Romantic Interludes

by TWCS Authors

  Thinking of her father made Psyche’s heart ache for the pain he must be feeling because of her disappearance.

  “Would you like to see him?” Eros’s voice was soft and almost drowned out by Psyche’s gasp of delight.

  “Can I? Really? How?”

  “Put on your blindfold.”

  She did, swiftly tying it behind her head. His hand gently gripped her arm and he led her back into the house, through the silent halls. When he told her she could remove her blindfold, the room she saw made her gasp again. The walls were lined from floor to the high ceiling with shelves of books, some of which looked ancient. Diamond-shaped bins held rolled-up scrolls, each with a small clay disk with Greek lettering dangling from the end. One overstuffed chair sat beside a table with a lamp, and it struck Psyche how lonely the chair looked, as though it should have been paired with a second.

  “Under the window,” Eros said from behind her. Below a window trimmed with gauzy curtains stood a stone bowl on an ornate metal stand about waist-high. She went over and looked inside to see nothing but a shallow pool of water.

  “Say the name of whom you wish to see, and hold his image in your mind.”

  Psyche felt a little foolish talking to a bowl of water, but as soon as her father’s name had left her lips, the water began to change, as though it were transforming into liquid silver, opaque and shimmering. Her father’s face drifted up from its depths, and then the scene widened so Psyche could see the room he was in and who was with him.

  It was her mother’s Manhattan apartment, and Psyche was startled to see him there. As far as she knew, her father had never been inside that apartment. Her parents hadn’t been under the same roof in more than a decade. He was pacing, muttering under his breath, his rapid, staccato steps marking a short path back and forth in front of the chair where her mother sat. She was crying, a handkerchief pressed against her lips as she struggled to contain her sobs.

  “Mitera,” Psyche whispered, using the Greek term for mother she’d used until she was a teenager and her parents divorced. After that, her mother couldn’t stand such “reminders.”

  “We should never have let her live on her own,” her father said. “She should have been at home, with one of us.”

  “She wasn’t taken from her apartment,” her mother said. “She was shopping with a friend, which she would have done even if she lived with you or me.”

  “I should have made her accept a bodyguard. I told Psyche there are dangerous people—”

  Her mother lost her battle with her sobs. Her whole body shook with them. Psyche’s father froze in his tracks and went to stand beside her. He reached out a hand, as though to stroke her mother’s cornsilk hair, but drew it back before he made contact. Psyche had never seen such uncertainty on his face.

  Psyche didn’t realize she was crying until Eros’s hand brushed her cheek, capturing one of her tears on the tip of his finger. His hands now became the only part of him she had ever seen. She let out a shuddering sob, and he passed his hand over her eyes to close them. He cupped his hands over her shoulders and turned her around before drawing her into his arms.

  She had sensed he was tall because his voice originated from above her head. Psyche herself was tall, but her head fit beneath his chin. She laid her cheek against his warm chest and immediately noticed his lack of heartbeat. She sobbed again, because the silence destroyed her last vestige of doubt. She truly was on Mount Olympus, the captive of an immortal.

  “Shh,” he said. “Please, Psyche, don’t—”

  Another shuddering cry ripped through her, and he repeated his plea as he tilted her head up and brushed away her tears.

  Then he kissed her.

  Psyche gasped, holding her breath as his lips gently moved over hers, caressing, exploring, tasting. Her eyes were closed, which made every physical sensation seem magnified. Her heart was hammering against her ribs, like the wings of a butterfly trapped in a jar. She moaned against his lips and slipped her arms up around his neck.

  He broke away with a sharp groan, and Psyche’s eyelids fluttered in puzzlement.

  “Don’t look at me!” Eros snapped, and she hastily squinted her eyes shut and turned.

  “I-I’ll take you back to your room now.” Eros’s voice was unsteady. He took her arm and tugged her forward through the twisting halls to her room.

  “Eros?”

  He nudged her inside and shut the door with a firm click.

