by Casey Wyatt
After several hours of reading, Cal stretched out his back with a long pull, then put the files aside. Work could wait. He wanted a shower to ease his tense muscles. The information contained in the Destroyer archives was a revelation. He had been a covert agent for centuries, sometimes for mortals, but most often for The Delian League. Needless to say, he had been around and was not naïve when it came to the activities these groups engaged in. But even he was surprised by the League’s level of infiltration and manipulation in mortal affairs.
Political events from the Twentieth Century bore the marks of the Gods’ interference. The ascension of the United States as a world super power was a prime example. Even in the late 1800s, the signs of influence were there, for those who looked closely enough. Destroyers had been used to target specific officials or to seduce powerful men—royalty and tycoons alike. The United States was carefully positioned to assert world dominance when the right war arose.
When he read between the lines, he could see a Destroyer’s involvement in the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand, the catalyst that led to World War I. And later during World War II, Destroyers had ferried key scientists out of Nazi Europe; the same men who later worked on the Manhattan Project, ushering in the atomic bomb. The Destroyers’ identities were not included so he had no idea which of the daughters had been involved.
His mind kept circling back to Nix. Her file was in the box, but he wasn’t ready to read it. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know who she had seduced in the line of duty. That bothered him more than the assassinations, so he left the folder on his desk. She had always told him that her greatest fear was that she was being used for nefarious purposes. So far the U.S. had proven to be a just nation, but he was disturbed by how easily the Gods could still sway human events. In some ways, it was like Age of the Gods had never ended.
In the bathroom, he stripped off his clothes, leaving them in a neatly folded pile on the toilet lid. Old soldier habits never died. He stepped under the shower’s pounding jets and ran the soap across his pecs. Suds and water sluiced down the ridges of his abdomen, then split into a parallel course down each leg. As the warm spray massaged his muscles, he put world events out of his mind and thought about Nix. The cascade of water reminded him of the cold waterfall in the hills of the Poconos where he had first kissed her.
Remembrances of her sleek, tight body, naked in the waterfall, brought his cock to life. She was blond then, her hair like spun gold as it had plastered down her back in the running water. They had found the secluded spot while scouting the area for a place to camp for the evening.
The year: 1899. The area: still wild and largely unpopulated. Rich mortals owned the only residences, the mountain retreats, or cabins, as they called them. Cal and Nix had been combing the area for days trying to locate a socialite who had run off with a rich tycoon. The hapless mortal female had no idea she had chosen the company of a notorious Satyr. One who was wanted on two continents for human and Nymph trafficking.
Nix had explained at the start of the mission that she had an axe to grind with the Satyr. She never said which sister it was, but she explained that one of them had been captured and raped by the same miscreant. When they had finally captured the Satyr—well, he got what he deserved. Too bad Nix had no memory of that event either.
Through the spray of the shower, he could hear his cell phone ring on the bathroom vanity. He turned off the water and grabbed a towel. “Hello?”
“What did you think of the files I sent over?”
Cal could hear the wind blowing roughly in the background. Nereus must be calling from the beach or his boat. He didn’t bother to ask where Nereus was. He wouldn’t answer.
“It’s a lot of information to digest,” Cal said, hoping Nereus wouldn’t ask specific questions about the contents.
“Have you read Nix’s file yet? She’s my favorite, you know.”
“No. Not yet.” Interesting. Nereus made a point to ask about Nix specifically. “I thought all your daughters were your favorite, Sir.”
Nereus chuckled. “Don’t wait too long to read her case file.” He hung up.
Nix woke with a start, her cheeks damp and her throat sore, as if she had swallowed a rock. She’d been crying again and she had no idea why. The sheets were in a tangle around her legs, the recipients of a good overnight thrashing. A damp sheen coated her skin. For a single fleeting moment, she thought she saw a face . . . of someone . . . important? Then, it was gone, replaced by a hollow ache in her chest and a feeling of despair.
