Avoiding her piercing stare, I bowed my head and counted the days … had it been over a month already? I swallowed painfully. A hard lump formed in my throat: a paralyzing biscuit of fear, the realization that I’d wasted a lot of time, and a heavy dose of guilt.
“I’m getting her out,” I blurted.
The train jerked to a stop. Three or four people got on, and I had to get off—this was my stop. I got up to leave, but so did Persephone. She reached over with a long arm and pushed me back into my seat. No one took any notice, and I didn’t dare argue. I have plenty of time; I’ll still be able to talk to Shar, I reasoned. And now I can tell her that I ran into Persephone. That should make her understand how difficult my part of this whole thing has become.
A warning bell rang. The doors smashed shut and the train lurched forward.
I couldn’t tell, because of her dark glasses, but I had the uncomfortable impression Persephone was glaring at me. She got right in my face so that we were almost nose to nose.
“How did this happen? Tell me.”
I laced my fingers nervously then looked pleadingly at her. “I can’t.”
She jammed her fists on her hips. “You will.”
“If I tell you,” I said, desperately, “then I’m taking the risk of violating my contract, which means Shar and I could be down there permanently. You wouldn’t want that.”
Running man giggled, but then grunted as she elbowed him in the ribs.
“Shut up, Hermes!”
Hermes?!
She slashed a hand through the air. “You know that’s not what I want. But this situation is unacceptable.”
“It’s not doing much for me, either.”
“Save the glib tongue, Margaret. Do you have any contact with her?”
“Yes,” I began, seeing a means of escape. “As a matter of fact, I was just on my way—”
“Good. Then the next time you talk to her”—she pulled her glasses down her nose to pin me with an icy gray stare—“you tell her to be extremely careful. Winter always comes. She and I will meet again.”
“Really, I don’t think you have anything to worry about. Shar’s not interested in anything Hades has to offer. As wonderful as he may be,” I added hastily, not wanting to insult her and thereby cause more problems for myself.
“That’s not what I heard,” she said, glancing at Hermes, who stared at the ceiling. “From what I’ve been told, she spends an awful lot of time wearing skimpy clothes and strolling the beach. Hades is forced to bear her company because of the contract. When he’s not there, it wouldn’t surprise me if she has a number of gullible men from the Elysian Fields dancing to her whims. That farm-fresh-virgin act is so predictably human. Isn’t that right, Hermes?”
Hermes snuck a glance at me but said nothing. Beaches? In Tartarus? Yet I was sure I’d seen Hades walking around in a towel behind her. That explained a few things, like why my beach-loving roomie hadn’t found an escape route and was always harping on me to get the job done. Persephone must have seen the doubt in my eyes.
“Not so confident about Sharisse’s priorities, hmmm?” she mused.
The train pulled into the station at 115th Street, over sixty blocks away from Pandora’s. Panicking, I pulled out my pocket watch; it was 7:03—I’d missed Shar completely. Couldn’t anything go right?
“Please!” I said. Hermes looked at me like I was infected with something. I choked back tears. “I was supposed to talk to Shar, but—”
“Where do you need to go?” Persephone sighed, about to snap her fingers.
I shook my head. “I missed her because we were talking. We only have five minutes a week together and the time has past.” I tried not to look accusatory, but it was her fault. I only hoped that I could guilt her into helping me let Shar know I was at least trying.
“If I fail, we’ll both be down there for eternity,” I said. “We’re trying to work out the details of what has to be done. I need to talk to her. If she thinks that I’ve given up, or betrayed her”—I lowered my voice to a suggestive tone—“she might turn to Hades for a shoulder to cry on. We know what that can lead to.” I waggled my eyebrows.
The implication wasn’t lost on Persephone. She pursed her lips. “Hermes is going back down with a message for my Hades.” She licked her lips and Hermes rolled his eyes. “I suppose he can relay a few words for you, too.”
Hermes nodded reluctantly; clearly that was an order, not a request.
“Thanks,” I sniffed. “Things really haven’t been going so well.”
Persephone whipped out a diamond-studded compact and lipstick case, not looking at all interested in my problems, and Hermes seemed just as bored.
“Okay, tell her that … I’m so sorry I missed her. I was going to meet Jeremy for this concert but I knew we had to talk so I rearranged things to make sure that we did, but then I ran into you.” I took a deep breath, trying to think of what else to say. “Just make her understand that I’m really trying to get this done and that I’ll talk to her next week if it’s not done. But it will be. I promise!”
“Work harder, Margaret,” Persephone said, snapping the compact shut.
We all stepped off the train. I blinked, and they were gone.
At least Shar will know what happened, I thought, and I won’t have to deal with the Window Girl fan club. Maybe they’ll be discouraged and won’t show up next time—if I still have to talk to her there.
I caught an express train that would land me close to the restaurant where Jeremy and I were grabbing a quick bite. Not bothering to check the time, I bounded up the station steps and quickly crossed the street, but I couldn’t see him through the crush of people in front of the Sweet Pea Vegetarian Grille. So I texted him:
Where r u?
“Right behind you.”
