The streets wound narrowly through the city, sometimes filled with people on foot, sometimes dominated by the wheeled vehicles. Cas and Pol flowed along with the foot traffic, stopping when they stopped for the vehicles, moving with them when they moved again.
Cas scrutinized the others with interest. The men and boys looked the same as men and boys of centuries past, either walking purposefully or strolling along looking into shop windows and stopping to talk at length to other men.
The women, on the other hand, were much different. In the Athens of the past, respectable ladies stayed at home and never went out. That didn’t mean Cas and Pol hadn’t found their way inside plenty of times, but the only women allowed on the streets had been slaves, very elderly women and courtesans.
These women, walking with heads high, wore everything from the blue leggings similar to what the twins wore to colorful body-hugging dresses that nicely exposed legs and arms. He didn’t think the scantily dressed women were courtesans, because they lacked the practiced come-hither looks of professional ladies. These were normal wives and daughters enjoying a walk in the morning sun.
All very strange. But Cas was a demigod who’d lived for centuries, and he’d witnessed changes in fashion and the way in which men and women treated one another. Spartan women, for example, had been very different from the Athenians. Athletic and beautiful, Spartan woman had been more or less ignored by their men and hadn’t minded a little seduction by their favorite demigod twins.
Fiona was different from the women of ancient times, but she was also different from the women who walked these streets. The Athenian women he saw now carefully dressed their hair and had every piece of clothing in place.
Fiona’s shirt had been buttoned wrong, her short leggings had been worn and dirty at the hem, and she’d scraped her mussed red hair carelessly back into a tail. Cas found her adorable. When he and Pol returned from exploring this new Athens, he would put his arms around her and show her just how adorable he thought she was.
Turning a corner, Cas and Pol found themselves in a sea of market stalls crammed every which way along a square, thronged with men and women from the young in tight clothing to the elderly in black shawls.
The sudden wall of color and sound brought a smile to his face. This was more like it. Here was the world of the Agora brought to life with all its smells and sounds—smoke from roasting meat, squawks of chickens and other fowl, crackling music and off-beat singing, shouts of men and women hawking their wares, the pungent odor of fruit and the green scent of vegetables. Children ran about screaming, mothers shouting after them.
Other non-Greek people were there too, staring as avidly as Cas and Pol. A pretty young woman herded a group like a shepherdess, saying in a loud voice, “The flea market borders the ancient Athenian Agora, which housed not only shops and markets but government and law offices, the mint for coining money, and the prison.”
Cas listened with interest as she described the ancient stoa or arcaded shops that had traded olives, wine, grain and oil, as well as exotic treasures from the far-flung Persian empire and Egypt. The group shuffled away, staring at the modern flea market, which also held exotic treasures in abundance.
Pol had moved to a booth selling baklava, a pastry sticky with honey and ground pistachios. Cas asked for one and the pungent drink the stall owner called coffee.
Cas felt in the pockets of the leggings he’d liberated from the blond man and found a few coins, which he passed to the stall owner. It seemed to be enough, because the stall owner smiled and gave them no coins in return.
Cas and Pol moved through the market, chewing baklava, licking fingers coated with honey. Cas was beginning to like this time, whenever it was. The shoppers seemed relaxed and happy, the sun was hot, no one was pushed aside to make way for the aristocracy and there seemed to be no slaves.
Athens, of course, had always been the leader of the world and this might be the only oasis in a howling wilderness. Time would tell.
Pol soon found a taverna and ducked inside, calling for wine. The proprietor seemed surprised and not ready to open and serve them, but Pol spoke to him for a time, and he agreed. Pol was not above using his powers on people to make them do as he liked.
As the twins settled down with a bottle between them, other men drifted into the taverna and took seats. Pol requested the best wine for them as well.
By the end of the hour, the taverna had filled, the clientele all new friends of Pol and Cas. One man brought out a stringed instrument and soon there was music and clapping and singing.
The proprietor carried another bottle of wine to the table. Next to it he set a small slip of paper with numbers on it.
Cas lifted it the paper between his fingers. “What is this?” he asked in Greek.
The proprietor grinned. “It is what you owe.”
Cas felt in his pockets for more coins but found none. Pol had a few paper notes that meant nothing to either of them. The proprietor took the notes but said they needed more.
“We have no more,” Pol said. “Are you saying that Castor and Pollux, the sons of Zeus, have to pay for their wine?”
The proprietor laughed loudly. “Dionysus himself would have to pay, my friend. My wife does the accounts.”
The entire room went off into hilarity. Pol lifted his cup in salute. “Tell Dionysus to come then. He can pay.”
Cas shook his head. “Remember how angry he was last time you did that?”
“True,” Pol agreed. “What can we give you, good man? Blessings on your wine and your children? Each will improve tenfold and your taverna will never be empty.” Pol drained his cup to cheers from the crowd.
The proprietor reached fingers to the folded-leather pouch Cas had pulled from his pocket and plucked a thin card from its interior. “No problem. I will take this.”
He disappeared behind his counter as Cas poured more wine. When the proprietor returned, he handed Cas the card and another slip of paper, then gave him a stylus. “Sign here.”
