by Anh Leod
But for now, he had a boon to fulfill. He tugged the laptop from its resting place and sat cross-legged on the bed, the computer in his lap.
“How do you send an email to Hades?” Brandi asked.
“[email protected],” Cherokee said.
“Who knew?” Brandi muttered.
A cell phone rang from the chair where Brandi’s purse had been tossed. She jumped off the bed and grabbed it. When she answered, her demeanor became professional. She made a face at Cherokee.
“Back in a minute,” she whispered. “I’ll be in your office.”
Cherokee opened the laptop. It was permanently powered up with the magic of the gods and it was the mere touch of a button to open an email to Hades.
Divine Hades, I send greetings from the mortal realm. I humbly beg and request you attend the reopening of your son’s club this Saturday night in Los Angeles as my honored guest.
You may locate me at your leisure. My friends will play music at eleven in the evening on stage at the club. Nos is now manager. Another of your sons, Invisible One?
Why on earth would Hades even respond to this, much less come? Perhaps he should have contacted Persephone, who after all, was the micromanager of souls, not Hades. But Glaukos’ situation had been created by Hades, not his wife.
When he hit the send button, a burst of electricity zapped his hands and rocketed through his body. He flew backward. The laptop fell on the bed as he was thrown against the wall by the whoosh of air that came from the computer heat vent. He crashed to the floor.
Cherokee lay on the floor dazed. When he was sure he had control of his body, he rubbed his head. Apparently demi-gods weren’t allowed to email the gods unless they were related to them. He’d never had a problem emailing Ares, not that he did it often. Hopefully the email to Hades had gone through.
“Cherokee?” Brandi ran into the room. “The laptop is smoking. Where are you?”
Cherokee slowly rose from the opposite side of the bed. He wavered on his feet and grabbed a bedpost for support. “The damn thing zapped me.”
“It’s burning a hole in your quilt.”
He swore again and grabbed for the computer. Ignoring the burning sensation in his palms, he opened the window and tossed the infernal thing to the grass a story below. If it sank into Hades’ realm he wouldn’t care. Hermes’ gift was more one of a trickster than a friend. Bad things seemed to happen when he used it.
“I really didn’t like that thing,” Brandi observed, grabbing his quilt. Cherokee followed her as she took it into the bathroom, dumped it in the tub and turned on the faucet.
Soon the burned fabric smell was joined by the smell of wet cotton. Cherokee half sat, half fell onto the toilet seat. “I love that quilt,” he muttered, his hands going to his head. His shoulder-length hair fell forward and tickled his cheeks.
He felt soft hands tucking his hair behind his ears. “I know. We’ll find someone to repair it.”
“They will have to match the fabric.”
“Enough money can buy just about anything. Don’t worry. Do you want to sleep at my place tonight?”
“It will probably smell better. I will leave the window open here to air the bedroom out.”
“I’ll go open it now.” Brandi’s stylish, molded, pink heels clicked on the tiled floor as she went back into the bedroom.
Cherokee ran his tongue along his teeth, careful not to pierce it on his extra long canines. No, his life would never be what mortals called normal. He ought to call Hermes and make the god fix his quilt. But it might come back with a spark of divine and choke him in the middle of the night or something like that. It just wasn’t worth it.
He much preferred dealing with mortals. All Olympus types could stay at arm’s length. He considered that. Even his friends? Even Glaukos? Well, he had been human once. Really, he could still be considered human. Although he’d lived such a long time, if dwelling in the Underworld could be considered life. Would sparkly Holly be able to cope with such an ancient soul?
Life wasn’t all sex though he tried to make it so. He smiled as Brandi came back.
“Ready to go?” she asked.
“I’m feeling weak in the knees,” he said.
“Poor baby,” Brandi crooned, caressing his forehead. “What would make you feel better?”
“Your mouth on my cock?” he suggested.
