“Hey, I like my fries. Don’t go hating on them.”
“Really not going to matter, once potato crops start failing.”
That tidbit boded ill for her business. She did own a comedy club that served adult beverages and pub food, including deep fried spuds. “Okay, buster. If you deliver bad news like that, you ought to at least tell me your name.”
“Bennett Jordan. Ben.”
“Thalia Thanos. My friends call me Lia. My employees call me bitch.” She laughed. “But only behind my back.”
Finally, a moody chuckle from the preoccupied man. The husky sound shimmied up her ribcage and lodged at the base of her throat. And that smile? It looked rusty, but oh Lordy, it was a work of art framed in that square jaw.
He scrubbed his hand over his head, causing silvery strands to wink in the intense, focused light above the bar. The rest of the club, except for the stage, had minimal lighting, and was dim just over his shoulder.
Now that she’d had a chance to interact with him, she realized he wasn’t as old as she’d initially thought. Maybe in his upper thirties. Which in her mind made him dead sexy. Throughout the thousands of years she’d existed, in each new lifetime, she’d always been attracted to mature men, much to her mother’s dismay.
“Can’t really see you being a bitch. Your employees must be temperamental.”
“Lia,” Stewart called from halfway down the bar. He lifted his empty glass.
She did a quick mental count. This would be his second old-fashion, but two ounces of rye whiskey was still two ounces. And this would make four.
“Excuse me a minute,” she said as she moved away from Ben. “Stewart, who’s your designated driver tonight? And you better not say Jeremy. I’ve served him three screwdrivers.”
“Aw, come on, Lia. Just want to have a little fun.” The man’s tone stroked close to wheedling. He waggled his blond brows and opened his lovely baby blues, making puppy eyes at her.
Suppressing a laugh, Lia held up her hand, palm flat, and waited, saying nothing. Eventually, after a couple of moments of bellyaching, Stew dug in his deep pants pocket and pulled out a rabbit’s foot ring with a passel of clanking keys attached.
He dropped the ratty mess into her hand with a grimace. “Now can I have a drink? And will you call me a cab?”
“Yes, and you’re a cab,” Lia quipped, gratified when she got the expected groan. She lightly tossed the keys with a grin. “Oh, you meant later. Call you a cab, later.”
Stewart made small talk while Lia dropped a sugar cube into the glass, then wet it with Bitters, and a shot of club soda. She muddled the cube mixture with a wooden tool. His grin lit up as she swirled the glass to coat the inside. She added several ice cubes, and the whiskey. He took his first sip on the way back to his table.
Lia rinsed the muddler, dropped it in its proper place in a canister filled with bar tools, and then moved back toward Ben.
He had his face buried back in his phone as she approached.
“Good Lord, man! You are at a comedy club. Pay attention to Paul’s routine. It’s funny.” She playfully reached out to snatch the phone from his fingers.
He blocked her hand with his then closed his fingers around her arm.
The moment he completed the circle of his hand around the thin bones in her wrist, her world dimmed, then burst into stark black and white images that typically accompanied the foresight she’d been gifted in this lifetime.
They were sitting in a theater. With one arm slung over her shoulder, he had her hand pressed to his lips, kissing each fingertip. His eyes glowed like blue flame as he held her gaze. Emotion traveled up her body, igniting a tiny spark buried within her into a blazing inferno. Even his body heat was palpable in the premonition. On the screen before her, a movie played, the sound curiously muted. A dense black mass seethed over a mountain peak.
The camera zoomed in and the image resolved into a swarm of giant black and white birds. She pressed against the back of her chair as birds darted toward the camera. She screamed when a small flock erupted through the screen, flying like projectiles from the stage to the balcony where they sat. They swirled around her and Ben, pecking at her face and chest. A scream reverberated around her brain. Ben held her arms as she flailed them to keep the birds from tangling in her curly hair.
Her arm jerked in its socket, pulling her out of the vision. The black and white images faded, replaced by Ben’s concerned blue eyes.