  Eros did not come back to her room that night nor the next day. Psyche spent the time lying on her bed and staring up at the ceiling, her thoughts wearing a rut in her mind as they traced the same paths over and over.

  She missed him. She kept asking herself how that could be and making excuses for it, such as the obvious fact that he was the only person she was able to talk to, but the simple truth was, she missed Eros. She wondered if she was afflicted with Stockholm Syndrome, but she didn’t think that was the answer. She liked him, plain and simple. She should resent him or hate him, but she couldn’t. And every time she thought of that kiss, her heart hammered.

  The second day of his absence passed like the first, and it was the longest day of her life. Food appeared on the table, but she didn’t eat it. It disappeared an hour or so later. She watched the sunlight—or whatever it was that cast light here—trace patterns on the ceiling, moving slowly across the room as the shadows elongated.

  It had been a mistake to kiss him, she decided. A terrible mistake born from a moment of weakness. She wished he’d let her apologize, but apparently he intended to avoid her for the rest of her captivity, however long that would be.

  An idea occurred to her like a bolt of lightning and Psyche sat up so fast her head swam. The bowl! She could use the scrying bowl to find out where he was so she could apologize. The kiss may have destroyed their tentative friendship, but she might be able to rebuild it, if he was willing to start over.

  Psyche slipped from the bed and tiptoed over to the door. As always, she heard no one, but she was beginning to feel that wasn’t an indicator of whether she was truly alone. She pressed on the door latch and tugged until it opened. She had to press a hand over her mouth to contain a squeal of delight.

  She poked her head out into the hall and waited. When no alarms sounded and no one shouted she shouldn’t leave her room, Psyche cautiously slipped from the room and down the hall. She tried to remember the route she had taken with Eros, but after many twists and turns, she found the room mostly by chance. Her heart pounded as she approached the bowl beneath the window and peered inside. There was no water in it.

  She chewed her lip, unsure of what to do. She considered going to the nearest bathroom and filling a pitcher, but what if it was some sort of special water? Magic water or holy water. She giggled at the last thought and choked back a scream when she heard a man laugh in response. She whirled around but saw no one.

  It hadn’t sounded like Eros. Psyche pressed a hand against her lips to hold back a cry of fear. She didn’t know which direction to flee.

  “Hey, it’s okay. I’m sorry I scared you.” The man’s form shimmered into solidity, and Psyche jumped, blinking at the newcomer. “Wh-who a-are you?”

  He was tall and lanky, a bit on the thin side, with dark brown hair and blue eyes that twinkled with mischief. He smiled at her and held up his hands to show he was harmless. “I’m Merc. I’m a friend of Eros. His mom told me you were staying here, and I wanted to meet you.”

  “Merc?” she asked.

  “Mercury.” He grinned and gave her a courtly bow. “At your service.”

  Psyche sorted through the bedtime tales and tried to remember who he was.

  “I also go by Hermes,” he said. “That name is probably more familiar to you.”

  Right. He was the messenger of the gods and the patron of business. She remembered winged sandals, and she peered at his feet, trying—and failing—to be subtle about it. He snickered and held up his foot, clad in a white sneaker.

 
“Sorry. Nike Swoosh. No wings today.”

  It was rather disconcerting that everyone up here could read her mind. Psyche flushed and he gave her a coaxing smile. “Hey, sorry. I didn’t mean to tease. I don’t spend much time around mortals, and Eros always tells me I have atrocious manners.”

  Psyche’s eyes widened at the mention of Eros’s name. She’d been looking at a man for at least a minute now, and Eros had said she would fall in love with the next man she saw. She closed her eyes quickly as if she could unring the bell.

  “Nah, you’re good,” Mercury said, his tone casual. “Don’t worry.”

  She cautiously opened an eye. She didn’t feel like she was in love, but Eros had said—

  “Really, you’re okay. I’m not available. I’ve got a girlfriend.”