Brandi ran one long, manicured nail from his cheek, down his neck to his chest then kept going until it found his jeans. She popped the buttons of his fly then knelt in front on him.
Cherokee loved that she didn’t hesitate. The second he was free she was lubing him with her tongue, swallowing him down as if she were starving for him. And maybe she was since she was a most voracious lover.
She swirled her tongue around his cock, taking him deep, over and over. Then she replaced her mouth with her hand so she could do almost his favorite part and suckle his balls. He loved the tingling it created. She was far gentler with them than Dylan and it created an entirely different sensation. Her nibbles and licks, combined with the firm strokes of her hand soon had him writhing on the seat.
“Come for me,” she whispered.
He obeyed as if she were a goddess, a goddess of sex. The pressure moved through his lower body until his cum left him in a volcanic flow. She caught every drop in her waiting mouth then licked him with feathery strokes until he was soft in her mouth. She pulled away and kissed his hip.
“You taste like rich fruit.” Her gaze caught his as she stood, steady despite the killer heels. “Take a minute then I’ll meet you downstairs.”
He nodded. What a woman.
* * * * *
“How do you do it?” Holly asked Dylan on Thursday as he pulled a roast chicken from the oven.
“Cooking is easy,” he told her. “You just need an attention span of at least thirty minutes.”
She stuck out her tongue. “I have that.”
“You’re impatient,” he said in the sure tone of an older brother. “I ought to know. We just had to buy the first house we looked at.”
“I love this house!”
“You aren’t going to love your half of the electricity bill this month. And why was there three days worth of mail waiting when I got home today? Where have you been?”
She took cook-in-the-bag vegetables from the freezer and popped them into the microwave. “At Greg’s mostly. We’re dating now.”
“Dating or fucking?”
She narrowed her eyes. “None of your business.”
“It’s my business if I have to see it or hear it,” Dylan said. The doorbell rang and he chucked her under the chin on the way to answer it.
Like he gave me any say when he got involved with his two lovers, Holly thought sourly. As much as she loved both of them, the house was going to be far too small for six people. Her brother’s two lovers and her two lovers—if she could get Glaukos back.
And she wasn’t being impatient. Glaukos had been gone for almost two weeks. She still wanted to fight for him, if only she knew how.
Dylan came back into the kitchen, followed by Cherokee, who wore a suit with his hair pulled back.
“Still in costume?” she asked, forcing herself to offer pleasantries before asking the important question.
Cherokee nodded. “I came right from the set when Dylan called.”
“Conveniently when dinner was on the table.”
Cherokee grinned widely, showing his unusual teeth. “I am a lucky man. First the unexpected gift of a small part in a major action movie and now this. The man who had the part originally came down with the flu.”
“Speaking of men,” Holly said, giving up, “any word? I haven’t heard from you since I came to your house on Tuesday.”
Cherokee took the bottle of wine Dylan handled him and found a corkscrew in the drawer. “About that. My laptop blew up when I sent the email. I think it went through though.”
Holly put her hand to her mouth. That didn’
t sound promising. “Oh no. Is your house okay?”
“Everything but my quilt.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry, man, I know you loved that quilt,” Dylan said, rolling his eyes.
Cherokee fixed him with a beady stare. “It was a great quilt. You just don’t have any taste.”
“It didn’t go with my hair,” Dylan announced.
“Brandi looked great on it,” Cherokee shot back.
Dylan made the shape of a gun with his hand and shot Cherokee with it. Cherokee grabbed his heart and pretended to die.
“To die for love is quite the thing,” he said in a plummy British accent.
“I’ll buy you a new quilt. One that looks good on me,” Dylan said.
Cherokee pulled the cork from the wine bottle. “Don’t worry. Brandi is having mine fixed.”
Dylan put his tongue in his cheek for a moment. “I take it you didn’t miss me much?”
Cherokee grabbed him in a bear hug. Holly took the wine before it could spill. It was expensive wine.