“Hey, are you okay?” His hands rested on her shoulders, the warmth seeping into her chest.
She heaved a deep breath, and then another before she answered. “No...yeah, I’m fine.” Oh, goddess, she was so far from fine it wasn’t funny.
“You seemed to get lost for a minute.” His hands fell to the top of the bar as she scooted backward.
Hesitant laugher sounded around them, followed by shrill squawking.
Lia spun toward the bird-like sounds to discover her comedian flapping his arms like wings and racing around the stage. He sped down the steps to the main floor. His erratic swooping and diving movements among the audience drew startled gasps. He knocked into empty chairs and banged into tables, spilling drinks.
Stewart stood and threw his arms around the comic just as the man passed the regular’s table. Stew rocked under the force of the impact, but maintained his footing, and held onto the young comedian. The younger man fell within Stew’s arms, and then emitted a horrendous screech that scraped Lia’s eardrums with supernatural fingernails.
Ben had shoved to his feet, his barstool knocked to the ground with a loud bang. His glance at Lia reflected his confusion.
Lia stood momentarily frozen in place as Stew and Jeremy lowered the unconscious comic to the ground. The guy’s features blanked, leaving him looking as though he was sound asleep.
From one of the spotlights over the stage, a black and white feather floated to the wooden planks below.
Lia clutched her fingers together to hide her trembles. As she moved toward the comic’s prone body, she broadcasted a nudge to her sisters. Her message was simple and to the point.
“It’s started again.”
Chapter 2
For Christ’s sake! He’d been quietly enjoying what might possibly be his last good beer for years, when suddenly all hell broke loose. The comic on stage had been mildly funny and Ben had ignored most of the routine in favor of his morose research into the increasing instances of crop failures around the world.
He hadn’t wanted to come out tonight but Marco had kept after him like a bad case of jock itch. Marco had told Ben he’d die a lonely old bastard if he didn’t get out and have fun. There was more than a little uncomfortable truth in his friend’s statement, so Ben had capitulated.
He’d actually liked talking to the club owner, Lia Thanos. Their brief, intriguing exchange had captivated him. Her corkscrew reddish curls bobbed on her shoulders, and her blue eyes danced with lively light when she laughed, making him eager to continue speaking to her. And she was funny. A characteristic Ben always sought in a woman. He might not laugh a lot—hell, he almost never laughed—but he wouldn’t want to be with anyone who couldn’t balance his innate skepticism and negativity.
When he’d grabbed her arm as she tried to jerk his phone away, something weird had happened. For an instant it seemed she’d gone into a kind of trance. Something similar to a spark had surged from the skin on her wrist into his hand, firing a visceral response within him. Every muscle in his body, including his groin, had tightened with the contact. Suddenly, he found himself in a dream state with her. Stark black and white images had flickered in his brain. The two of them together in a theater had morphed to a picture of them enveloped in a swirling dark cloud. Lia’s body had glowed orange around the edges. A sibilant shriek—hers? his?—had filled his brain.
To break the spell, he’d jerked her arm then grasped her shoulders, giving her a solid shake. The movement seemed to shatter the stasis they’d fallen into. His world swam b
ack to a full-colored reality.
But Lia’s unblinking eyes had snapped and glowed electric blue in the dim club interior.
Behind him, laughter had receded and commotion rose on a tide of noise. The comic had jumped off the stage and ran amok through the audience imitating a giant crow. The man kept squawking and cawing as he bumped into patrons and furniture.
Marco and their friends had jumped to their feet and stared as a Viking-looking guy seized the comedian and lowered him to the ground. In a smooth, gymnastic move, Lia had literally leaped over the bar. The maneuver left Ben breathless, and hard as a tree trunk.
He sped to her side, just as the comic roused himself from a stupor.
“Give him space,” Lia commanded, her tone sharp and authoritative. “Celeste, bring me some water.”
The Viking was the only person who didn’t move. Probably because he cradled the comic’s head in his lap.
