by Staci Hart
“You make her sound like such a treasure. Ow!” he yelped when Kiki pinched him. But he was smiling, and so was she. “Your father scares the shit out of me by the way.”
“You should be scared. But only if I tell him you’ve been bad,” she teased.
But he was serious. “You mean like Eric?”
She tensed, but he just ran his fingers through her hair.
“Why don’t you tell your dad, Kiki?”
“That’s the thing. I’m going to.”
Owen’s hand paused, his voice solemn. “Why the change of heart?”
“Kat made a point yesterday I couldn’t argue. If he found me, he’d find you too. And he’d kill you.”
He cupped her face, his heart aching under her palm. “Kiki …”
“I’ve been stupid and selfish. I kept thinking maybe if he found me and Kat, things would end like they almost did the night we left. But if it’s me and you?” She shook her head, eyes brimming with tears. “I can’t risk you. I just can’t.”
Owen leaned into her, his lips soothing and thankful and humbled.
She swiped the tears from her cheeks and lay back down on his chest with a sniffle and a deep breath in and out.
All the gangster movies he’d ever seen combined into a gruesome highlight reel in his mind when he thought about what Tanaka Katsu would do to Eric.
“So Kat and I talked about Dillon last night. Eric is why she left, you know. Not because she didn’t want him.”
“But she said—”
“I know. When she’s mad, you can’t always believe what she says. She has a tendency to deflect.”
“I know the type.”
“Yeah, you do. And I think I can convince her to call him.”
Hope sprang. “Seriously?”
Kiki nodded, propping her chin on his chest again. “I’m going to work on her. I can be pretty relentless.”
“Yeah, you’re a regular hellcat,” he said.
She pinched him again.
“God,” Owen started, “if she called him and told him the truth, I know he’d go for it. He’s lonely, and he wants her. I can feel it. I just … I just want him to be happy. If it wasn’t for me, things would have been different. His whole life would have been different.”
“Different maybe,” she said gently, “but not better.”
Owen thumbed her cheek. “If we can get them together, he could be happy.”
“We have to. I think they’re supposed to be together.”
“Me too.” Owen paused, thinking through the question with caution before asking, “When are you going to call your dad?”
She sighed, the simple sound heavy with sadness. “Soon. I just need a minute to wrap my head around it. We’re talking about murder after all.” Her voice was tight.
He squeezed her. “And in the meantime?”
“In the meantime, we stay close by and listen to Kat. She’ll keep us safe.” Kiki stretched to kiss him. “I’ve got to get ready for work.”
But he held her face and asked against her lips, “Five more minutes?”
And she smiled and said, “Anything you want.”
Kat glanced up from the bar, all warm and gooey at the sight of Kiki tucked in Owen’s side.
Owen took the seat in front of her as Kiki walked around the bar and to the stockroom to deposit her bag.
“The usual?” Kat asked, smiling.
“Wow, am I a regular?”
“You’ve been in here every night we’ve worked for the last week, so I’d say yes.” She tossed a scoop of ice into the lowball glass and poured a finger of Glenlivet.
Kiki walked up, tying on her black apron. “So, I really think you should call Dillon.”
“Where did that come from?” Kat’s brow rose.
“Well, I’ve been thinking a lot about it all, about why you left Dillon. I … you sacrificed what you wanted for me, and I want to help you get it back. Get him back.”
Kat drew a long breath and let it out. “I appreciate that. I do. But there’s still too much … up in the air,” she said, her eyes moving to Owen and back to her sister’s with deliberate slowness.
Kiki’s bottom lip found its way between her teeth. “Owen knows about Eric. About Dad. Everything.”
Kat leveled Kiki with a gaze as sharp as broken glass. “Kiki—”
“We can trust him. You know we can.”
She couldn’t deny it, but she swiveled her head to level Owen next. “If you breathe a word, I swear to God—”
His lips flattened, his tone somber. “I’d never hurt Kiki.”
The truth was plain as day in his eyes. There was nothing she could do regardless. Her face remained stern. “You can’t tell Dillon. No one else can know. Too many people are involved as it is.”
“I haven’t, and I won’t. But I want you to know you can trust him too. He would understand you wanting to protect your sister, and I think he’d want to help, if he could.”
Help. The truth. Words that built that hope like a house of sand at low tide.
“I don’t know why he’d even want to talk to me. Not after how I left him.” It was the painful truth she’d been carrying around for days.
“Dillon is hard and angry, but when he cares, he cares with fierceness and faithfulness that I’ve never seen. And he cares about you. He’ll listen. I know it.”
But could she tell him? Could she bring another person into the mess?
In a way, she supposed he was involved whether he liked it or not. And it would all be over soon, maybe even within hours of Kiki calling their father.
If Kat were to call Dillon, the only way to explain would be to tell him everything. Because she knew Owen was right. He would understand her why, her reasons for leaving. She suspected he’d have done the same.
But what if he only wanted to fight? What if the conversation combusted, as it had so often? Would he see reason? Would he listen, or would her words fall on unwilling ears?
The thought was almost worse than not knowing. She wanted to go back, back to the night of the fight and that moment of rightness and possibility.