When the dreams had first started, she told herself it was probably the residual effect of having her memories wiped. It was mission related, probably a fever dream, like a phantom limb that still tingled after it was amputated. But honestly, it felt more personal, as if something precious had been taken from her. And it was getting worse.
She wasn’t about to say anything about it. Not with her father and the council on a tear looking for Destroyers ready to snap. No way. She wasn’t about to be locked up or put into stasis or whatever it was they did to Destroyers who cracked up.
No more sleep for me this morning, she thought, resigned. She sat up and attempted to untangle the mess of sheets. Daybreak was near. Dim light peeked from behind the shades, making the windows appear soft and gray. After a few hard swallows, the tightness in her neck and throat began to diminish, but not the feeling of loss.
From the apartment’s living room came the dulcet and slightly creaky sound of Basil singing, “Yo, ho, ho, and a bottle of rum” to himself. Jason had played a pirate movie for the bird and he had been singing and cackling catch phrases for most of the week.
Most days it would have annoyed the hell out her.
Not today.
She silently thanked Basil for the reminder that whatever had happened in the past, she still had something to look forward to every day. She had the shop to run and a chance, at least for a while, to be her own person before duty called again.
Nix pulled her arms overhead and stretched herself out. She tilted her head and focused on a small framed picture on her bedside table. The charcoal sketch had been one of her first, back in 1789. A momentous year for her—she discovered her talent for drawing and the guilty pleasures of the tattoo shop, courtesy of her Uncle Memphis. The portrait of Uncle Memphis was one of the few likenesses he had allowed her to capture. Tall and imposing, his face was all sharp angles and smooth planes. Dark hair and dark eyes complemented his olive skin. Memphis was her mother’s half-brother. His birth mother was a closely guarded mystery. The only conclusion Nix could draw was that it was either a shameful or forbidden union. Nix was guessing a combination of both circumstances since most of the family treated him like a pariah.
Nix couldn’t care less who his mother was. She loved him regardless of his heritage. Memphis had seen her potential as an artist early on. He had encouraged her to draw everywhere and anytime she could. Even in war camp he demanded that she send him regular sketches. During breaks from camp, he introduced her to body art and his glorious shop Mystic Ink.
Sadness washed over her. The shop was hers now. That meant her uncle was probably dead or never coming back. Nix brushed at a tear before it escaped from her left eye. He would come back. He had too. As much as Nix loved the shop, she loved her uncle more. In the entire world, he was the only one who really understood her.
Not true. The doubt lingered in the back of her mind. A face surfaced . . . Like the phantom dreams, the image was a wisp, gone as soon as she tried to grasp it.
Basil chirped out the theme song for Popeye, giving Nix a fit of giggles. She covered her mouth with her hand, not wanting to egg the bird on further. She surrendered to the morning, freeing herself from the rumpled linens and rolling out of bed.
Nix greeted Basil before heading to the shower. Maybe a long hot one would ease the loss in her heart, but she doubted it.
Chapter 3
Nix cursed the idiot who invented cell phones. Then she swore at
herself for not checking caller ID before answering. If she had, she wouldn’t be stuck on the phone with Nate Adonis. Former lover and super dickhead.
“Come on, Nix. No hard feelings. Things were said in the heat of the moment. I didn’t mean them.”
“Just like it was a slip of the tongue to blab the intimate details of our short relationship to the world.”
“See, you understand.”
The nitwit wouldn’t recognize sarcasm if it crawled up his ass. Nix tuned him out for a moment, her eyes riveted on Cal. He had only arrived moments before, coffees in a tray and two boxes that probably held doughnuts. Or pastries. Cookies would have been good, too. Her stomach rumbled. She had skipped breakfast in order to open the shop in time.
“So what do you say, Nix? I’ll be in town tomorrow night. How about a night of fun? I know I could use a good rub and a tug.”
Nix pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it in disbelief. The motion caught Cal’s attention. He unloaded the coffees and boxes at the reception desk. Mary and Jason lunged at the treats in a twist of elbows. Mary was the ultimate victor, pulling out the first powdered jelly donut.