  Eros hadn’t said anything about only single men being subject to the spell. Psyche gnawed on her lower lip, her brow crumpled in confusion.

  “I’ll bring her by sometime this week,” Mercury said. “I think you’ll like her. Her name is Chloris. She’s a nymph.”

  “A nymph.” She supposed if she was going to believe the pantheon was real, she’d have to accept things like nymphs and satyrs and sprites as well, but she had difficulty wrapping her mind around it.

  “Yeah, a real sweet girl. Nymphs usually are. Don’t piss her off, though, or she’ll turn you into a flower.”

  Psyche burst into laughter, and Mercury laughed, too. “They don’t really turn people into flowers, do they?” she asked.

  “Yep.” Mercury grinned. “She almost did it to me once, but I talked her out of it.”

  “What did you do to make her mad?”

  Mercury gave a sheepish shrug. “I may have sort of . . . kind of . . . kidnapped her.”

  Psyche laughed.

  “What can I say? She wouldn’t go out with me.”

  Psyche shook her head. “So you gods really do go around abducting people left and right?”

  Mercury’s grin widened. “Many a great romance has started with a good old-fashioned kidnapping.”

  “I would have turned you into a flower.”

  The room was plunged into darkness so complete Psyche couldn’t even see her hands when she lifted them in front of her face. There was a rumbling, and the floor shook beneath her. She cried out and staggered and might have fallen if Mercury hadn’t grabbed her arm to steady her.

  “Oh, shit,” he muttered. “Eros! Calm down, man.”

  “How could you do this?” Eros roared. His voice reverberated off the walls, and Psyche clapped her hands over her ears and squeezed her eyes shut.

  There was a strange spinning sensation in her head, and when she opened her eyes, she was in her bedroom again. She raced to the door, but it was locked. She pounded on it and shouted Eros’s name, but there was no answer.

  Heartsick, she sagged to the floor and sat staring at the door, hoping she would hear his footsteps.

  “Seriously, dude, you need to calm down,” Mercury said. “You scared the bejeezus out of your girl.”

  Eros collapsed into a chair. “How could you do this? Why would you do such a thing? Why?” Eros had little experience with emotion, and he was unprepared for the pain. Was this what mortals felt when their hearts were breaking? He wondered how they endured it. He looked at the man who had been his best friend for millennia, and the ache of betrayal only compounded his misery.

  Mercury was his uncle, one of Zeus’s many children, but he had always seemed younger than Eros. Even when Eros was an awkward, emotionally stunted boy, Mercury had always been around to coax him into adventures, or simple pleasures like building a pillow fort. What fun Eros had in life he owed to Mercury who took nothing seriously and had an endless enthusiasm for pranks. Still, he was always good-natured, never cruel or thoughtless. Something like this was completely out of his character.

  Mercury waved his hand and formed a chair beside him. He sat down in front of Eros and leaned forward. His expression was more earnest and serious than Eros had ever seen from his friend.

  “It’s all right, Eros. I wouldn’t have met with her if I didn’t know it was safe. She’s not in love with me. Seriously. Go talk to her, and you’ll see that everything is fine.”

  “How can that be?”

  Mercury’s face lit up with a grin that grew until it seemed his face would split. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

  Eros glared at him, but Mercury’s grin only got wider.

  “How did you know Psyche was here?”

  “I ran into Sis at Dad’s place a couple of days ago. She’s tickled pink about the situation.”

  “Did Grandfather—”

  Mercury shook his head. “No, Dad’s not messing with you. He’s happy for you, too, actually. Listen, go talk to your girl. You’ll see everything’s okay. I’ll be back later this week. I’ll bring Chloris and we’ll have a cookout or something.”

  Eros couldn’t think of a reply. His mind was a maelstrom. Mercury shook his head, and he actually looked amused. He vanished with a little wave.

  Eros rose to his feet and walked slowly down the hall to Psyche’s room. He stopped at the door and reached for the handle, but let his hand fall away. He leaned his forehead against the wood and closed his eyes.

