Seriously, when she received the garment, she wondered if she were supposed to wear it, or stick it on a pole and claim her bedroom for Spain. Persephone draped the yards of fabric over one arm and began pushing and pulling Riona’s arms around as if she were a dress-up doll.
“About last night...” Riona began, thinking they might as well get the awkwardness out of the way.
The goddess’s cheeks reddened deeper than ripe apples. “Yeah, last night. It was... very nice.”
“If that’s your definition of very nice, I’d be curious to know what your idea of mind-blowingly amazing is.”
“It would involve chains, for starters,” Persephone joked as she festooned a wrap of cloth under Riona’s arm. “I’m sorry if we put you in an uncomfortable place though. I didn’t mean to, you know, make love in front of an audience.”
“Actually, I’m convinced Hades likes that. And don’t worry, I snuck away pretty early on. I swear I wasn’t there when you guys broke the table.” They exchanged grins. “Besides, it’s good to see the two of you made up.”
“Oh, we’re still breaking up.”
“But why!?” Riona cried, grunting when Persephone tugged at the fabric and nearly tenderized her lungs.
“A few sappy words and a table, broken in the best possible way, can’t undo years of imprisonment.”
“But it doesn’t exactly seem that you’re not enjoying the time.” Riona clicked her tongue. “Okay, whatever. If that’s what you two have agreed on, who am I to question it?”
“I appreciate your candor, though. Takes someone with a lot of guts to question a goddess.”
“Please! I’ll go all archangel on your ass and strike you down if you raise one palm leaf toward me. Ow!”
Clearly, Persephone was of the opinion that Riona’s lowers extremities did not require blood. The bodice portion of the toga pulled so tightly around her ribcage, Riona was convinced she was gradually being sliced in half.
“Good luck with that. In my experience, those unable to wrap a bed sheet around themselves make poor assassins.”
“I don’t get why we’re wearing togas anyways. Isn’t it kind of chintzy? Olympians having a theme party?”
Persephone shrugged as she inspected the final fold of Riona’s makeshift attire. “I don’t know. Dad’s not usually the nostalgic type. But the last few years, he’s been a little out of it. That thing with Clare, not to mention, the way Dee lashed out at him in front of everyone... The worst part is, Dee won’t listen to anyone. He doesn’t understand what really happened. But I was there. I heard what Clare told Dad.”
“What did she tell him?”
Persephone seemed to mull it over for a moment. “Clare had a vision. She had a seer’s gift. It’s very rare, and a talent I wouldn’t wish on anyone.”
“But I thought seeing the future was impossible,” Riona said. “Ramiel says even the archangels can’t see the future.”
“Oracles do though, don’t they?” Persephone smiled. “Anyway, Clare had a vision that she and her child wouldn’t survive the pregnancy. She begged my father to help her find a way to live, at least long enough for the baby to have a fighting chance, but there was nothing Dad could do. Knowing my dad, though, I think he probably tried something without anyone knowing. You ever heard of ambrosia, Riona?”
Her eyebrows knitted together. “The food of the gods? Or that so-called salad the soul food place down in Quincy makes?”
“The first one,” Persephone confirmed. “When the HHA was drawn up, there was some debate about the fate of nephilim-human hybrids. Dad negotiated a means by which someone like Dee could choose a side. There’s actually two types of ambrosia. One skews genetics toward our side, the other makes them human. It works with quartergods too. Any generation further out than that and the effect diminishes.”
“And this relates to Clare, how?”
“I think Dad thought if he fed her the godly ambrosia, it might save the baby. All I know for certain is that Clare died, and my dad was probably trying to help, but might have killed her sooner than fate would have, and Dee blames him.”
“But didn’t Clare tell Dee about her vision?”
Persephone shrugged. “He says she did, but he insists it was normal, first-time-parent anxiety, not visions. Seers usually can’t see the future where it concerns themselves. One of Big Boss’s checks and balances things.”
“Dude, that’s just an all-around tragedy. No wonder Dee’s been so pissed off at Zeus.”
“Yup. Well, my dear, I’ll say this much: you may not be one of us, but you sure can present a convincing package.”
