by R. L. Naquin
Once I’d paid for it all, I went in search of my idea-deficient neighbor. He wasn’t where I’d left him. After searching through the building blocks, the army men, and three aisles of Barbies, I finally found him standing in front of a rack of board games.
His face lit up when he saw me. “Wynter, you’re a genius.”
I suppressed a sarcastic reply. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He gave a deep, satisfied sigh and held out the game in his hands.
“Candy Land?” I peered at the box. It hadn’t changed much over the years. Bright colors, happy children, an exuberant king welcoming us to his kingdom—and a bazillion tempting pastries and sweets.
He grinned. “It’s the perfect theme for a little girl’s backyard playground. I’m going to build Candy Land.”
Chapter 16
With all three of my charges chugging along on their own steam, I had an entire guilt-free weekend ahead of me to do anything I wanted. Normally, that would mean cleaning up the apartment, binge watching some television, or going to see a movie by myself.
Recent events had shown me how badly I was screwing up my life. It was time to make some changes.
I imagined a normal human wouldn’t stare at a phone number and get queasy over the idea of calling it—unless it was a potential romantic partner. Sure. That’s worth some butterflies. But calling a new friend to see if they wanted to hang out? Most people probably don’t have to do mental exercises in order to talk themselves into it.
After a half hour of muttering to myself, setting down the phone, pacing, then coming back to pick up the phone again, I finally hit the button to call Jillian.
It only rang twice before she answered. “Wynter! Hey. I was going to call you in a few minutes. How weird is that?”
The tension ran out of me, and I sat on the couch. “You were? That is weird. What’s up?”
“No, you first. How’s the job?” She sounded out of breath.
“Is this a bad time? You sound busy.”
“I’m on the treadmill, but I’m on the cool down. You talk. I’ll be done in a minute.” The pounding of her feet and the vibration of the treadmill were soothing in the background of the call. A slight echo let me know she’d put me on speaker.
I took a deep breath, wondering how much to tell her. “The job has its up and downs. I’m still learning. Met a cute guy. Don’t know how that’s going to pan out.” I paused, then decided friendship meant sharing some of the crap, too. “Everybody in my office hates me, and I ran away from the cute guy when he tried to kiss me. One of my neighbors is a client, so I’m working even after hours. I don’t know what I’m doing, and I’m probably going to fail. So, there’s all that.”
Once it was out there, I felt both better and worse. And to be honest, a little worried that she would decide I was one of those people, the sad-sacks that required constant handholding and far too much emotional commitment.
The hum of the treadmill stopped, and Jillian switched me off of speakerphone. “Well, crap. You’ve had a terrible week.”
I smiled at how fast she’d cut to the chase. “Yeah. Terrible week.”
“Okay. Well, what I was going to call about is even more important, then. We’re going clubbing tonight.”
“What?” My heart fluttered in panic. I’d only been to a few clubs in my life, and always with people from various work places. On the rare occasion that I joined in on something my colleagues were doing, I ended up in a corner nursing a drink while they all had a good time.
“Clubbing, honey. Dress hot. We will dance. We will drink. We will meet people. And we will forget this shitty week and the fact that, as a brand new Fury, I spent the week waiting tables in a fake restaurant. Being a Fury isn’t as interesting as you might think.”
I groaned. “Jilly, what the hell have we gotten ourselves into?”
“It could be too soon to tell. But in the meantime, we might as well make the best of it. Meet me in the Mt. Olympus lobby at eight. We’ll go from there.”
~*~
There are clubs, and there are Clubs. Having no idea which kind Jilly had planned for us, it took me over an hour to decide what to wear. In the end, I compromised and went with a simple black miniskirt paired with a flashy gold-sequined halter and a pair of gold strappy heels.
When I stepped into the lobby at Mt. Olympus, I was a little early. The lights were still on, but since the sun had gone down, the glass dome overhead didn’t let in any ambient light. The lobby had considerably less traffic than during the day, but a few folks, human and otherwise, passed me while I stood there feeling awkward and alone.
