Bad Blood

by Lucienne Diver

  Brass oh-so-kindly sidestepped that one, leaving Rodriguez with the mic. “Yes, our victim has certain abnormalities, as noted by one of the witnesses at the Circe Holland homicide, a local investigator.”

  Reporters clamored for attention, shouting questions about my identity, the nature of the abnormalities. Somebody brought up the X-Files.

  I leaned forward, realizing only when I ran out of air that I was holding my breath.

  Brass stepped in then, “Okay, ladies and gentlemen. That’s all we have for you right now. The investigation is still ongoing.”

  Oh Lord of the Rings, the cat was out of the bag now. I could think of only one reason the gods would allow Glaucus’s body to be found. They were ready to make themselves known. We were out of time.

  I turned off the television in favor of my laptop. Every single hourglass was a saw-stroke to my nerves. Even cable was too slow.

  There were roughly a bazillion government and academic websites dealing with the San Andreas fault system, none of which were overlaid by city or county maps so that I could see if any fissures ran beneath a cemetery or any other sort of plot. By flipping back and forth between a fault diagram and a map of the San Fernando Valley, I was able to get a very general sense of locations, but that was it.

  After an hour, I was ready to tear my hair out in frustration. Even if I could correlate the information, I’d inevitably miss something. Even the most helpful site admitted that there was no way to be sure of the full extent of the faults. New fissures appeared all the time, many never even reaching the surface—until suddenly they did, swallowing someone’s house, shearing off a section of cliff with an ocean view.

  I pushed back from the computer, closed my eyes and tried not to think. My lightbulb moments usually came to me when I was in the middle of something else, a shower, a lonely stretch of road, allowing my mind to wander. Quiet moments hadn’t exactly been plentiful recently.

  Two things immediately pushed their way to the fore. One, the god-gossip website that mentioned the divinities making a comeback said something about old rivalries laid to rest for the sake of combining forces. In my limited experience, it took more than two to tango, conspiratorially speaking. Nothing in the Greco-Roman pantheon played quite as tight as sibling rivalry. If Poseidon Earthshaker had buried the hatchet with, say, Zeus Stormbringer or Hades…well, if he had a moniker, I’d never heard it…we were pretty much dead meat. Even two-thirds of the mighty triumvirate ought to be good for an apocalypse—or close enough for government work.

  Second, my brain leapt to some new conclusions about Hermes’s message. I’d been thinking about things all wrong. A cemetery plot didn’t make any sense. Even a freshly dug hole wouldn’t deliver explosives deeply enough into the earth to have a real impact. No, there was something else. I allowed my brain to wander over a mental map of L.A. until finally it clicked, panned right and zoomed in.

  I was ready to burst when Armani knocked on the door seconds later. I flung it open and hugged him so hard I crushed the bag he carried.

  “What’s that for?”

  I stepped back to look him in the eyes. “I know. I know where it’s going to happen. Not when, but soon. Tomorrow, maybe. I think they’re ready to make their big entrance.”

  His face was grim. “L.A.’s about to blow sky high and you’re grinning like you’ve won the lottery.”

  That had better be some good chocolate he was carrying. “The point is, L.A.’s not going anywhere. We’re going to stop it.”

  “How?”

  My smile wobbled. “I haven’t worked that part out yet. For that I need caloric fortification. What did you bring?”

  “Eclairs, but they’re probably flat now.”

  “They’ll still taste the same. Come on in. What can I get you to drink with them? Coffee, milk?”

  “Coffee, please.”

  I pulled him in, only then realizing we’d been talking about the end of L.A. right out in the hallway. My neighbors and I pretty much kept to ourselves, but I wondered if any had noticed the patrolman in the hall last night. If so, I hoped it hadn’t made them particularly curious about the goings-on. Not that there was anything they or I could do about that.

  I fiddled with the coffeepot, making enough to last a while. If we were going to come up with a plan, I needed all the artificial stimulation I could get.

  “Okay, you’ve watched me sleep; you’ve seen me in a towel; you’re no longer company. I’ll pour, but you’ve got to do your own alchemy.” I gave the sugar bowl a nudge along the counter.

