by Jamie Wyman
Okay. No stains. Just let it bleed out and replace it. Right?
That was the plan.
I spent the next eternity bending in odd positions, blowing hair out of my face, making magical incisions, and letting my own power seep into these strange filaments. Not too much or the spells would burst. Not too little or the slime of Eris’s power would still have a hold. I knew this somehow. Like information in a dream, I just knew.
When the fibers grew white with my own energy, I whispered purpose into the dribs and drabs I sent into the talisman.
Protection. Keep him hidden. And for the love of all things holy, please look better than this piece of shit.
“Are you almost finished?” Heph asked, the slightest strain in his voice.
“Two shakes.”
With the innate ability I had for fixing things, I mended the holes I’d pricked into the spellwork with patches of my own energy. Between my hands, all I could see was light—pure, white, and perfectly still. The ooze of Eris’s power formed a stagnant pool in the black case.
I let out a breath. “Done.”
I sagged, drained, as I felt the energy of the Apple close behind me. My muscles shook and my head swam with dizziness, as if I’d just come off an Everest-sized adrenaline rush. A cool glaze of sweat had risen to my skin, and I wiped my forehead.
Heph turned to face me. The Apple came to rest on the worktable with a too-heavy thud, and Heph’s touch on my shoulder was incongruously light for someone his size.
“Well done, mage. Flynn has taught you much, but you are a spectacular talent in your own right.”
I blinked at him. “You know Flynn?”
His marble brow furrowed as he considered his words. “I know the Recluse as the fire knows the ember. Besides, you sing his song when you work.”
I chewed my lip. Humming while I worked on computers was one thing. Endearing, even. But after singing techno-hymns while working my magic in the past, well, I’d learned that could be dangerous. I’d outed Flynn with my singing, and I didn’t want to do anything like that again. Most of the past year I’d been trying to break myself of my singing habit.
“It’s all right, Cat. Rest. I will get you some water.”
I crumpled into the stool beside me and rested my head against the workbench. The necklace had transformed. No longer a gaudy piece of bling, the talisman had reformed itself into a platinum disc engraved to look like a poker chip.
“Oh shit,” I said, stomach plunging into my shoes.
“Something wrong?” Heph asked, returning with his tankard.
“It’s a poker chip. Did I screw up?”
He gazed at the disc, those steely eyes seeing more than just metal. “Quite the contrary. This is subtle work but well done.”
“Then why is it a poker chip?”
“Does that have meaning for you?”
I blinked numbly. “Um, yeah.”
“Then that is why. The magic is yours. Not hers. Fear not.”
Hephaestus passed me a cup of water, and I drank thirstily. Some of the trembling in my blood and bones began to subside after a few draughts. I slid my cuff bracelet back on and dragged a hand through my hair. “So will this help keep him off the radar for a bit?”
The god blew out a mammoth sigh. “Only for a short time. What Marius needs is not a benefactor to protect him, but to take the initiative and fight for himself.”
“That’s all well and good,” I countered, “but how is he supposed to do that? He’s a satyr. There are deities after him. Plural. With dogs and sharp, pointy, nasty teeth.”
“There is a way. Tell me, Cat, are you familiar with the Sileni?”
I bristled with a cold anger and uneasy interest. “I’ve heard the name. Marius’s father told me to go to them. But then Marius said—”
“Ah, yes,” he interrupted. “He would not turn to them if he were on fire and they held the only bucket of water.” The slightest of laughs laced his words. “But they are the key.”
“Who the hell are they?”
He leaned forward, balancing his elbows on his ginormous knees. “Are you acquainted with Marius’s bloodline?”
I nodded.
“Then you know it is divine. The Sileni are satyrs not of this blood. They are common.”
“Muggles,” I offered. He regarded me with curious confusion, and I shook my head. Seriously, Heph needed to get out a bit. “Go on.”