I jumped. I gave him a smile, but he said brusquely, without looking at me, “We lost our table. Let’s get over to the Beacon. We might still be able to catch a bit of the opening.”
“Jeremy—”
He walked, staring straight ahead, apparently ignoring me.
I tried not to whine. “I know it’s been weird lately, but this is not how it’s always going to be. Jeremy,” I pleaded, not liking the way I sounded. He kept walking, but I grabbed his arm and pulled him to the side, making him stop. “Please, look at me. Don’t be mad.”
He glared down into my eyes.
“Please,” I whispered.
His face softened and he cracked a wry smile.
“That’s the problem. I can’t stay mad at you.” He unhooked himself from my grasp, put both arms around me, and hugged me tightly. “But it’s because I want to see you.” I could hear the frustration in his voice. He kissed the top of my head. “I miss you.”
I wished we were alone and not on a crowded street. I pulled away slightly and gazed up at him. “And I’ve missed you.”
He bent his face toward mine. Not caring who was looking, I returned the kiss, putting my hands on his face and drawing him closer to me, but at the same time feeling strangely forlorn.
We did miss the opening act, but he didn’t make a big deal about it. We found our seats—not exactly nosebleed—and watched as the floor and boxes filled to capacity; the concert was sold out and then some.
Light boxes that looked like skyscrapers erupted from the floor and there was a flurry of pyrotechnic sparks and strobe lights. Elysian Fields came on in a flash of fire, with cheering, yells, and squeals from all directions. I couldn’t hear myself scream, but I know I did as they broke into their first song, the one Jeremy had used for Arkady’s runway show. I felt myself swaying in time to the music.
About halfway through the song, someone shook my shoulder. I turned to find Jeremy staring at me, and liking what he was seeing, by the grin on his face. He raised his
eyebrows briefly and went back to the music, but I caught him stealing glimpses at me, song after song. Elysian Fields played for an hour and a half before they broke for an intermission. As the lights came up, I realized that I was starving and had to go to the bathroom.
“Let’s go out,” said Jeremy, pulling me into the aisle and then into the crowded hallway. He handed me my ticket. “I’m grabbing a drink—do you want anything?”
I nodded. “A bottle of water and something to eat. Meet back at the seats?”
He gave me a quick kiss and squeezed my hand, not letting me go. “Where’d you learn to dance like that?”
With Paulina.
I blushed. “I went to this dance class with … ”
“Your new roommate?” he finished for me, his face falling. I gave him a pleading look, and his lips puckered into a resigned sort of smile before he turned and pushed his way toward the concession stands.
I forged a path to the women’s room, where, of course, there was a mega-line. I waited patiently as it crawled up, and I made it into a stall just before I thought I would burst. I took care of business, washed my hands, and pushed through the door back into the hall.
Except I wasn’t in the hall.
I was standing next to a drum kit on a massive platform. About ten guys with band tee shirts passed in front of and behind me, carrying pieces of wood, wires, and extra guitars. I turned around and there was Matt Davy, standing right next to me, his tight shirt damp with perspiration and clinging to his skinny torso, his pinstriped rock star pants slashed at the knees.
I’m … backstage!
I started breathing quickly, thinking that it was a very good thing I’d already used the bathroom.
“Margaret!” Hades, sporting an inches-thick gold rope chain with a diamond-studded H dangling from it, walked up behind Matt and put an arm around him.
“Matt, I’d like you to meet an associate of mine. Margaret Wiley, meet Matt Davy.”
Matt put his sinewy and callused hand into mine and grinned at me with the charmingly gap-toothed smile that I knew so well from my collection of posters, CDs, and pirated jpeg images stored on my phone.
“Pleasure, Margaret,” he said, his Brit-cool accent ringing in my ears. “Enjoying the show?”
All I could do was nod vigorously. I was turning into a gushy puddle and didn’t care who saw me.
“Hold this for us, love,” he said, handing me his guitar and taking his signature tartan handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe his face. He took the guitar out of my shaking hands and handed me the handkerchief in its place.
“Brilliant meeting you,” he said, bending toward me and planting a kiss on my cheek. “H,” he said, addressing Hades, “I’ve got to go check on my mates. Thanks for bringing her back—you know I love meeting the fans.”
“H” for Hades gave a thumbs-up as Matt turned and slipped behind a curtain.
“We’re going to have to do this more often, Margaret. It seems I’ve finally stumbled upon something that’s rendered you speechless!”
“I’m backstage!” was all I could manage to get out.
He clapped his hands in front of my face to get my attention and I shook my head. I was still holding Matt’s plaid hanky—a holy relic.
“You really don’t deserve this little treat, Margaret, considering your lack of progress,” he continued, stepping out of the way so one of the roadies could bring new cymbals onto the stage. “But I figured it was a way to get your attention.”
Finally I came to myself. “My attention?! How about the scales? That got my attention!”
“That’s the Margaret I know.” A corner of his mouth quirked. “Do you like them?”
“What do you think? Not very Siren-ish, are they?”
“Well, most mortals think a siren is a mermaid.” He shook his head. “Education these days.”
