”
“Look, lady, if you’re gonna come in here, force me to put on pants, and ralph all over my bathroom, I think I deserve some kind of an explanation.”
I smiled in spite of my attempt to remain serious. How could anyone stay tough when that accent was so delightful? “I did not throw up all over your bathroom. I kept it very centralized.” I waved my hand in the area over the toilet. “And I’d like to see you manage to keep your shit together when you get dropped off the godsdamned night road unexpectedly.”
The night-road mention got his attention. Leo’s expression changed from mildly annoyed to downright terrified in a heartbeat. His skin took on an ashen quality, and he checked over his shoulder, like I might have brought Hecate with me.
“I’m alone,” I assured him.
“What do you want?” He shut the door behind him, closing us into the bathroom together. With no easy route of escape and him edging closer, I became distinctly aware of how imposing his size was and how much damage he could do if he wanted to.
He was a demigod, after all. They were stronger than humans and weren’t always known to have the most evenly keeled temperaments.
Wonder where they got that from?
I wanted to get up, at least put myself on the same footing with Leo, no matter that he was almost a foot taller than me. The illusion of equality that standing would give me might bolster my certainty and put a little kick back into me. Lying on the floor was hardly a good way to have someone take you seriously.
But as I braced my arm on the lip of the toilet and started to lift myself, the weight of my body issued a protest, and I sank back down with a thud.
Interdimensional travel really takes it out of you.
“Fuck,” I grumbled. “Do you have any donuts?” Let it never be said that I didn’t know how to balance my priorities.
“Donuts?” He sat on the edge of the tub, bringing him closer to level with me. If the expression on his face was any indication, the man thought I was completely insane.
“Leo…” I propped myself into a more comfortable position and wheezed from the exertion.
“I didn’t say that was my name.”
“Yeah, you also didn’t tell me your shoe size, but I know they’re big. Some things don’t need verbal confirmation. You’re Leo Marquette.”
“You some kind of psychic?”
“I like you. You bypass stalker and go for psychic. FYI, I wasn’t kidding about those donuts. Do you have any?”
“Like, laying around? No. But if you want to get out of my apartment, I can point you in the direction of some beignets.”
Beignets.
His accent, and the sounds I’d heard coming from outside when I landed.
“So I’m in New Orleans.”
“Lady, are you on drugs or something? Do I need to take you to a hospital?” The terror I’d seen was gone, replaced with genuine concern. Which was kind of sweet, except the fear would keep him alive longer.
“Your dad sent me.”
“Julian?”
I paused, not comprehending his meaning. “Who?”
He stood up so quickly my head spun, and I briefly considered throwing up again. Instead I decided enough was enough, it was time to get down to business. I held out my hand to him, crooking my fingers.
Obviously a gentleman at heart, Leo grabbed my hand without hesitation and helped me to my feet. Standing in such close quarters with him I was reminded of the last time I’d shared alone time with a man in a bathroom.
“Hecate be damned,” I spat, suddenly remembering what I’d left behind. Cade and Fen were stuck with Mormo and Hecate, and I sincerely doubted they would give him any straight answers about where I’d gone.
I also hadn’t had the opportunity to take my bag with me when Hecate dragged me onto the night road, meaning my cell phone and wallet were back in Shreveport with the boys.
This night kept getting better and better.
“You said my dad sent you, but my dad died eighteen months ago.”
As if this guy didn’t know. He had to know. Demis had special powers; they had gifts. “Julian?”
Leo nodded, crossing his muscular arms over the broad expanse of his chest. My attention was briefly diverted. Seth made unfairly beautiful children.
“Leo, you know Julian wasn’t your real dad, right?”
Not that I’d ever doubted Seth was his father, but when I said this, Leo’s eyes darkened, clouding from light gray to a stormy-charcoal shade. “Get out of my house.” He yanked open the bathroom door, letting a wave of cool air waft in.
“You know, though. You must know.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about or who you are, but you don’t get to come in here and tell me my father wasn’t my father. Get out.” He grabbed my arm roughly and dragged me back into his bedroom, and kept hauling me through his apartment until we reached the front door. Before he could toss me on the street, I hurled myself at the door, leaning my whole weight against it to at least temporarily block him from getting the thing open.
He took a look at me, all of five-foot-seven and a hundred and thirty pounds, and gave a derisive snort.
“Yeah, okay, dude, I get it. You can move me. But first can you listen?”
“Suddenly you want to talk? I asked who you were in the bathroom, and you just avoided my questions.” He shook his head in two violent jerks of the chin. “Now you can go willingly, or you can go hard. I can tell you you’re not going to like the second option.”
Oh, so we were threatening now?
Bring it, son.
“I am Tallulah Corentine. I am the North American Rain Chaser, disciple of Seth. I control storms, and so help me gods if you ever threaten me again, I will shove a lightning bolt so far up your ass you’ll be sneezing pure energy for a month. Am. I. Clear?”
Now he was listening and no longer trying to get by me.
“Seth?” h
e asked.
“Your father.”
He took a step back, looking dizzy, and braced himself with a hand against the wall. “My father’s name was Julian.”
I shook my head, relaxing slightly now that I knew he wasn’t going to forcibly remove me from the apartment. The last thing I’d expected was that I’d need to play therapist and explain to Leo who his real father was. Demis usually knew.
Where was Sido when I needed her? Who better to explain the situation than Leo’s own half-sister and someone who knew what it was like to have a god for a parent? I had parents I hadn’t seen in twenty years. The only reason I knew they were still alive was because the temple sent them a gift every year on my birthday as thanks for providing them a new Rain Chaser.
I didn’t know if they wanted to see me or if they tried to communicate with me. All interaction between temple brats and their former families was forbidden. Guess they worried we’d go rogue and abandon our positions if we knew our parents missed us or something.
Or maybe they didn’t care. Maybe they were glad to be rid of us.
Either way I didn’t know how to empathize with what Leo was feeling right now. I had no frame of reference for this kind of emotional wallop.
“I assumed you knew.” I touched his bare arm tentatively, assuming he would pull away, but instead he leaned into my palm, still braced against the hallway wall.
“Are you trying to tell me the god of the storm is my father?”
Gently squeezing his biceps, I confirmed his statement with a nod. “He had a relationship with your mother. You were the result.”
“I’m thirty-two years old.” His voice had a faint, pained wheeze to it. “Why am I only finding this out now? Why…why are you telling me?”
No kidding, right? Who better to break potentially life-altering news to you than a complete stranger who appeared in your apartment without warning?
“You’re in serious danger, and I’m here to bring you to Seth’s temple. It’s important to him that you’re protected.”
“Now.”
“Yes.”
“I mean why now? It’s only important to him that I’m protected now? Where was he twenty years ago when kids were beating me up after school because I had weird eyes? They used to say my mom must have fucked a white guy because why else would I have such light eyes? Where was Seth then, huh? Might have been nice to be able to tell them my daddy was a god instead. Fuck.” He shrugged my hand off. “Or when we had no money for food and I was taking care of myself so the people who raised me could work double shifts at shit jobs to pay our rent. No, you don’t get to come here now and tell me my real father is a god. Fuck you, and fuck him, and fuck this.”