“In the oldest of days, satyr-kind gathered around the root of Marius’s lineage, a one of their own blessed by Dionysus called Silenus. Silenus was granted with magical powers, divine gifts of body and mind that set him apart from other satyrs. The bloodline of that species split into two factions: the offspring of Silenus, and a baser, more crude form of half goat. These lesser beings took to worshipping Silenus as their own god. And when Silenus stepped down, a group of worshippers took his name—Sileni—and honored his offspring.”
“Pan,” I breathed.
Heph nodded. “Pan was lifted to the seat of godhood left vacant by his father, Silenus. The Sileni—satyrs with no magic or claim to divinity themselves—changed over the centuries, however. Mortal and malleable, they took their cues from other churches. Devotees turned to cultlike acolytes. Acolytes turned to power-hungry zealots. Pan gave up his throne and chose a life of seclusion and mortality. Since the Merry One left this Earth, the Sileni have been left without a deity to follow. They hunger for one to sit before them—one of Pan’s lineage. Know anyone who fits that description, Cat?”
“Wait,” I said, putting down the cup. I started snickering at the idea of Marius in golden robes and on a plinth. “Yeah, right.”
“He is of the sacred bloodline. Llyr turned aside the birthright. It falls to Marius as the eldest scion of Silenus.”
I shook my head, sobering. “He’ll never take it. He calls them murderers. You said it yourself—if he were on fire, he wouldn’t ask them for water. And he’s pretty close to being on fire right now.”
Hephaestus bobbed his head sadly. “But if he takes up the mantle, the game will change. He will be safe. Otherwise, he will just be buying time, postponing his death for a later date.”
Date. Shit!
“Oh gods. What time is it?”
He closed his eyes. “It is half past five.”
“Fuck. Fuck! I’m supposed to meet Marius at six, and I’m all…” I gestured to myself. It’s not like I was covered in filth, but this was definitely not how I’d like to look on a date. And clothes! “Shit, I was supposed to go get something nice to wear tonight! Dammit, dammit!”
As I buzzed around the room having a total meltdown, Hephaestus stood up and rummaged in a pile of scraps. He came up with a wispy cloth. With its seemingly endless yards of shimmering fabric, it reminded me of a sari.
“You will wear this,” he said.
“It’s…it’s lovely, but—”
“Trust me. This is armor I made for my wife. Ex-wife,” he corrected himself. “She was so picky about her clothing, never practical. I created this so that it might take the form of whatever she wished to wear but would remain as strong as my finest plate.”
Hephaestus draped the cloth over my arms while I gaped like a fish.
“I can’t accept this,” I said humbly.
“You can, and you will.” Hephaestus smiled, that gold tooth winking as his steely eyes squinted with merriment. “Consider this my birthday gift to you. Oh, and if you would please make it something red. Marius can’t resist a woman in red.”
I didn’t have a chance to protest. I blinked and found myself back in the cool confines of my hotel room. The strange fabric in my arms had gone from smoky and sheer to a shining silk the color of Asian poppies.
“Okay, now this is cool.”
I dropped the dress onto the bed and sped to the bathroom to get ready.
A half hour later, I studied myself in the mirror. The silver cuff gleamed on one wrist; Loki’s mark winked on the other. These were my accessor
ies. A messy cascade of ginger curls spilled out of a clip, leaving my neck and shoulders exposed. The knee-length halter dress looked better that way. The red silk flowed over my form with a graceful, flirty sway. It looked good on me, but then, something made for Aphrodite damn well better. The magic even extended to my feet, turning my Chucks into strappy sandals. Who needs a fairy godmother?
My eyes lingered over the wound in my chest. I worried at it self-consciously.
“Stop it, Cat,” I admonished myself.
As I toyed with my hair, I realized something was missing. Marius’s braid, the charm to shield me against Malcolm’s advances, was gone. Trying to figure out when I could’ve lost it, a flash of brimstone tore through my memory. The snap of Belial’s fist, the feeling of hair being ripped out. He’d taken it. By whim or design, Belial had the braid.
Well, shit.
Nothing I could do but see what played out.
I took one last look at myself and grinned at my reflection. I was actually excited beneath the nerves. I shut off the light, grabbed my room key, and headed out the door before I could talk myself out of it.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps”
A few minutes past six, I knocked on the door to Marius’s bungalow with a shaking, sweaty hand.