Cas studied the stylus curiously. One end was blunt, bad for marking in wax, and the pointed end was too round. He pressed the pointed end onto the paper, but it made no indentation. He found to his amazement that when he lifted the stylus away it left behind a mark.
He showed Pol, moving the stylus and making lines. The proprietor started to look worried. “I need you to sign the receipt,” he said.
Cas picked up the shiny card the proprietor had returned to him and looked at the letters on it. They were not Greek, but whatever magic Fiona had used to bring him and Pol back from oblivion allowed him to read it.
He pressed the stylus to the paper again and copied Hans Jorgensen.
This was evidently the correct thing to do, because the proprietor beamed a smile at him, took the slip and went away.
The Athens of this day was obviously a prosperous place, so prosperous that the people could give away their wares and wines freely. All you had to do was give the smooth, thin card to the shop owners and they let you have whatever you wanted. It was astonishing.
Pol and Cas left the taverna to shouts of thanks and farewells and moved through the winding, narrow streets. They walked along, observing everything, out to wider streets with more of the rushing vehicles on them.
As they hesitated on a street corner, wondering where to go next, a small wheeled conveyance pulled to a halt. “Taxi?” the man inside asked.
They stared at him, wondering what he meant.
“You gents want to go somewhere?” the man went on in Greek. “I know the best taverna in Athens. I can take you there.”
Pol grinned and clapped Cas on the shoulder. “Excellent. We will see this taverna, and if it is truly the best, we will fetch Fiona and give her wine.”
“A good plan,” Cas agreed.
The man inside had to get out and show them how the mysterious doors operated. Once Cas and Pol had stuffed themselves into the tiny seat, their long legs folded with knees high, the man hoppe
d back in and the conveyance sped them away at sickening speed.
Cas held up the thin card. “I have this,” he said.
The driver grinned at him in a mirror hanging from the window. “Good for you. My friend at the taverna, he will give you all you need.”
* * * * *
The demigoddess Selena, spawned from the mating of a god and a wild demon, woke on a hard floor. For a moment, the daylight stunned her and then she realized.
I am outside the jar. The spell is broken.
Well, shit.
She sat up, fuming. Those two damn walking cocks, Cas and Pol, must have tricked her. She was supposed to be with them in that jar for eternity, having sex on top of sex—she’d made sure they couldn’t escape.
Except all had been cold darkness, not ecstasy. So much time seemed to pass and yet none at all.
Selena gingerly climbed to her feet, touching her head that pounded with a hell of a migraine. She tried to banish it and couldn’t, which pissed her off.
She was a half-demon, half-goddess, why couldn’t she get rid of a little headache?
And why couldn’t she figure out where the hell she was?
She was in a building, in a room that looked unused. Empty shelves rested against a wall, wooden and broken. A shutter had been latched over a small window.
Selena opened the shutter then jumped back as a strange vehicle roared past, belching fumes.
What demon was this? And could he help her?
She craned to look out of the window, but the strange-smelling demon had gone. Below her was a little alley full of trash. She wrinkled her nose and turned to try the door behind her. It was locked.
That wouldn’t do. She rattled the doorknob then stood back and tried to use her magic to heat the lock until it melted.
A wave of weakness hit her and the lock remained intact. Damn.
The spell must have drained her more than she’d thought, or else Cas and Pol had found a way to castrate her magic.
Bastards. As soon as she found them, she’d castrate them in the literal sense. They had no business being so fucking gorgeous and then deigning to refuse when she invited them to screw her.
Fucking assholes.
Selena pounded on the door. “Let me out of here!” she screamed.
Her language sounded strange to her. It was Greek, but different, as though the words and tones had subtly changed while she was stuck on the jar with the sexy but elusive twins.
In a few moments a key rattled in the lock, and a man stuck his head around the door. He stopped in shock when he saw her.
Selena supposed it would give anyone a shock—finding a voluptuous, naked woman with black hair snaking around her in a locked room must be the highlight of this man’s day.
He wasn’t bad looking, either. She ran an assessing gaze over him—in his twenties, black hair, brown eyes, tanned skin, well-honed body. She put her hands on her hips and swayed toward him.
“Thank you. I thought I’d be stuck in here forever.”
“Uh…” the man said. “How did you get in here?”
“Long story.” She hooked her fingers around the man’s shirt and pulled him inside, banging the door shut. “I’ve been in oblivion forever and it’s made me really horny. Fuck me.”
His brown eyes widened. “What?”
“I said fuck me. Has the meaning of the word changed?”
“No, but—”
“But what? I need release and I need it now. So do it.”
She hadn’t lost all her powers, she thought with satisfaction. The man began hastily undressing, a look of astonishment on his face as though he wasn’t sure why his hands ripped off his clothes.
She pulled him down on top of her. When he lay on her body, a look of incredible hunger came over him and he plunged his cock straight inside her.
It always took them a few minutes, but they inevitably wanted her in the end. All except those damn twins, sons of Zeus—arrogant bastards.