In a twirl, Persephone spun Riona, showing her the perfect toga package she managed to wrap. It took a moment for the witch to recognize herself. Reflected in the mirror image next to her, Persephone was the model of Olympic perfection: her blonde hair was tousled into curls, and mounted in dizzying array on top of her head, and her olive skin contrasted with Riona’s, which still retained the Bostonian winter glow. Even a whole week on the Mountain couldn’t chip off that layer of milkpaste perfection. Her red hair and white gossamer folds of cloth made Riona feel like a blazing candle.
Persephone palmed a handful of Riona’s uncoiffed mess. “I can do your hair too if you like, or send one of my female cerebi. Just don’t let them convince you to go for the poodle ‘do. They seem to have a preference for it.”
“I think I can handle it. But thanks for the help with the toga. You’re really an expert.”
“I ought to be.” Persephone winked. “So we’ll meet you downstairs in about ten minutes? Oh, and Dee says they’ll be along just as soon as they get into town.”
“What? How?”
The goddess tapped two fingers to her head. “Telepathy, remember? His voice is weak, meaning he’s still pretty far out, but he’s in Olympus. Oh, and yes, Jerry is with him. According to Dee, you should, and I quote, ‘have an available location because the bastard’s about to blow, he’s so wound up.’ I’d take that to mean your husband is in the mood.”
“My husband’s default state is ‘in the mood,’” Riona joked, though she couldn’t deny the quiver of anticipation that ran through her. “Thanks, Steph.”
The moment the door closed, Riona dove over her bed, landing on the mattress with a thunderous grunt. The toga was a lot more restrictive that she first thought. She thrust her hand under her pillow, looking for the object she concealed just moments before Persephone came in. The Angelic Blade reflected the gold-red shaft of light falling into her window from the setting sun, and its jeweled hilt sent splashes of green, blue, yellow and white sparkles across the walls and ceiling. Though smaller than she remembered, it still radiated power. She concealed it in one of the folds of the toga, double-checking herself in the mirror that its outline wasn’t obvious.
She still couldn’t believe she felt trapped in Olympus for so long, when it was always within her power the whole time to go home. Following Azazel’s instructions, she focused her intention on going where her needs would be met. Luckily, the blade remained in the same place she hid it before the wedding, inside a box of tampons under her bathroom sink. It was the first place she could think of that no man she knew would dare peer.
Chapter 31
Tony Soprano! Why hadn’t he thought this through? There was no way he could get through the night. There was no way he could stand in front of Persephone and act indifferent. That was a form of lying, and lying was something he just couldn’t do.
Ramiel materialized on the edges of the Elysian Fields, just outside the portal between the nephilim and human realms. Zeus’ secretary sprang up from the grasses the moment Ramiel’s arms and legs filled out.
“Who in the hell are you?” Mortimer demanded.
“Um, someone requested an archangel?” His voice rose in question at the end.
“We sent for Sariel.” The bearded human passed him a squeamish, sideways expression.
“I’ll be subbing for the angel of dea
th today.” Was it so long since he’d been in Olympus that this human didn’t recognize him? “Name’s Ra’am El, but most people call me Ramiel. And you’re Francis Athenos.”
“Shhh!” The man’s wrinkled hands patted down the air. “I hate that name. Everyone here calls me Mortimer. Shall we do the formal declaration?”
Ramiel cringed. “If you think it’s necessary.”
“Boss likes me to stick to the rules.” Mortimer cleared his throat and straightened his back. “As set forth in the Heaven/Hell Accords, an archangel of the Council of Seven may, upon request of the king, visit Olympus so that a nephilim, desiring an end to his life, may accomplish that conclusion. Sari- I mean-”
“Ramiel.”
“Ramiel,” Mortimer over accentuated, “you have been summoned to fulfill your sacred and somber duty. You are permitted to endure in this realm only insofar as required to perform the task at hand, and then must depart with haste lest you face the rod and perish from all terrestrial planes.”
“Buddha in a bathing suit! Does Sariel have to listen to this rigmarole every time he comes down here?”