“I don’t care—this wasn’t part of the deal.” I poked my stomach where the scales were the most copious. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“I said no turning into a bird,” he chuckled. “But I decided to throw these in as a little motivator. You certainly are taking your sweet time with Paulina. I would have thought something this easy would be done by now. I’ve supplied everything you need. This isn’t rocket science.”
“You told me to take my time, you sneaking—”
“Am I so horrible?” he interrupted, looking dramatically pained.
“Yes, you are. And I’ve tried to do it, several times, and it … ” My voice caught.
“It, what, Margaret?” He crossed his arms over his chest and looked truly bored.
“It just isn’t working,” I concluded lamely.
“Is it me, or are you a little hesitant about sending Paulina to Tartarus? Well, don’t be,” he said menacingly, not giving me a chance to answer.
“It would help if I understood her better. What was her deal with you?”
“The only thing you need to know is that her place is in Tartarus and it’s your job to send her there. Put in a little more effort, show some initiative and creativity, but get it done. I might be inclined to add a time limit.”
“You told us about Arkady—why not tell me about Paulina?”
“You don’t need to know everything about Miss Swanson or what deal she’s made. It’s called nondisclosure. I don’t discuss the particulars of your agreement with anyone. It could be … embarrassing for you,” he said with a condescending air.
I looked away, but he grabbed my arm and pulled me so that I had to face him. Beyond him, the lights on the stage dimmed and a roar went up from the crowd. I had to get back to the seats before Jeremy went to search for me. I’d never find him in this crowd.
“If you can’t keep that in perspective, then think about this,” he growled. “If you don’t dispatch Paulina, then you and Sharisse will be in Tartarus with me forever. Sharisse won’t mind, though,” he said, stroking his chin and getting a faraway look in his eyes. Had he succeeded with her? No. No, he couldn’t have, or he wouldn’t be here bothering me. But beaches? Parties? Bikinis? It was all so Shar-esque. Then his attention snapped back to me. “She’s seen that the Underworld has many attractions. While you certainly won’t have my attention to the extent that she will, I’m sure I can keep you busy.”
Nick Killian, the band’s tall, curly-haired drummer, passed by, then stopped and stared, pale and wide-eyed, at Hades. He backed up a step.
“H. You’re here.”
Hades held me in place with a glare, then turned to shake his hand. “Amazing show, Nick! Tell everyone I said so.”
Nick nodded, and ran onto the stage as if he couldn’t get away fast enough. He climbed a platform to get behind his drum kit.
“Please don’t tell me you have a deal with Elysian Fields,” I said, casting a worried glance out at the stage.
“Not all of them—just Nick there.” His lips twisted wickedly. “And don’t ask. Nondisclosure, remember?” He wagged a finger.
For some bizarre reason, I was relieved that Matt was untainted.
“Enough stalling, Margaret,” Hades warned, his silky voice steely with an underlying threat. He steered me away from the stage to one of the doors that led out into the back alley. He opened it and nudged me through.
“I have to get back to my seat!” I cried, but instead of finding myself outside in the back alley, I was in the empty hallway that led to the mezzanine level.
A uniformed guard checked my ticket and let me in. I fumbled down the dimly lit stairs to the first row and stepped on the toes of a half a dozen people before landing in my seat next to Jeremy. A crumpled paper bag was wedged into my folded-up seat. Food.
“How long was that line at the bathroom?” he shouted.
I made a face and shrugged, lifting up my hands
. I was still holding the tartan handkerchief.
Jeremy pinched a corner of it between his fingers. Like any self-respecting Elysian Fields fan, he knew exactly what it was. “Where did you get this?” he yelled just as a song ended.
I groped for an answer as Matt Davy wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He didn’t have his handkerchief anymore.
“They … were selling them at the concessions.”
He stared at me for a long moment before nodding, then yelling and clapping his hands over his head as another familiar song started up. There was mistrust in his eyes.
Shar
What a Tangled
Web We Weave
Why did it seem that whenever a girl wanted a good long cry, someone had to interrupt it, and usually about something lame?
But there stood Hermes, buff and besotted with himself.
“What do you want?” I hiccupped. Meg not showing up for our daily talk had scared me at first, then angered me, and now I was hurt. How could she abandon me? After everything we’d been through, I thought we were best friends. Did she forget, or get sick, or did she simply have something better to do? And with the new roomie? Was Meg replacing me with her? Another sob escaped.
“I have a message for you. From—”
“Hermes, what are you doing here?” In strolled Hades. Lounging against the door, he displayed his broad shoulders in a stunning white tee, his hips snugged by faded, low-cut jeans, his crossed feet enveloped in butter-soft loafers. An epitome of the all-American hunk. Except that he was Greek. And a god. And a devil.
Hermes swung around. “I have a message from Margaret to Sharisse.”
Hades’ penetrating look was not lost on Hermes, who squirmed in his gold running shoes. The wings cringed, molding themselves to his feet. I swear if they could talk, they’d whimper.
“Then please, deliver it.” Hades flung out a casual hand.
Hermes turned back toward me. “Um, hmm.” He cleared his throat and adjusted the waistband of his running shorts. I rolled my eyes. Hades chuckled softly, and Hermes began.
Sirenz Back in Fashion Page 15