The doorbell rang again and Holly set down the bottle on the table and went to answer it, since the guys were now in a lip lock.
“Hi, Joe,” she said, when she saw who it was. “What’s going on?”
The sexy singer touched his hand to the fedora he wore. His stocky body was covered in a tan trench coat against the rain.
“You look like you’re in costume,” she said.
“Just trying to stay warm. I have a collection of my grandfather’s old clothes in a cedar chest in my attic. Hey, Greg said you had a couple of guitars that we could borrow? We’re trying to play with our sound and every guitar sounds different.”
“Sure, they’re in Dylan’s closet I think. C’mon in.”
He followed her into the house, shutting the door behind him. “So how’s it going with you and Greg? Things seem pretty hot and heavy.”
“Yeah,” Holly admitted. “With our crazy schedules it’s just been booty call city but we’ve been having fun.”
“Nothing wrong with that.”
Holly turned on the light in Dylan’s room and went to the closet. He had sacrificed some of his bedroom space to build a walk-in. “Hold on. I think they’re buried in the back but they’re good guitars. They belonged to our great uncle who was a professional musician in the seventies.”
She ducked under Dylan’s row of suits and started investigating.
“Have you heard anything new about Ellery?” Joe asked, his voice anxious.
“Her doctors are optimistic,” Holly called. “That’s all Claudia said today. I only saw her in passing.”
“That’s good news,” Joe said.
“Here we go.” Holly pulled a black guitar case covered in peace stickers from behind a box of Halloween decorations. “That’s one.”
Joe leaned in and took it from her. “Thanks.”
“Do you want to stay for dinner? Dylan cooked an entire chicken.”
“He’s quite the chef?”
“When he has time, but yeah, he is the cookbook owner in the house.” She heard snapping sounds as Joe took a look at the guitar. “Is it playable?”
“I’ll have to tune it, but you’re right, it’s a nice instrument.”
Holly found the second guitar case behind two boxes of old college textbooks. She hauled it out, closing the door behind her. “This one is kind of dusty.”
“I’ll open it in our garage then. Thanks.”
They went back to the front door and set the cases by it then went into the kitchen. The air was redolent of chicken and vegetables. Joe took a deep breath and smiled before he took off his coat and hat and laid them over a chair.
Holly grabbed four plates, wineglasses and silverware so she could set the table. She hunted for napkins next while the guys chatted. The drawer contained cute Santa napkins so she grabbed those and turned back to the table.
She stopped dead when she saw a sinuous woman flash into existence out of thin air, bringing with her the scent of burning leaves. The woman, if that was what she was, had flowing crayon-red hair that seemed to have its own wind tunnel, long fingers ending in sharp pointed nails and creamy brown skin covered by little more than a two-piece bikini that barely contained her full breasts and ass.
“Holy shit,” Joe muttered behind Holly, putting his hands on her shoulders.
The woman/being spoke. “I am Desdemona, a demonic messenger from the Underworld.”
“Hi, Desdemona,” Cherokee said, tucking his hands into his pants pockets. “Are you the Desdemona who is Glaukos’ friend?”
“His lover,” she corrected.
Holly was frozen in place. Lover?
“Long ago,” Cherokee said. “Very long ago.”
Desdemona sniffed. Her nose didn’t look quite human but the package was beautiful enough to tempt any man. Holly wondered how she could have been so foolish, thinking Glaukos could want an ordinary woman like her when he’d discarded someone as hot as Desdemona.
“I come with word from the lord of the Underworld,” Desdemona said.
“Excellent. I wasn’t sure my email went through.” Cherokee rocked back on his heels.
Holly had never been more certain of his demi-god status as now when he behaved so casually.
Dylan was seated at the table, his carving knife poised in the air above the chicken he’d been about to slice into. He looked horrified and interested all at once.
“The Invisible One is pleased by your invitation and admits to curiosity about this Nos who has invaded his son’s mortal business interests. He will see you Saturday night.”