My stomach was queasy, my palms were sweating, and I had to bully myself to keep from turning around and going back out the door to my car. Fortunately, Jilly was came in right behind me, and she grabbed me before I could chicken out.
The gold sequins had been a good call. Jilly sparkled like a shiny emerald, from the top of her glittery cheekbones to the tips of her spangled green pumps. I yanked on the edges of my top to make sure I wasn’t flashing too much side boob. Not that anyone would notice a little pale skin showing on me when Jilly looked like a perky, green disco ball.
She looked me up and down, chewing her lip in concentration. “You look great.” She slapped my hands away from fiddling with my top.
“You don’t sound like I look great.” The inside of my arm scraped against a sequin and made me itch.
A pair of centaurs clopped past, deep in discussion. I scratched the inside of my arm and tried not to stare. I didn’t think I’d ever get used to all the strange creatures walking around the place.
“No, no. You do. Honest. It’s just…” She rummaged in her tiny silver and green purse and pulled out a small, clear pot of gold glitter and a fat brush. “You’re unfinished. You need some of this.” She grinned, and twin dimples appeared in her cheeks.
I took a step back. “Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary. I’ve got sequins. That should be plenty of sparkle.”
Jilly ignored my protests. She wiggled the brush into the container, tapped it to shake off the excess, and attacked me.
First my cheekbones, a little on my eyelids, then my collarbones. Just as I thought she was going to settle for subtlety, she spun me around and decorated my shoulder blades, then ran the brush down the outsides of my legs. I was never going to get all the glitter off of me when the night was over. They’d be finding glitter in my wrinkles when I turned ninety.
Jilly capped the body glitter and brush, but my relief was short-lived. Out came a tube of glitter lip gloss. By this time, she’d broken me, though. I held still and took it like a trouper.
It tingled and smelled like peppermint.
“Now am I acceptable?” I held still for inspection.
Jilly walked all the way around me, checking for flaws. “Almost.” She tugged on my skirt, lowering it a few inches.
At first, I thought she’d decided my skirt was too short. Then I realized her real goal, once she went back for more glitter and dusted my newly exposed belly button.
I truly hoped we wouldn’t get picked up for prostitution before the night was over.
My friend clapped her hands and bounced in excitement. “Yay! You’re perfect. Are you ready to go?”
I sighed. At least I’d be in Seattle instead of Topeka. Nobody would know me. “I’m ready.” I turned toward the door I’d come in, and she grabbed my arm.
“Not that one.” She pointed across the hallway. “That one.”
Puzzled, I followed her to a door I hadn’t paid much attention to each time I’d come through the lobby. As we approached, I had a vague memory of Trina chattering about the door going to elsewhere in Mount Olympus proper, outside the Mt. Olympus business building.
Jilly took my hand and exited without pausing, but when I stepped through the door, I froze, too surprised to move.
“Jilly?” I’d expected a woodland scene or maybe a quiet village where all the non-humans lived. Instead, I’d
walked into the drug-addled lovechild of Mardi Gras and the Vegas Strip.
Crowds bustled around us. Neon lights flashed up and down the street. A loud explosion made me jump and cover my head until I realized the shrapnel raining down on me was thousands of flower petals shot from an air canon located on one of the towering rooftops above us.
Jilly grinned at me and grabbed my elbow. “Welcome to the Mount Olympus Euphoria District. Next stop, Club Maenad.”
She dragged me down the street while I gaped at the sights and sounds of the Euphoria District. Music from several buildings poured into the street, mixing in the open air in a cacophony of chaotic sound and vibration. A parade of donkeys carrying drunk people in togas passed us going the other direction. Another flower-petal canon went off and showered us in soft pink flutters. Jilly pulled me up the curb to the sidewalk to avoid a collision with a cyclops conga line.