  Next thing I knew, Armani was right behind me, close enough that when he took a deep breath I felt his chest against my back. Then his hands were hot on my shoulders. My eyes closed and I leaned back into him, almost without thought. He slid one hand down my arm to my waist, then across my stomach to fan his hand there. My breath caught. He kissed the top of my head, which should have felt chaste but didn’t, not with the warmth of his breath and his body pressed against mine. I wanted to turn toward him and try that kiss again, but I was afraid that if I moved it would break the spell and we’d find reason again to fight so that we could go back to our neutral corners. Which was just stupid. Were we so scared of losing a pointless flirtation that we’d sacrifice the chance for more? I couldn’t speak for Armani, but for my part, hell—

  I turned and his lips came down on mine. He must have started on his éclair; his lips were incredibly sweet. I wanted to lick them clean, but my lower lip was trapped between his teeth as he nibbled it until I moaned, then thrust his tongue into my mouth instead. For a moment we seemed to be fighting for dominance, his tongue parrying mine and falling back as I thrust into his mouth as well. Then he moved on to nip my earlobe as one hand traced my spine. I felt Armani growing against me and slid my hips back and forth against him. He groaned and started walking me back toward the bed.

  I wanted him so badly that up against the kitchen counter would have been just fine with me, but at least this way I had the leisure to taste him, cup the butt I’d long admired, make him shake with need. I probably should have been thinking about ramifications, but if I was thinking at all, it was that I wanted to shake Armani’s control, see him urgent with need. I wanted to feel those final hard thrusts before he spilled into me.

  When he hit the bed, he pulled me down with him, then tried to roll me under. I stubbornly resisted, instead straddling him and riding his erection until he subsided with his hands on my hips, encouraging the motion. I was already wet and, if our clothes vanished in the next second, could easily take him, but that would be too quick. I pulled my camisole over my head and tossed it to the floor. Armani’s eyes went straight to the black lace of my demi-cup bra.

  “God, Tori.” It sounded like it was forced out of him.

  I leaned down, letting my breasts brush his chest, my nipples sensitive beneath the lace as I tasted his neck. In contrast to his lips, his neck was tangy, delicious. The taste made me shiver all the way down to where I rubbed against his erection.

  With a hand to either side of my face, he raised my lips back to his, darting his tongue into my mouth, quick invasions that left me wanting more. No doubt that was the plan, as I let him roll me over a minute later so that he could devour my mouth while his hands alternately tweaked my nipples and caressed my flesh, above the bra, then down over it to my ribs and stomach on to the fastening of my slacks. He played with it for an exquisite second where I thought he would undo it and I’d finally get to feel him where I wanted him then settled for dipping his fingertips inside the waistband.

  I freed my lips long enough to say, “Tease.”

  His gaze met mine. Inches away the blue was the color of midnight. “Not if I intend to follow through.”

  I slid a hand between us to cup his shaft, hot and rock hard, straining against the fabric barrier. “You’re a little overdressed.”

  As he reached a hand down to remedy the situation, I felt a zing of another kind—danger. I gave an inarticulate c
ry as a thunderclap with the weight of a sonic book startled the bejeebers out of me.

  “What the hell!” Armani cursed.

  “Get down!” I yelled.

  Lightning lit the sky like a Roman candle. Armani and I dove for the floor, but the bolt was faster, shattering the window. Glass shards like missiles pierced my back as I fell. Wind whipped through the broken window, bringing with it a cold, driving rain. My back stung like a bundle of exposed nerves.

  “You all right?” Armani called over the howling wind.

  I didn’t respond, teeth too tightly gritted against the pain as I reached for my shirt.

  “Tori?” he prompted, an edge of concern creeping in.

  “Hell no,” I managed as the wave ebbed, “but there’s—no time—for that. This has got to be the beginning… Too much power to waste all on us.”

  Another thunderclap sounded, rattling the remaining glass.

  “Door. Now!” I yelled. To hell with my shirt.

  Steeling myself, I gathered my strength and exploded up from the floor a millisecond before the second bolt destroyed my bed.