“Paul? Are you okay?” With gentle fingers, Lia stroked lank blond hair back from the prone man’s forehead, pushing down slightly when he attempted to lift his head.
The guy’s brown eyes were glazed and confused, but he gasped when he focused on Lia. “He gave me a message for you.”
“Who?” Lia’s question was voiced quietly, but Ben heard it knocking around his brain as if she’d spoken directly into his ear.
“Dude floated on fucking air like a ghost. He was in a toga and had a crown of laurels on his head.”
Dark rose flushed up Lia’s creamy cheeks, and then leached away, leaving her pale and breathing fast. “Pierus?” she asked. When the comic’s eyes widened, she continued. “What did he say?”
The bartender pressed a glass into Lia’s hand. She touched the bendy straw to Paul’s lips, but he shook his head and swiped it away. Water splashed on the dark shirt the guy wore and spread out in a blob across his chest.
Grim determination filled Lia’s face as she stared at the oddly shaped spill. To Ben, it looked like a raven spreading its wings to fly.
Ben darted a glance at Lia and found her lips moving, but no sound emitted. Like she was talking to someone.
She diverted her attention back to the guy’s face. “Paul, what did he say?”
Paul’s eyes glazed again and he spoke. “It’s your turn, Muse. When I am finished with you this time, the world will be a hungry, hungry place.” The voice coming from the comic had changed as he’d spoken, going deeper, louder and filled with maniacal laughter. The intensity of it echoed off the ceiling of the cavernous club.
Paul lifted his eyes to Ben’s face. Something deep within his gaze shifted and flickered. Holy fuck! It almost seemed like there was someone trapped inside the comic’s eyeballs, watching Ben.
Paul scratched the splotch on his chest, like he wanted to scrub it away. He jabbed a shaky finger toward Ben. “You’ll try to help. You. Will. Fail!”
As the last word boomed, Paul’s head slumped against the Viking’s knees and he blacked out.
Lia rocked back on her heels, then spilled onto her butt and drew her knees up. With a tilt of her head, she lifted troubled eyes to Ben’s. Again her mouth moved, but she didn’t speak aloud. He squinted at her, his gaze trained on her lush lips. It was as if she silently spoke to…someone.
Years of communicating with his hearing impaired sister allowed him to read her lips.
He’s back. It’s my turn.
“Who’s back? What the fuck does ‘it’s my turn’ mean?” Ben demanded.
The woman’s eyebrows raised, her mouth formed into a perfect O. “You heard that?”
“No.”
The Viking eased Paul’s head from his lap, bolted to his feet and crowded in behind Lia.
She canted her head to the side. “Then how…”
“I read lips. Have forever.” Ben helped her to her feet.
“Goddessdammit!” Lia rubbed her temples then slid trembling hands through her curly hair. She lifted her face toward the ceiling and called out, “Mnemosyne!”
Paul surged upright, shaking his head and darting his gaze around the group of people encircling him. “What the hell happened to me?”
Stooping back to the ground, Lia framed Paul’s face between her hands, her lips moving. The position of her head didn’t allow Ben to interpret her words this time. Paul fell completely still.
Lia stood and fluttered her hand in Ben’s face. She stepped away, raised her arms and waved them in a circle. Then reversed the direction.
A sudden, unnatural hush filled the club. When he spun toward the group of friends he’d come with, he found they’d become frozen statues. Everyone else in the club appeared to be in a state of suspended animation.
Panic tinged with confusion and indignation climbed his spine. He took a step away. “Tell me what’s going on? Is this a crowd-induced form of hysteria?”
He retreated another step as she advanced toward him. “Nothing like that. I’ll explain shortly, but for now, I’m…sorry about all of this. Please try to remember that teamwork will make the dream work. I’m one of the good guys.” She offered him an apologetic smile.
Sudden constriction around his chest made drawing even a small breath difficult. Pressure built in his ears, and just as suddenly popped, as if he’d swallowed. A gray-haired woman appeared at Lia’s side. Like just-materialized-out-of-thin-air appeared.