Kiki watched her. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid, Kat.”
“I kind of am.” It was a quiet admission, heavy and thick.
But Kiki took her hand and met her eyes. “That just tells me you care about him. And if you care about him, you have to try.”
And in that moment, Kat couldn’t think of a single argument.
Perry sat on Dita’s couch with a DumDum in her mouth, using her powers to twist the lollipop’s wrapper into origami. It floated in the air above her, folding in on itself until it was the shape of a horse, galloping in a circle.
And Dita paced.
House music bumped from her speakers as she turned, fingers to her lips and brows knitted together.
“There has to be a way to find out, Perry. It’s got to be an oath. You should have seen Apollo’s face; it looked like he was trying to swallow a mouthful of garbage. And if Apollo can’t speak of it, Ares can’t either.” She turned and headed back for the couch. “I can’t confront him, not until I have proof. I don’t even want to see his face.”
Perry made a sucking sound as she pulled the lollipop out of her mouth. She pointed it at the wrapper horse and closed one eye as it unfolded and refolded itself into a bird. “Well, let’s think. How else can we find out what happened?”
Dita turned again, starting back across the room. “Adonis doesn’t remember what happened, but I’m not sure he’d know the difference between Ares and Apollo in animal form. No one else was there.”
Perry shot up off the couch, and the wrapper bird flew into her shoulder. “Oh my gods, Dita.”
Dita stopped dead. “What?”
“No one else was there, but that doesn’t matter. Because Mnemosyne has the memory. She has every memory of every god and man, and she’s under my jurisdiction. The river where the memories are held used to flow through the underworld before we redirected it to her apartment
.”
“Perry, you’re a genius,” Dita breathed as a smile spread across her face.
But Perry wasn’t smiling. “Slight problem …”
“Don’t say that. I hate when you say that.”
“Zeus gave her explicit instructions to never share them. Too much can be exploited with the knowledge in that river, and if she could be bought, it would mean ruin of epic proportions. Just think if Hera had access.”
Dita did, and a shudder worked through her.
“The penalty would be great for Mnemosyne, especially when it comes to Zeus’s favor. You know how she loves him.”
“Yes, I do. She owes me a favor, and that favor trumps Zeus’s ruling.”
“Gods, that’s right.” Perry shook her head. “We’ve lived too long and have gone through too much shit to keep it all straight.”
Dita laughed, grabbing Perry’s hand to pull her to the elevator, pressing the button for the third floor, one of the common floors for the lesser gods. Down the hall they went, stopping in front of her door, and Dita knocked under the numbers 3003.
The door swung open to Mnemosyne, keeper of memories.
The Titaness, older than even Zeus himself, was not so gigantic as one might think. She was a willowy woman with a gorgeous mane of wild auburn hair, a leather cord tied around her forehead and chiffon robes hanging from her shoulders — straight out of 1969. Her face was round, her chin a little point, her pale gray eyes big and wide, lips in a surprised little O at the goddesses standing on her threshold.
“Why, hello. Whatever can I do for you?”
“May we come in, Nemi?” Perry asked gently.
“Of course, Persephone.” She tipped her head in a bow and stepped aside.
Dita entered first, making her way through the dark hallway lined with ornately framed mirrors arranged as to cover the length of the wall. The living room was lit by candlelight even though it was the middle of the day, and the heavy scent of patchouli floated in the air, hanging in a light fog from the incense burning from the center of the room.
Mnemosyne had lived for millenniums in the depths and caves of the underworld, and her apartment was a reminiscence Dita understood.
Going from darkness to light was never easy.
A large glass case of mirrored shelves held rows and rows of small vessels, each different — some tall and slender, some short and fat, some glass, some pottery, all corked. Dita peered inside, wondering what Nemi had placed there.
She stepped to Dita’s side, peering inside with a wistful smile. “These are my own cherished memories. I keep them here where I can see them. They’re a reminder of the best of my very long life.”
Dita could relate. She had an infinite closet full of her treasures. At least Mnemosyne’s all fit in a case.
Nemi took a seat on the velvet pillows around a low-sitting round coffee table. “To what do I owe this rare visit? You all are usually a bit too busy to be overly social.”
“I’ve come to ask for your help.” Dita sat across from her, stiff and straight on a large silk pillow, another smaller pillow in her lap. She fidgeted with the tassel. “I have reason to believe that Apollo did not murder Adonis. I believe it was someone else entirely, someone who has been lying to me for eons, and I have come to find out if I’m right.”
Nemi watched her, her gray eyes so wide, so large, so heavy with the weight of so much knowledge. “The memories lie within me and in the waters that share my name. But I have been tasked with guarding them as well. It is forbidden.”
Dita leaned in, dug in. “I know Zeus has tasked you with guarding them, and I know the word forbidden in this instance is not as inflexible as it implies. You have long owed me a favor, and I’ve never asked for anything in return. Not until now.”
The Titaness drew a long breath and gave a slow nod in acknowledgment. “Nine nights with Zeus you gave, and nine daughters he gave. Nine muses the world received for your favor. I owe you much, Aphrodite.” Her hands threaded together in her lap. “I should like to tell you the truth, but I know you well enough to know that you must see to believe.”