  Armani beat me to the door and we thundered down the stairs, unwilling to trust the elevator’s electrical system. I was more gasping than breathing, praying under my breath that the glass shards in my back wouldn’t sever anything vital. Already the pain signals were so scrambled my whole body felt aflame. Armani burst out onto the street first and hit the auto-unlock on his car. I threw myself into the back as he slammed into the driver’s seat.

  “What—” he swiveled to look at me, eyes going wide at my prone position—or maybe it was all the blood.

  “Just drive!” I ordered.

  The agony of twisting to close the door nearly blacked me out. I steadied myself with my hands as best I could, trying to anticipate the jolts while spots danced before my eyes. At least I was too distracted to worry about the fact that I was naked from the waist up.

  “Where?” he asked.

  “Tar pits. Call Lau, call anyone you think will listen. We’re going to need reinforcements.”

  The wind shrieked around the car. Rain hit with such force it sounded like hail. I could practically feel Armani fighting for control of the car. Maybe dividing his attention with the phone wasn’t such a hot idea.

  “Never mind.” A sudden bump in the road made me wince. “Pass the phone to me.”

  “You can barely talk.”

  “Screw that. You need to focus.”

  Armani grabbed the phone from its belt holster; I was amazed I hadn’t dislodged it back at my place. He handed it back to me without turning around.

  My back twinged as I took it, but the pain, weirdly, seemed very far away, which was either a miracle or a really, really bad sign. I flexed my feet—thank gods, still working.

  I called Lau, told her about the tar pits, everything. Let her call the cavalry. If anyone was likely to mobilize troops, I was betting on her.

  Another thunderclap rumbled and lightning turned night into day. A huge CR-RACK! sounded and Armani cursed as a giant palm tree began to topple. He slammed on the brakes, but not soon enough. Impact took the front bumper and smashed the lights, but at least we were still alive.

  “You’ve got sucky aim, buddy!” Armani yelled at the sky. He hit reverse. The car protested, leaving some of itself behind, but finally let go with a giant groan of metal. “Hang on!”

  Armani did a crazy U-turn that almost spun us three-hundred-and-sixty degrees before he got control and headed for a detour. The move would nearly have killed me moments ago. Now—

  I tentatively sat up. The tinkling of falling glass joined the howling chorus of the elements. I brushed it away, onto the floor and felt my back. Raised welts. That was all. My body had rejected the glass, knit itself together. About as natural as the storm raging outside.

  Armani flicked a glance at me in the rearview mirror.

  “What the hell?”

  “Don’t ask.” ’Cause I don’t know, I thought. I was guessing Apollo had a lot to answer for, though in this case I couldn’t get all worked up over it.

  “Okay, how about this one: why the tar pits? How do you know?”

  “Hermes.” Had I told him about Hermes? In all the insanity, I couldn’t remember. “I tracked him down. All he gave me was, ‘I hope you don’t unearth the plot too late.’”

  “Based on that—”

  “Hey, give me some credit, okay? I grew up with the tales. I know how these things work. It took me a while to figure it out. At first I thought he was talking about a cemetery plot, but that didn’t make sense with the whole earthquake/explosives plan we’d figured on. Graves just don’t go deep enough. But the tar pits make all kinds of sense—deep, open fissures the tar still bubbles up through to the surface, excavations all over the place and, if you think of it the right way, a graveyard. Animals, even a woman, went in but they never came out, except as fossils.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “So do I.”

  “Are you going to call Apollo?” he asked.

  I crawled through the space between seats so that I could sit up front. He looked over quickly, but I noticed his eyes made a quick stop at my chest before moving up to my face.

  “Do you want me to?” I asked.

  “It wouldn’t hurt to have a—uh—god on our side.”

  The car hydroplaned and Armani fought for control. I grabbed the handrest, as if that would save me. Armani cursed fluently as the car spun a one-eighty, making geysers of the water on either side of us. He steered into the turn until we were facing the way we’d come.

  While he righted us, I pried my fingers off the handrest to reach for my seat belt.

  “I don’t think his powers are really, um, warlike,” I said feebly.

  Armani risked another glance away from the road. “Oh, really? Never mind. I don’t want to know. Maybe he’s got friends.”