“Child of Zeus, you’ve summoned me from a dinner date with Adonis.” The woman smoothed her hand over her flowy skirt. Fuck, she wore what looked like a toga. “This had better be an emergency.”
“Yeah well, Auntie, take a look around.” Lia gestured around the room, at all the frozen people. “I am pretty sure a mass thrall constitutes an emergency.”
The woman pivoted slowly and nodded, then trained her gaze on Ben. “Agreed. Tell me why this one mortal is not restrained by your thrall.”
“Mortal?” Ben crossed his arms over his chest and lifted a questioning brow at Lia.
She shook her head and held up a hand, stalling his words. Hand still in his face, she turned her head to the other woman. “Because Pierus challenged him directly. And right before all this happened, I had a vision with him and the dammed magpie sisters.” She mouthed sorry at him again, then spoke to the woman again. “Auntie, I need you to remove the last ten minutes from the memory of everyone present. Except this one.” Lia pointed to him.
He pushed forward a step. “Whoa! You can’t do that!”
Squinting at him, Lia replied, “I can’t, but Mnemosyne, the Goddess of Memory can.” She laid her hand on his arm.
Warmth coursed through him, calming and sedate. A feeling of peace overtook his racing thoughts. He laid his hand over hers on his bicep and the sense of tranquility intensified.
“It’s a little soon to be revealing yourself to humans, isn’t it?” the magically appearing woman asked.
Lia rolled her eyes. “I didn’t. Pierus outed me.”
“That bastard is going to end up standing on his head in a steaming pile of turds in Hades for this infraction.” A tight smile crinkled the memory lady’s eyes.
“Can we discuss punishment later, Auntie?” Lia gestured to the customers surrounding them.
“Move aside and let me get to work.” Mnemosyne brushed past him.
“How long will it take?” Lia asked.
“However long it takes.” The woman’s curling gray ponytail bobbed on her shoulders.
Lia released a sharp breath. “Thanks for nothing, Auntie.”
“Will you please tell me what’s going on?” Ben’s earlier calm evaporated as Mnemosyne chanted in a language he didn’t understand.
“I will. I know we only just met, but Pierus has deemed you my partner in this challenge. It’s going to require you to suspend disbelief and trust me.”
“A lady just materialized out of thin air and I haven’t even once considered myself crazy.”
“There is that. Will you come with me?” Lia moved toward a door to the left of the stage.
With one last look at his statue-like friends, Ben followed.
Lia’s hips swung side-to-side as she preceded him down a hallway lit by florescent lights. Even as fucked up as reality seemed at the moment, he still noticed the seductive sway. Barely curbing the urge to increase his speed so he could grab her ass, he shook his head.
Maybe he was certifiable.
She opened a door on the right side of the corridor and slipped inside.
He followed, closed the door, and then leaned against it. “I’m waiting.”
“You already know my name is Thalia. What you don’t know is that I’m immortal. I’m the Muse of Comedy and Agriculture. And mortals—the entire human race—are under siege. You just don’t know it yet.”
“Bullshit!” he scoffed.
“Wish I could say it was. That it’s just a huge prank that is part of the comedy club’s regularly scheduled entertainment.” She took up a position behind her desk, resting her palms on the dark wood. “But this is deadly serious. My sisters are Muses as well and we are in a supernatural fight for the safety of all mortal kind.”
As she sat in the chair behind her, the look on her face was earnest, brows raised, eyes wide. She believed her own psychosis. He searched his memory for anything he might have read about how to deal with delusional behavior. He had nothing other than recollected warnings about not encouraging the victim, and maintaining a distance in case of possible violent outbursts.
He took a step toward the desk, and then another, shaking his head as he did. This was no way to establish distance between them. He took another step and closed the gap, until the only thing between them was a block of wood. Not a very good barrier, considering the way she’d leaped over the bar when Paul had been going schizoid.
“I suppose next you’ll tell me Zeus is real and is your dad.”
Hunger: Goddesses of Delphi Page 2