The door opened, and Malcolm’s blue eyes widened. “Jesus Christ on a jet ski! Cat, you look delectable.”
I beamed and let out a breath. “Thanks, Mal. Still not sleeping with you.”
The satyr gestured me in, his stare doing laps of my form. I didn’t feel his presence trying to get into my head—or my pants—so that was a good thing. As he closed the door behind me, I took in the main sitting room. It was similar to mine in design and color, but larger. I stood between the sofa and chairs and noticed a small kitchen next to the door. The space had clearly seen some use but remained tidy. I caught a deliciously murderous whiff of cooked meat and a mixture of spices—rosemary, onion, and garlic. My stomach moaned appreciatively, and my mouth began to water.
“I was just on me way out,” Mal said. “Someone wanted the place to himself tonight.” The satyr waggled his thick eyebrows, and I felt the color rise to my cheeks.
“It’s not like that,” I said. “Won’t be.” Can’t be.
“Well, save yourself for me, then, won’t you? Just a nibble?”
From behind me, I heard Marius’s familiar grumble. “Not on your life, Malcolm.”
I saw him just as he stepped through the sliding glass doors. He leaned against the doorframe, and I drank him in. Gaiety twinkled in his eyes, and his mouth hitched up in that lopsided smile he wore so well. His thick, glossy locks spilled down over his shoulders. Against the black of his hair, the crisp, paper-white shirt he was wearing all but gleamed. An emerald-green tie drew a line down his chest toward his black pants.
Damn, he looked good. Better than good…
My heart sped up, and my lips spread with pleasure. Marius’s gaze met mine with conspiratorial excitement.
“Come on, Cat,” Mal said in a failed attempt to draw my attention away from his brother. He slid into his leather jacket. “You sure you don’t want to pop on a bike with me and ride around the mountain? Leave this sorry twat to ’imself?”
My eyes continued to feast on Marius’s lithe form. “But he got all dressed up. I should at least humor him.”
“Bah. Right, then. I’m off.”
“We knew that,” Marius said blithely.
The door shut, and we were alone. Unbidden, the memory of waking up in his arms slammed into me. I shuddered, goose bumps prickling over my flesh at the thought of our bodies touching, his naked skin against mine.
“Catherine, you are staggeringly beautiful this evening. You wear red as easily as a rose.”
His gaze traced temptation up my body—glacially slow, yet warm as a flame. Fighting the urge to smooth my skirt for the millionth time, I coughed a nervous laugh. “Thank you.”
He pushed himself away from the door and crossed to me, extending a hand. “Come. Dinner is waiting on the veranda.”
I slipped my hand into his, strangely relieved to feel his palms were as clammy as my own.
“Care for a drink?” he asked as he led me outside.
“Yes, please.”
While he busied himself with a bottle, I took in the scene that awaited me. A table for two was bedecked with candles and crystal glasses. Steam drifted up from dinner: pan-seared steak, roasted potatoes, and green beans plated with the precise beauty of any top chef.
If the view from my room was breathtaking, the sight of Santorini from this vantage point was majestic. We were higher up the slope of the crater and able to take in more of the crescent. It wasn’t quite sunset, but as the sun drifted toward the horizon it bathed everything in a golden wash. The ocean below reminded me of Hephaestus’s Forge, its surface a fiery reflection of the sky. The waves rippled and glittered like diamonds.
The sound of a popping cork drew my attention back to the patio. Marius had lit several candles along the ground, some of which climbed the steps to his private hot tub. Like mine, the water shone jewel-bright and inviting. Flower petals floated on the surface.
As Marius poured two generous glasses of red wine, I padded to the table. “You went all out, didn’t you?”
“Who’s to say when I’ll have the honor again?” he asked, pulling out my chair. He bowed his head, a gesture urging me to sit. When I did, he slid the chair under me.
Marius took the seat opposite me. Drawing in a deep breath, it seemed he inhaled me right along with the steam drifting up from his plate. When his eyes fell to the small scar on my chest, his smile faltered.