  Yeah, but which side would they be on? If it came down to gods bent on recovering their power against humans who’d really rather they didn’t, which side would Apollo choose? What in the world did we have to offer?

  On the flip side, not calling Apollo had never kept him out of the loop before.

  “The storm seems to be moving off in the direction we’re headed, like it’s got something else on the agenda.”

  “Good. If it has to give up battering us to focus elsewhere, maybe the gods only have enough power for one small concentrated storm. Maybe we can wear them out.” I wondered how long they could keep it going fueled only by the belief of Yiayia and a few other eccentrics. “The bad news is that with lightning et. al., we may be facing Zeus as well as Poseidon and Hephaestus.”

  “Fantastic. Can’t wait. Call Apollo.”

  Right…but with Apollo’s ability to scry me and all—“Um, Armani, you got something I can wear?”

  His lips tugged upward in a lascivious grin. “You’re a better distraction as you are now.”

  “Please.”

  “In the back, I think maybe there’s a jacket.”

  I reached behind the seats and found the jacket on the floor behind Armani, where I’d probably pushed it in my graceful belly slide into the backseat. Or, I thought when I held it closer and caught a whiff, it had been there for a really, really long time. Still, it probably wouldn’t bite and I was in no position to be choosy. I put it on, zipped it up and rolled the sleeves thrice.

  Then I dialed Apollo, but with no idea what to say that wouldn’t make me sound like a whack job if anyone else checked his messages—like the police in the event he’d already become a casualty. My heart clenched. I hung up when his voice mail kicked in. If he was interested, my number would come up as a missed call.

  “No luck,” I reported.

  “Plan?” he asked.

  “I’m open to suggestions.”

  “Great.”

  I couldn’t say for sure, with the raindrops still committing hari-kari on our windshield, but I thought I spotted the ent
rance to Hancock Park, the tar pit complex, just ahead. Yup, no mistaking the stylized saber-tooth tiger guarding the gate, even with our headlights the park’s only illumination. It was eerily dark. No security lights. No street lamps lit in the vicinity. Nada. Armani pulled into one of the empty spaces all around the business district this time of night.

  “What do you want to bet this freak storm has cut power to annoying little things like alarm systems?” Armani asked.

  “And backup generators. Don’t suppose you have any night-vision goggles.”

  Armani snorted. “Flashlight in the glove compartment and some flares in the trunk, that’s about it.”

  “Gun?” I asked, reaching into the glove box to grab said light and trying to ignore Armani’s stare.

  “Where’s yours?”

  “Lockbox at home,” I answered defensively. “I didn’t exactly have time to grab it.”

  No need for him to know I hadn’t used it since—

  An immense gust actually lifted the car up on two wheels and dropped us down again. Damn, we had regained the storm’s attention.

  “No safer in than out,” I said, mostly to psych myself up. “Let’s do it.”

  Armani nodded and we threw open the doors—or tried to. The wind hurled the door back in my face, but my shoulder took the brunt of the impact. Hard rain picked up the slack, stinging like ice—or acid. I could see only the narrowest sliver of world through my eyes, squinting to near blindness in defense against the burn. A thunderclap clashed with enough force to crack my chattering teeth together. “Get away from the car,” Armani yelled.

  “Trying!”

  I took a deep breath and channeled my inner strongman, er, woman. “Eee-yah!” With a sudden burst of power, I flung the door back at the wind and pounded pavement. My feet nearly went out from under me on the slick street, but I managed to right myself and make it to Armani’s side. I held the flashlight and he the gun as we advanced on the gate, blinking against the rain that threatened to eat us alive.

  A bolt had melted the gate to slag. The flashlight beam didn’t extend beyond, so it was impossible to see what lay in wait. We’d ditched the car so quickly that the flares still sat uselessly in the trunk. We’d be blind to anything more than a few steps away. We took those steps, over the twisted lump that had once guarded the complex from trespassers like us. Then we crept a few more paces across the grass, toward the slowly bubbling morass of tar and groundwater that I knew from past visits held plaster representations of mammoths soon to become one with the earth.