We passed a club with a giant, pink neon sign that said Manticore’s. Two guys holding hands stumbled out and bumped into a third guy who’d been on his way in. The three men shouted excitedly at each other, then broke out in an impromptu bump and grind on the sidewalk to the beat of the electronic music blasting from the club.
Two doors down from Manticore’s, Jilly finally stopped yanking my arm and let go. “This is it!” She grinned at me and waved up at the flashing green sign that said Club Maenad.
We stepped inside, and the music swallowed us up.
The largest faun I’d ever seen stood in our path. I later found out it was because he was a satyr, not a faun. I still had a lot to learn.
The man half of the bouncer was decked out in a green satin shirt with a metallic sheen. The few buttons he’d bothered to use were shaped like fat purple grapes. He shouted something we couldn’t hear over the music, then smiled and pointed to a sign over his head.
Every night is ladies night! No cover for ta-tas!
We sidled past him and he winked. I tugged at the sides of my top and tried not to wonder if “no cover for ta-tas” was supposed to be taken literally.
We squeezed down a long hall lined on both sides with people and other creatures hanging out or leaning against the walls. Thick, sweet-smelling pink smoke hung in the air and seemed to stick to my skin as I waded through. My skin tingled, as if the smoke was made of spices or mint oil.
Two identical men with silver eyes and jet-black hair watched us as we passed. Their heads bobbed to the music in a repetitive yes motion. At the end of the hall, a half-naked woman held a tray of glowing jewelry. An equally half-naked guy stood next to her, taking money from people and handing them their purchases from the tray.
Jilly stopped and pulled several bills from her tiny purse. She chose two small circles, one yellow and one green, then slipped the green one all the way to fit snuggly on her upper arm. She handed me the other to do the same.
Once we were properly glowing, she grinned and pointed. “Ready?”
I nodded, shouting to be heard. “I guess.”
We turned a corner into the main room of the club and were nearly swallowed in the crowd of glowing, bouncing revelers. A bar ran along two entire walls. Dozens of bartenders in matching short togas bound with green leaves and purple grapes moved with perfect precision to keep the throng of partiers lubricated.
Cages dangled from the ceiling, swinging from the jerky dance moves of the scantily clad, barefoot women inside. All the women had crazy hair that stuck out from their heads in stiff dreadlocks. I assumed these were the Maenads—Wild Women—the club was named for. A haze of that same pink smoke hung above the dance floor, and colored lasers cut through the clouds in a glorious light show beneath the cages.
More cages rose up from the floor on pedestals, but these contained drunk men. Each wore a collar with a long leash attached, and the ends of the leashes were held on the outsides of the cages by dryads. The dryads swayed and undulated around the cages, their leafy fingers occasionally reaching in and stroking the cheeks of their willing captives. When the current song ended, the dryads swung the cage doors open, removed the collars, and the men reluctantly vacated the cage to make room for the next drunk guy.
It was nothing like any club I’d ever been to before.
Once we moved out of the doorway and waded through the people around the entrance, the crowd thinned enough for us to breathe. I followed Jilly to the bar. This I understood. I could order a drink, hold it in my hands, and watch the people without feeling too awkward. I might even be able to find a corner to stand in where I wasn’t in the middle of everything.
When we reached the bar, I was stunned all over again. Hal and Elmore stood waiting for us, holding out golden cups.
“Thought you’d never get here,” Hal said in my ear. “I am so uncomfortable.”
I nodded and took the drink. “You and me both.” I held up the cup. “Thanks.” I took a tentative sip, not sure what it was. Then I took another. I still didn’t know, but it was delicious. Refreshing, light, bubbly, and sweet. “What is this?”
Elmore leaned in to talk, his shoulders bouncing to the music. “It’s called nectar. Not real nectar, like the gods drink. But it’s good, isn’t it?”
I took another sip and smiled. “I love it.” The music was infectious. I felt the base in my bones, and my body started moving, too.
I drained my cup, and set it on the bar. Before I could stop him, a bartender swooped over and refilled it. He winked and walked away.