“Excellent,” Cherokee repeated. “We look forward to his presence.”
Desdemona nodded regally.
“How is Glaukos?” Holly blurted.
Desdemona slowly turned her head. When she parted her lips Holly saw that her canines were even longer than Cherokee’s. Joe’s hands tightened on her shoulders.
“He is well enough,” Desdemona said, her lip curling. Then she was gone. Black sparkles hung in the air for a moment then all was as before, except the burning leaf scent, which remained.
After a pause, Cherokee said, “You got what you wanted.”
“I’m a crazy person,” Holly said. Her heart was pounding much faster than it should.
Cherokee half smiled.
Dylan’s knife bit into the chicken. It shook slightly. “Let’s eat.”
Holly heard a cracking noise and started but it was only the sound of the seldom-opened window over the sink.
“I was trying to clear out the smell,” Joe said. “Something about it makes me think of lost souls.”
Holly swallowed hard. “Let’s drink. We’re going to need more than one bottle of wine after that.” She needed to think very carefully before ever making a pledge again.
* * * * *
“I thought you didn’t cook?” Greg walked into Holly’s kitchen on Friday night, his hair still damp from the shower he’d taken after their lovemaking.
“I don’t. Not yet at least. I’m just trying to make pomegranate juice.”
“Cool.” He leaned over her shoulder. “I wish I’d been here when the demoness showed up to say Hades was coming.”
“No you don’t. It was scary.” She turned around and rested her face in the crook of his neck. The smell of warm, clean male overwhelmed her senses for a moment but she had a task to perform.
“Were her eyes red?”
“No. I’d have noticed that. I think they were black.” Holly looked at the bowl she had in the sink. As advertised, the jewel-like red seeds had dropped to the bottom of the bowl and all the other pomegranate-y bits had floated to the top. She scooped up the extra stuff and dumped it into the garbage under the sink.
Greg finished buttoning his wrinkled cotton shirt. “What does Cherokee think is going to happen when Hades drinks this?”
“He has no idea. But he isn’t the kind of guy who’s got a research library and is going to
check into stuff.”
Greg laughed. “Any more than you are.”
“Nope. We’re action-oriented.” Holly dumped her bowl of separated seeds into Dylan’s blender. “Wish me luck.”
She hit the button and watched the contents churn.
“You’re going for pulpy mess?” Greg asked.
“Exactly.”
Greg sniffed the air. “Is that the actual pomegranate from Glaukos?”
“No, it’s test fruit. I’ll make the real thing tomorrow before we head for the club. I’ve got to figure out how to get it to Hades.”
“Maybe make a martini with it? A pomtini?”
“I thought about that but how am I going to get it served? I’m not friends with the bartenders. In fact, I think they might be Underworld types from what Cherokee said.”
“What about bringing a flask and passing it around? Maybe Hades will drink.” Greg mimed tossing back a shot.
“Yeah, like a god is going to act like one of the gang for the night. Isn’t he old?”
“He might not look old,” Greg argued.
“Besides, I don’t think any of us should drink that particular juice. Glaukos gave the fruit to me. It might be magic fruit.” Holly felt silly saying that but it was true. It might have more than sentimental value.
“Didn’t he buy it at a market here? I thought he gave it to you after he and Cherokee went shopping.”
Holly stared at the blender. “You’re probably right. I should have asked Cherokee. I’d been thinking it had some mystical properties.”
Greg put his hand on her shoulder and she leaned into him. “It probably does for Hades. But maybe not for us.”
“Okay, time to strain this mess.” Holly stepped away from him and poured the contents of the blender into a strainer she’d placed over a glass measuring container.
“It looks juicy,” Greg observed.
“Only a couple more steps.” She took a smooth-bottomed mug and pressed the remaining pulp into the strainer until there was only an occasional drip of juice.
“Is it drinkable now?”
“The website I read suggested adding a whole heap of sugar.”
“Good idea. Hey, we could make pomtinis!”