Nate droned on and on. When Nix held the phone back up to her ear, he was still rambling on about how much fun they could have. Something about the artful ministrations of Dr. Love.
Cal held out his palm. “May I?”
Nix shrugged and handed the phone over. This could be good. Cal listened for a moment or two, agreeing occasionally with high-pitched girlie sounding agreement. Nix stifled a laugh. To think she was even heartbroken for a moment over such a pompous jerkwad.
Nix still didn’t understand what had driven her to even accept Nate’s attentions, let alone allow him to have sex with her. She must have been out of her right mind.
Cal’s face darkened. His jaw clenched. “Don’t call Nix again,” he barked in his deep baritone voice. “She’s not one of your gutter whores.” He quieted for a moment, listening. Smoke curled from his fingertips. Nix hoped he didn’t melt her phone. “It is my business, you arrogant prick. If you want me to hand you your ass again, come on down to the shop tomorrow. I’ll be happy to oblige.”
Nate said something, probably idiotic.
Cal waited, a dark glint in his amber eyes. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. You don’t want to start shit with me.” Cal ended the call and handed Nix the phone back with a sly smile.
He coolly walked back to the desk and helped himself to a chocolate cake donut. All the vim and fire had evaporated. Yet, the passion . . . had seemed so real. Could it have been an act?
For a brief moment, the thought of Cal fighting for her warmed her soul. And other private places. The fantasy popped like a bubble. Not gonna happen. No more romantic entanglements for her. They caused more pain than happiness as far as she was concerned.
Nix joined the others at the desk and half listened to Cal telling Jason that the bakery shop owner was retiring. Mortals got to do that. Retire and enjoy their final years. Nix knew exactly what she would do if retirement was an option. Run the shop, bask in the sun.
Except, for Destroyers there was no retirement plan. It was an eternal job. This was one of those times having an immortal lifespan really sucked. Nix looked over at Cal again. His warm, relaxed smile made her happy. It made no sense, but there it was.
She was an idiot for desiring a life she could never have. Turning on her heel, Nix mumbled some lame excuse about needing supplies at her station and hid in the backroom until her first customer arrived.
Some warrior she was.
Later that afternoon, their customers were a pair of Chinese Fu Dogs—supernatural guardians from the Asian Pantheon. They weren’t actually in dog form. Instead, they were in their mortal guises: two well-muscled young men of Asian descent. The shop attracted all kinds of beings, not just mortals wanting tattoos that said “I heart Mom,” or whatever the latest craze of the decade was.
Calder sat on the couch in the customer waiting area, flipping through folders. He had received a phone call an hour earlier and had been intent on the task—an added bonus—since it didn’t leave him any time to check on her every five minutes. Yet, she was curious to know the cause behind his furrowed brow. While it didn’t mar his gorgeous face any, it did make him appear more masculine, if that was possible.
Ugh! She really needed to stop ogling him. Even worse, his presence had become less bothersome to her. And she’d never admit to it, but his habit of bringing her favorite coffee was endearing rather than annoying.
“Yeah, she’s been like this since Cal showed up.” Jason’s conspiratorial whisper grabbed her attention. The Fu Dog, Chen, laughed.
“What did you say, Jason?” Nix’s face turned hot. Her client, Lin, was face down, but Jason and Chen had a ringside seat to her embarrassing episode of gawking at Cal.
“Nothing, boss. Chen says there’s new Titan gossip making the rounds.” Jason’s eyes sparkled, his face the model of innocence. The shit. She would have to drop a water bomb on his head when he least expected it.
“Do tell. What’s the latest one?” She had stopped giving credence to those rumors centuries ago. A new variation of the Titans are stirring theme appeared every generation or so.
As if on cue, Lin said, “The Titans are awakening.”
“That’s it?” Nix stopped the needle. She couldn’t stand rumors, let alone vague ones. “No details?”