  His whisper awoke her.

  “Don’t open your eyes,” he said. His voice was so close, she knew he must be sitting on the edge of the bed. She lay on her side facing away from him, but she obeyed his request. In the warm, sleepy darkness, his voice made her shiver, but not unpleasantly. She bit her lip.

  “Why were you out of your room this afternoon?” he asked. The question sounded tentative, and Psyche was surprised. She wasn’t used to hearing hesitance in his voice, and she wanted to comfort him, to tell him everything would be all right.

  “I was looking for you,” she murmured. “I was going to use the scrying bowl.”

  “Did you need something?” Now he sounded surprised.

  Psyche opted for honesty. “No. I . . . I missed you.”

  “I should have thought you would be lonely.”

  “No, that isn’t it. I missed you.”

  It was a moment before he responded. “Why?”

  “I don’t really know,” Psyche admitted. “I . . . just missed you.”

  “Do you miss Mercury?”

  “What?” she asked. “I barely know the guy. Why would you think—Oh, Eros, no. I don’t have feelings for him. I don’t even really like him. Wait, I mean, I don’t dislike him. I just don’t know him enough to like him.” She forced herself to stop babbling.

  Eros was silent for a long moment.

  “That’s not possible.”

  “Apparently, it is,” she retorted.

  “Perhaps you aren’t aware of your feelings yet,” he said.

  Psyche wanted to smack him. “I think I’d know if I was in love with him. I’m not. Maybe your arrow was a dud.”

  He laughed, a low, soft rumble that made her shiver again.

  “It’s not funny.”

  He sobered. “I did not mean to laugh at you. I was amused at the idea of one of my arrows being ineffective. That’s never happened before.”

  “Well, since it’s not working, I can go home now.” Psyche’s voice quavered and she bit her lip as tears stung her eyes. She should be happy about leaving, but the thought of never seeing Eros again . . .

  “No,” he said. “No. I’m sorry, but I can’t—”

  “It didn’t work! There’s no reason for me to stay here.”

  “I can’t let you go.” His voice was so low she could barely hear it, and she felt his hand brush over her hair.

  “Why not?” she asked, her voice tight.

  “Because I love you.”

  Her breath caught in her throat.

  He leaned over her, so close she could hear him breathe. She froze, waiting, hoping, and felt his lips brush along her cheekbone, as lightly as the touch of butterfly wings. They left a tingle in their wake.

/>   “I love you,” he whispered. “And I cannot bear the thought of you being in love with another.”

  “I’m not,” she said. She turned her head slightly, toward him, and held out her hands, blindly seeking until her fingertips found his face. “Eros . . .”

  He let out a soft groan and pulled her into his arms before lowering his warm lips to hers in a fiery kiss she felt to the depths of her being. She threaded her arms around his neck and tried to draw him closer, hold him tighter.

  They fell together against the pillows, and Psyche whimpered softly as his hands traced along the sides of her neck to her shoulders, following the line of her collarbones down to her breasts. She sucked in a breath, and he quickly withdrew and began to sit up.

  “No,” she said and tightened her arms around him. “Please.”

  For a moment, he did not move. She didn’t think he even breathed. “Are . . . Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, and saying the word was such a sweet relief, as though she had let go of a struggle she didn’t know she was fighting, admitting a truth that could not be denied. With a muffled groan, he returned his lips to hers and it was like coming home.

  Their clothes vanished. She became aware of it when she felt his smooth, warm skin against her own, and she eagerly explored what she had not seen, learning the shapes and contours of his body through touch and taste and scent. He was perfect, but what else could be expected of a Greek god?

  The rush of sensation was almost frightening in its intensity, and she wondered if the touch of an immortal being was somehow better than that of a human man. She had never felt anything like this—this burning, aching need, this sizzling pleasure that crackled along every nerve. She murmured his name as he explored her, too, learning what she liked from her sighs and soft cries.