She stood, beckoning the goddesses.
They followed Mnemosyne down a dim hallway that opened into a dark, expansive room. Columns lined a pathway, made by the joining of stalactites and stalagmites, the ground beneath their feet smooth, rippled stone. Dita couldn’t see the walls on either side of her or the ceiling above. The room was so dark, it seemed to go on forever and be closing in on her all at once.
The only light in the room came from a pool at the base of a slate stone wall. Broad leaves and mushrooms grew from the crags and around the edge of the water, glowing palely, casting blue and green light about the darkness. The water was shimmering blackness, or so she thought until a large, luminescent fish rose to the surface to inspect them, opening his mouth once and closing it again in greeting and farewell before turning back toward the depths.
Mnemosyne knelt at the pool’s edge, the trickle of water running down the wall and into the pool, the sound echoing against the stones of the cave. In her hand was a small glass vessel, the cork easily removed, and she poised above the water, closing her eyes.
Her free hand hovered inches from the water, her lips muttering softly in the old language. And beneath her palm, the pool began to glow bright and blue. Whispers filled the air. The vial dipped below the surface. And the air stirred, then rushed, the voices louder and louder, spinning around them in a cyclone of wind and words.
The moment the cork sealed the vessel, the wind died, the whispers gone, the pool black again, the only sound the gentle trickle of water once more.
Mnemosyne stood and turned, pacing reverently to the goddesses. She reached for Dita’s hand and turned up her palm, pressing the glowing vessel into it.
“Drink this and learn the truth. But know this; you can never go back.”
Dita knew the truth of her words, and met the Titaness’s eyes. “Thank you, Mnemosyne.” And she pressed her cheek to her savior’s and closed her eyes.
She knew she wasn’t ready to drink the contents of the vessel clutched in her sweating hand. Because she was certain her fears would be confirmed, more certain than ever. She had the answer, and she would learn the truth.
Day 10
Four days ago, Dillon had been filled with hope at the prospect of being with Kat.
Now, his hope was all but lost.
The silence was heavy and still, hanging in the air over him. He sat on his couch, phone in his hand, heart in a vise, wishing he could call her, wishing she wanted him. He’d thought of every moment they’d shared, each up and every down, the words spoken and what had been left unsaid. He’d counted the ways he’d been wrong and listed all he’d lost.
It was nothing compared to the list of his regrets. But there was no going back.
He pulled up her name and stared at it, her name echoing in his thoughts, whispered in his dreams.
The phone rang in his hand, her name at the top of the screen, disbelief and uncertainty striking him still (Had he hit the button by accident? Was he dreaming?).
But he didn’t think twice about answering.
“Hey,” was his answer, a rough word, sticky in his dry mouth.
“Thank God you answered,” she said, relieved, her voice smoky.
He straightened up. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah,” she answered. “No, I mean, everything’s fine, except me.”
Dillon relaxed, finding himself with a ghost of a smile on his lips at her stammering. “I didn’t think I’d hear from you again,” he admitted.
“I know. I’m sorry I … I’m sorry for a lot. Do you have a minute?”
“I do.”
She took a deep breath, and he took one of his own.
“I owe you an explanation and an apology for leaving you that morning. I didn’t want to go, and I didn’t mean to hurt you.” She paused.
“I’m here. I’m listening.”
Another
breath. “I told you about Kiki’s ex, but I didn’t tell you everything.”
Something in her voice sent nerves crawling down his back.
“We left Vegas because he’d beaten the shit out of her when she tried to break up with him. I came home in the middle of it. She was on the ground, bloodied, bruised, and he was there. I …” She took another breath, this one unsteady. “I would have killed him. Right there, I would have killed him. But she stopped me. I didn’t know what he’d do to us, to her, so we left town to get away from him.”
He swallowed, gripping his phone, understanding so much more than she could know.
“When I woke up at your place, it was to dozens of messages about him. He’s been looking for us. He said he wouldn’t let her go. He said it wasn’t over, and it’s not. I’ve got to protect her. And you … you were a distraction. I left her alone to be with you, and the fact that I didn’t even think twice about it scared me. So, I left.”
Dillon had no words, none at all, partly because his brain was firing with a thousand thoughts and questions and memories of his own.
“I wasn’t wrong, but I was. I should have told you then, but I was too shocked, too afraid to see reason. But everything has changed. It’s all going to be over soon.”
When he didn’t respond again, she took it as a bad sign and began to ramble, uncertain and hurried. “I should have told you, but I was afraid if you told anyone, anyone at all, Eric could find out, find us. I thought I could handle it all — I always do — but I was wrong. And I know I don’t have any right to your forgiveness, but I’m sorry. You were everything I needed.”
Relief. Relief and hope and happiness washed over him. “Kat—”
“But it’s okay if you don’t feel the same—”
“No, Kat, I—”
“Really. I was horrible to you, and I don’t deserve a second chance.”
“Kat, will you stop for just a second?” The question was a little too loud, and she went dead silent. And when he spoke again, it was with softness and thankfulness. “I wish you’d told me sooner—”
“I know. I—”
“Kat,” he said on a laugh.