The old man shrugged. “Afraid so.”
“One wonders why he hasn’t offed himself yet. Yeah, yeah, all that you just said. Can I please port into town now?”
“Yeah, go ahead.”
Suddenly, the angel felt a pang of guilt, looking at the old man who, while not unattractive for his age, probably didn’t have many years left in him. “I can’t port with you, but I can carry you and walk if you prefer.”
A hearty laugh cracked across the breeze. “Need some points towards your merit badge?” Mortimer took a few steps before bending in the tall grass. When he reemerged, he held the handles of an Indian motorcycle in his hands. “Zeus makes an exception to his ‘no motorized vehicles’ policy for me; although if you want to conjure up a few gallons of petrol, I wouldn’t complain. I hate going out into Athens at this time of day.”
EXCEPT FOR A FEW HOUSES that received facelifts, Olympus had changed very little since last Ramiel had been there. Automatically, his eyes fell on the mansion on the second highest hill in town, its towering walls covered over in ivy and passion fruit flowers. Ramiel suspected the palatial manor was empty, like the other houses. Everyone would be on the Mountain already, heeding the king’s call. Even from a quarter mile, the hum of conversation and rhythmic tenor of ancient wind instruments carried on the breeze.
Ramiel examined his attire, showing typical taste when he was in the flesh: jeans, t-shirt, and sneakers. A soiree at the king’s palace required something a little more formal. Invoking his power, he permitted himself a pair of black slacks, a pressed purple shirt and a cream-colored tie. His nerves couldn’t relax as he pushed through the gate of Zeus’ grounds and presented himself for clearance to the guards on duty. There wasn’t exactly a firm time agreed upon to carry out the execution, so he figured his best bet was to hang out at the back of the crowd until he got summoned. With any luck, he’d cross paths with Riona.
Ramiel stepped inside and found himself staring point blank into a pair of brown eyes he’d like to have curled up inside and napped away the hours, but he knew luck wouldn’t be giving him the time of day this evening.
Damn, she was radiant. She was what a woman was designed to be, proof of Big Boss’s brilliance. Persephone was stunning, opinionated, strong-willed, compassionate, and close enough to reach out and touch. Ramiel tasted blood when he bit his tongue, forcing a distraction from his body’s physical reaction.
“You’re.... It’s... When did...?”
“Hello, Persephone,” he strove to say in as even a tone as possible. “You look lovely tonight.”
There, that was honest, yet not too out of line, wasn’t it?
“And you look...” She bit her lip and gave him a head-to-toe inspection. “...wrong. I guess you didn’t get the memo that this was a toga party.”
He examined his own garb with a level of disgust usually reserved for performance artists and census takers. “Guess not, just a minute and I’ll...” Invoking his intent and fixing an image in his third eye, Ramiel sighed. With the fall of his chest and exhalation of his breath, the fine, pressed suit disintegrated, leaving him cloaked in more practical wear. He pulled on his toga, an athletic style, which ended just above his knees and was held up by a single loop of cloth over his shoulder. Thankfully, it left his solid chest and a good portion of his washboard stomach exposed. “This good?”
Persephone’s chest heaved a little quicker. She licked her lips. “Um, very good.” Then, as if seeing him anew, she asked, “What are you doing here?”
“I’m here in an official capacity.” He wasn’t sure how much she knew. If nothing else, he certainly wouldn’t be the one to spill the fava beans.
“Then you must be looking for Riona.”
Before he could reply and deny that, Ramiel felt all the air in his lungs go AWOL as a pair of milk-white arms caged him from behind.
“Riona, I know I don’t need air,” he struggled to get out, “but it makes breathing easier in this form.”
“Oh, my god, I’m sorry.”
She released him only long enough for him to turn around. Ramiel had to keep from appearing too shocked. While she looked the same to the naked eye as she had when he last saw her a week ago, her aura had undergone a dramatic blossoming. All around her, the life force of her human nature hummed, and the brilliant, spectral glow of her angelic being blew out like tendrils in every direction. Just above her eyes, he saw the strength of her heavenly light beam, a divine connection only angels had, which allowed them to pull from all the sources of the universe. Much to his disappointment, however, he also spotted fibers of purple, a seed of evil that could easily take root and draw her closer to hellfire. It was almost as if she were playing with a bit of flame.