“Take some wine,” he said. “And eat while it’s still warm.”
For a short time, there was only the sound of silver on china as we ate. I hadn’t noticed it earlier, but music was playing from a set of nearby speakers. A random mix—some Chopin, some Clapton, even a few songs with a more electronica feel—served as a quiet counterpoint, no more intrusive than the sea breeze.
We passed idle chat about Santorini’s weather, the way the sky darkened to indigo in the east and the sun bled in the west. The food had been cooked to perfection. The potatoes had just enough crunch to them. The green beans were buttery, yet still crisp. My eyes rolled after a particularly delectable bite of beef melted in my mouth.
“Dear gods, Marius, this is amazing.”
He beamed. “I’m not without my uses, you know. Glad you like it.”
“No, no. Like doesn’t quite cut it here. This is incredible.”
When I looked up from my plate, I saw his eyes were once again fixed on the healing bullet wound in my chest. His face grew dark as he stared. Turning back to his dinner, he said, “You’re just saying that because you’ve had a near-death experience. I could’ve bought you McDonald’s and I’m sure it would’ve been just as delightful.”
I shook my head. “Hell no. That’s not food.” I cut another slice of beef. “I will admit, though, that since your idiot brother shot me things feel different.”
“How so?”
My thoughts snagged on their way to my mouth. How could I explain the changes? The way light and power flowed more readily at my whim. The way the world hummed at a new, more potent frequency. The way I looked at him.
I took a drink of wine, hoping to lubricate my mind and shake loose all those things I didn’t know how to say.
“Colors are brighter,” I said. “The breeze on my skin doesn’t just feel nice, it feels divine. And yes, the food tastes better than anything I’ve ever eaten. Even this wine! I don’t usually go for wine, but this is fantastic.”
I swigged a bit more wine to slow down the rambling of my chatter.
Marius wrinkled his nose. Appalled, he asked, “Who on earth taught you to drink?”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re not enjoying one drop of the wine that way. You’re barely tasting it. This isn’t some rot
gut you shoot back and wince at from the burn. Nor is this some cordial you drink for a candy-flavored buzz. This,” he said, raising the glass in his slender fingers, “is a full-bodied, well-aged Bordeaux.”
I tilted my head. “I’ve never heard you talk about drinking as if it’s an art.”
“Well, it is,” he countered. “Wine—good wine—is meant to be savored and experienced with every sense.”
Marius tilted his wineglass so that the candlelight shone through the dark liquid. As he spun the stem of the glass between his slender fingers, the deep red shifted and swam with the dancing light of the flame, throwing shadows of deep orange and burgundy over his features.
“It starts with the eyes,” he intoned, his words soft and reverent. “Like a fine dress on a lovely woman, the color of the wine is a subtle promise of things yet to come.”
Thumbing the red silk strap of my gown, I raised my eyebrows, incredulous. “Oh really?”
His eyes sparkled. “She may bare all or blush. Or like this, she may cover herself in the deepest crimson. But there are glimmers of her spirit in the color she chooses. Lighter reds, hints of daring darkness. Just looking at her, your imagination begins to churn with ideas of what may lie beneath. What will she taste like when I finally have her? I wonder.”
I shifted in my seat, heart fluttering. His stare smoldered from across the table.
“Then the bouquet,” he said. Marius swirled the glass beneath his nose and inhaled. He closed his eyes, and his face relaxed as he breathed in the wine. “You’ve already entertained hopes about the wine. Desire her. Even if you put down the glass and walk away, taking nothing, the scent of her will tickle at your mind and lure you back. That scent will lead you on, tease you until you can’t hold back any longer. You have to have her,” he said, the slightest of growls punctuating his words. “And so you drink.”
He offered me his glass, and I took a sip of the rich wine.
“But this isn’t the end,” he cautioned. “Hold the wine in your mouth. Savor each flavor—the light sweetness, the bass notes of the grapes that went into the barrel all those years ago. Let them explode like decadent fireworks that sizzle and pop on your tongue.”