“Hey,” I said. “He didn’t wait for me to pay.”
Jilly slid her arm around my waist and kissed my cheek, her curls bouncing as she bobbed. “Nectar’s free. Hurry and finish it. I want to dance!”
I shrugged and drained my cup, then set it on the bar. The bartender spotted it and made a beeline, but Hal snatched the cup and turned it over. The bartender winked at me again and changed course to help someone else.
Things got a little blurry after that. Nectar may not have given us immortality, but it certainly gave the feeling of immortality. We danced a lot—something I wouldn’t have guessed I’d enjoy. Even Hal had some wicked moves. Or maybe he danced like a middle-aged white dude, but in my drunken state, I admired him for it.
Both Hal and Elmore took a turn in the dryad cages. When they came out, they looked a little dazed, though how I could tell for sure in my own weird state left me questioning any of my observations.
For one thing, I most certainly couldn’t have seen my ex-boyfriend, Freddy, at the other end of the bar when we went back for more drinks. At the time, though, I was sure of it. As weird as I felt that night, between the pink smoke and the steady supply of refilled golden cups, I couldn’t trust anything I thought I saw or did.
At some point, I must have had one too many cups of nectar, because I woke up the next morning with no clue how I got home. I had a vague memory of all of us sitting in a diner and being waited on by a woman with the face of a pig. There’d been pie involved. I was almost sure of it.
I groaned, anticipating the splitting headache and wretched stomach that went with a night that can’t be remembered. My eyelids slid open slowly, and I sat up. Nothing. I felt fantastic.
Frowning, I slipped out of bed, bracing myself for my body’s inevitable objections. Still nothing. In fact, I felt better than usual.
I checked my phone and found texts from all three of my friends saying how much fun they had. I grinned and sent a quick text back to them.
After I hit send, it really hit me. I had friends. Real friends.
Maybe I wasn’t a complete loser after all.
Chapter 17
At any of my previous jobs, Mondays were traditionally bad. And, sure, my first week in the Muse department had been rough, but most of that roughness had been my own doing.
If I ran into Rick, I’d apologize. Simple as that. And if nobody in my office liked me, maybe I needed to try harder. I’d never been the friendliest person. But Saturday night had proved to me I wasn’t a total loss. I could make friends.
&n
bsp; I was determined to make this Monday a good start to the week. My clients were getting along fine, so I was getting the hang of the job. It was my social ineptitude getting in my way.
If my heels were a little higher, my skirt a little shorter, and my cleavage a little deeper when I walked into the office, well, a girl likes to fit in, right? Maybe the preferred style of the other women was less sensible than I liked, but it didn’t hurt me to loosen up a little to blend in.
Until I walked through the door and nearly collided with Dave and Jeremy on their way out.
Dave leered, making me regret leaving the top three buttons on my blouse open. “Nice rack.”
Seriously. I was so shocked by his bluntness, I couldn’t untangle my tongue enough to respond.
Jeremy’s lip curled, as if in disgust before he dropped his gaze to my legs. “Nice legs.” He brushed past me and out the door. Dave winked and followed.
I was both stunned and confused. Dave had been gross, but I’d understood his meaning. Jeremy was harder to read. Somehow, I felt like I’d just been slammed. Was he being sarcastic? And even if he was, why did I care?
After checking that no one was looking, I bent over and gave my legs a once-over. No runs in my hose. No toilet paper stuck to me.
What the hell did he mean?
“Asshole.” I tried to shake it off, knowing I should’ve been at least equally upset by Dave’s comment. But I wasn’t, really. Some guys are immature little toads. If it continued to get worse, I’d find out the process and file a complaint with HR. Or maybe feed him to a minotaur or something.
For now, I was trying to fit in, not be the squeaky wheel.
My effort at dressing like the popular kids was wasted. Dave and Jeremy were the only ones to see it, and they were so not my target audience. I’d once read somewhere that women tend dress for each other, not for men. I was finally seeing the possible truth in that.