“Hug me, god damn it!”
Ramiel wrapped his arms about her and clicked his tongue. “Cute. You’re still taking the Lord’s name in vain.” His eyes looked over Riona’s head and focused on Persephone’s quivering lip. “Miss me much, angel?”
He doubled over when the sucker punch ruptured his spleen.
“Oh, my god.” Riona’s hands flew over her mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be that hard. I was just trying to tease you.”
“Yup, but you’re a lot...” He swallowed down some bodily fluid that suddenly filled his mouth. “ A lot stronger now. Yes or no would have been fine.”
His spirits lifted when he felt Persephone’s touch on his shoulder. Much to his chagrin, she used the same move on Riona.
“Okay, you wacky foreigners, you’re making the natives nervous.” She pushed the two of them into an alcove and through a set of double doors which led out onto a veranda. “Why don’t you catch up out here? And as soon as you’re, you know, not acting violently among a group of people wondering if Ramiel is here to kill them, you can come back in and have some wine.”
“Persephone, I need to talk with...”
“Later.” The goddess cut off his words with a shake of her curl-bedecked head. “As the closest thing to the woman of the house, I have to play hostess. Can’t leave the guests unattended. Riona, we’ll need to take care of that thing we pretty soon, okay? I’ll come find you then.”
Once they were alone, the fuzzy part of their reunion fell to the wayside. Riona leapt into a full-on assault.
“Okay, spill. What the hell happened? One minute, I’m marrying Jerry; and the next, I’m being seduced by Marc who I think is Jerry, Dee is knocked out, and you go all Angel WWF on my dad – Then I wake up here, staring at a goat, wearing a burlap sack.”
Ramiel’s stammering replies drew up short at hearing that. “You saw a goat wearing a burlap sack?”
She punched him again, this time, in a more controlled back-handed version to his left pectoral. “Ramiel!”
“Okay, okay. Yeah, let me give you the summary version. So, Marc rose a day early, but I guess you already knew that. J
erry has a theory that the Grigori didn’t boil the love out of him, but wanted to use his feelings for you to manipulate him and you. Dee’s okay, just a little shell-shocked, and your dad apparently, wants to use you as a tool to destroy the barriers between the realms. He thinks it’s some big egalitarian move, but it may actually bring about the end of all life in every realm as we know it. So how you’ve been?”
She dead-panned him harder than a librarian in a disco.
“Why so sour, flower power? Talk to me.”
Riona’s hands planted on her hips. “My dad wants to use me to destroy all life as we know it and you want us to continue making pleasant chitchat?”
“It’s not like he’s planning to end the universe tonight. Besides, have you seen the catering table?” Ramiel turned in the direction of the party. “They have some of those little meatball things skewered on dry pasta. Those things are taasteeey.”
Riona’s fingernail may actually have made contact with Ramiel’s bone. Ramiel hissed, despite knowing the wound would heal and the pain subside in a matter of only a few seconds.
“Step away from me right now, and I’ll skewer your little meatballs. You can’t just tell someone she’s the antichrist, and then run to stuff your face with appetizers.”
“One,” he ticked off the number on his finger, “you’re not the antichrist, okay? Right now, my main suspect is Charlie Sheen. And two, there’s really nothing you can do about what Michael’s got planned right now. You need to talk that over with Jerry and Dee. And since they’re not here yet, I see some tzitki with my name on it.”
She went all fly fishing on his ass, pulling him back from the doors, and this time, using nothing more than the power of her will.
Ramiel rounded on her, yelling at her as loudly as he could whisper. “Dude, not cool. You can’t do magic here. Wiccans aren’t supposed to have powers in this realm. The last thing we need is for them to think you’re something other than human. Zeus gets all electric-happy at the mere mention of angels.”
Hex Goddess (All My Exes Die from Hexes Book 3) Page 21