She took out her anger on the man, making him take her in many ways, because she was so hungry. She’d fuck him until he was her slave and then he’d do anything for her, even die.
When she finally let him up, he was whimpering in exhaustion.
“I need clothes,” she said. “I want to wander the world.”
Shaking all over, the man drew on his own clothes and departed. She knew he wouldn’t lock the door or run for help and he didn’t.
She waited until he returned with a dress and some sandals, which she stared at in disbelief. “You want me to wear these?”
“I’m sorry, I—didn’t know what to get.”
He bowed his head, waiting for her to strike him. Selena put her hand on the back of his neck and scratched just deeply enough to draw blood.
“You can make it up to me,” she said, smiling sweetly. “I need you to help me find a jar.”
He blinked. “Jar?”
“Yes, two handles, had a picture of twins fucking a woman who looked just like me. I need to find out what happened to it.”
The man looked blank and she slapped him across the face. “But first, we’re going to find me some decent clothes.”
She put on the dress then took him by the ear and marched him out the door.
The unused back room turned out to be attached to a small apartment with a few tiny chambers and a small kitchen. A peasant, she thought in disgust. She’d chosen a peasant to introduce her to the world again. Ah, well, he’d be fine until she could find something better.
The man led her out into streets that had changed in some ways but were the same in others. The vehicles and clothes and buildings were different, but the way people moved about, living their little lives hadn’t changed. They didn’t know anything, poor fools.
The peasant—Selena didn’t bother asking what his name was because she didn’t care—led her along the streets. People stared as they went by, and she held her head high, knowing they must all recognize that she was a demigoddess. She would restart her cult of worship soon.
She caught sight of her reflection in a shop window. The windows of this particular shop, rather than displaying wares, had black curtains cutting off the view of the interior, even though the shop was open.
The reflection showed herself, breasts nearly spilling out of the tight dress, legs long and strong, her sleek black hair flowing back to touch her ass. She smiled, liking what she saw.
But shit, she had to get new clothes.
“What is this shop?” she demanded.
The man swallowed, face pale. “An adult store.”
“Aren’t all stores for adults?”
“No, I mean where they sell, um…”
Selena solved the problem by striding to the door and shoving it open. “Ah, you mean sex toys. Excellent.”
She dragged him inside. There she found exactly the clothes and shoes she needed and changed into them, watching in satisfaction while the man paid the bill. The black leather hugged her legs and pressed her breasts high. The black gloves fit perfectly, and the crowning touch was the whip.
It was a nice little whip which could be wound to a small coil, but she knew that its lash would sting.
Happy at last, she dragged her slave out of the store, back to his house, and spent the rest of the day playing with the whip and testing out her brand new black, spike-heeled shoes.
Next, she’d find the jar and the twins and take out her anger on them, and that would be that.
* * * * *
By two-thirty, when shops were beginning to close for the afternoon siesta, Fiona still had not found Cas and Pol. She’d searched the Plaka, the district of narrow, meandering streets around the high, flat-topped Acropolis, and found no trace of them.
She’d lost them in the flea market, and from there they could have gone any number of places. At one point she’d gotten it into her head that they’d probably gone back to the dig and she’d raced back, out of breath.
They hadn’t been there. Hans Jorg
ensen, though, had discovered the loss of not only two pairs of jeans and a t-shirt, but his wallet as well. He was furious and frantic. Fiona slipped away again.
Down one of the narrow alleys on the other side of the flea market, she found a taverna overflowing with men singing and drinking wine. She peered into its dark depths but saw neither Cas nor Pol.
“Looking for someone, my angel?” a man at a sidewalk table asked her.
All his companions were men—in fact, there wasn’t a woman in the place. Fiona blushed, remembering that Greek women usually wouldn’t approach an all-male place, and foreign females who did could be mistaken for women on the make.
“Have you seen two men?” she asked in her best classroom Greek. “They are very tall and look alike. Twins.”
All the men at the table nodded.
“Those two?” another man said. “Like the gods themselves came down for a cup of wine? They were here. Very generous.”
Fiona hid a groan. “Did you see where they went?”
The men shrugged. A man at another table, younger than the others, gestured down the street, a cigarette stuck between his ring and middle fingers. “I saw them get into a taxi.”
Fiona glanced at the corner as though Cas and Pol would conveniently materialize. “Damn,” she muttered.
“It was Platonis’ taxi,” another man said. “He only takes tourists one place, and that’s the Plataria, a taverna.”
“They weren’t tourists,” the younger man argued. “They are Greek.”
“But not from these parts.”
The men shook their heads, murmuring agreement.
“Where is this Plataria place?” Fiona asked. When the men went stone-faced, uniting against a scolding woman, she said, “I need to find them. Please, it’s important.”
The younger man seemed to understand her distress. “It’s in Omonia.” He named a part of town that was a bit of a red light district. “Not for ladies. Wait at home, love. They’ll come back.”
Fiona choked back a frustrated snarl. She’d worked with academics and archaeologists so long she was not used to men who advised women to stay at home and leave their men alone.
Planetary Passions 6: Double Trouble (Gemini) Page 3