“The latest buzz is that someone has located one of the Titan’s prison cells,” Chen said. Contrary to popular belief, the Titans were not all locked together in Tartarus. Before Zeus left the mortal world, with most of the major Gods and Goddesses, he made sure the Titans were separated in individual prisons around the world.
“Even if that were true, the Destroyers would prevent anyone from actually freeing the Titans.” Nix pushed the foot pedal and resumed the black work on Lin’s design—a camellia. Once the outline was complete, she would clean it up and then add color. “Sounds like the same old bullshit.” Nix glanced at Cal. His frown had deepened. She released her foot, stopping the needle. Was his normally tan skin . . . paler? Nah. She was projecting her own doubts onto him. She quickly looked down, before Jason could accuse her of mooning over Cal again, and resumed the tattoo.
By day’s end, the Titan rumor had been forgotten. With the approaching holiday, business had picked up. Not that Nix was complaining. Most of the day’s customers were sailors from the nearby naval base in Groton or college students. These young mortals flowed into the shop all day and kept Nix and Jason busy for the rest of the afternoon.
At three o’clock, the UPS man arrived with the latest delivery. While Mary signed for the box, Jason rushed over to take it off her hands.
“It’s here. This has got be it.” Jason pulled out a pocketknife and swiftly swiped through the tape.
“Why’s he so excited?” Cal asked Nix, his paperwork momentarily forgotten.
“Blacklight tattoo ink. Jason’s been waiting for the newest colors.” Nix’s customer had just departed, so she disinfected and properly disposed of the used materials. There were special biohazard boxes for the single use items, such as needles, gloves, and ink cups. The multi-use equipment, like the needle bar and tubing, went into an autoclave.
“And this is exciting, why?” The wrinkle on Cal’s brow returned.
“Dude, you’ve got to see this stuff.” Jason joined Cal on the couch with the open box, flourishing one of the new shades of orange. “It works like normal tattoo ink, but it can only be seen under a UV light. Come to the break room. I’ll show you.”
With the men in the back, only Nix, Mary, and Basil remained in the shop proper. Nix didn’t bother trying to chat with Mary. She had made it crystal clear on Nix’s first day that she wasn’t interested in socializing. Nix couldn’t understand what her uncle saw in Mary. Although she was a great receptionist, approachable and personable to customers, when there weren’t any clients she was another person—cold and silent
as a block of granite. Nix had more animated conversations with Basil.
“Uh, oh. Look at the time.” Basil often randomly threw out phrases that meant nothing. He also specialized in giving the daily tide report. How he got the information was a mystery. Nix didn’t watch the news in the morning or listen to the radio in her apartment. The shop usually played 95.7 FM, the local top 40 station, and they definitely didn’t give out tidal information.
This time, Basil was onto something. Mary abruptly hauled her purse out from under the counter. “Taking a break.” She was in the backroom before Nix could say anything.
A thirty something man in a crisp polo shirt and khaki shorts stepped inside the shop. A golden, bronzed God, beautiful to behold. If she had been a mortal woman, Nix was sure she would be attracted to him. Instead, she rolled her eyes and sighed.
Basil whistled, “Hail to the Chief.”
“Hello, Father,” Nix said, shooting Basil a dirty look. The presidential theme song smacked of Jason’s handiwork. He obviously had way too much free time on his hands. “What brings you to Mystic today?”
Nereus pulled her into a big bear hug. Nix breathed in the scent of salty ocean water. “Oh, doing a little sailing this weekend. And I wanted to see how my favorite daughter was faring.” Her father told all her sisters that they were his favorite. They just played along and let him believe none of them knew it. Her father nodded toward the perch. “Good day to you, Basil.”
Basil made a series of high-pitched squeaks and sharp beak clicks. Her father nodded his head with understanding. Nix had no idea Basil had such a vast repertoire of sounds at his disposal.
“I see, so there was another body. Who is Officer Dickface?” Nereus’ perplexed stare fell on her.
How embarrassing. First chance, she was buying a muzzle for the bird and possibly one for Jason, too. Her father continued listening and translating. “Charon was here. Looks like I’ve been missing all the fun.”