“Well that was—” Achan cleared his throat. “Interesting.”
“Achan—”
“I should go,” Achan continued—sounding overly bright and cheerful as he took several more steps back. “First day and all that. Got to make a good impression.”
“Wait! Achan! Will I see you at the Spring Festival tomorrow?” Dashiel rushed to ask, desperate not to let the other god escape again.
Like flicking a switch, Achan changed in an instant. As if playing from a script, the cocky, self-assured god was back in the blink of an eye. “Well, that all depends.”
“On?”
“If I get a better offer.”
Dashiel gaped at him. But before he could think—or sputter in indignation—the sound of tinkling bells interrupted, calling Achan away to deliver more messages.
“Oops! Saved by the bell. Must go.”
“Achan!” Achan turned—flying backwards so he could look at Dashiel but still technically be answering the summons. Smart godling. “Tell me I can pick you up tomorrow evening to go to the Spring Festival.”
Achan sighed theatrically. “Oh all right. I wouldn’t want you pining away.”
And with that, Achan spun around and dashed off, laughing all the way. Strangely enough, Dashiel felt like laughing too. It was only then he realised he didn’t know where Achan lived. Damn! The little imp wasn’t going to make it easy on him it seemed. He’d have to hunt down the information himself. Somehow, the thrill of the chase made the pursuit all the sweeter.
****
Hearing the steady beat of rain against the roof, Dashiel sighed and sank further into his chair by the fire. It looked like Jupiter’s Minions were out living it up with one last winter storm before tomorrow’s big Spring Festival. After the day he’d had trying to get the leaders of two rival crime syndicates to fall in love it seemed like the perfect excuse to bar the door, ignore the whole Pantheon and unwind with a good book and a glass of red.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t so easy to concentrate on the words or the Merlot. Achan’s image invaded his thoughts time and again. Something about the god haunted him, especially since their little impromptu meeting earlier in the day. Dashiel couldn’t shake the feeling there was something else going on. Something more than just an accidental re-acquaintance with an old friend that had turned out to be a real hottie. One he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about.
A fist pounding on the door snapped Dashiel out of his ruminations. The rain was still coming down in buckets outside. Which didn’t mean much admittedly—The Pantheon was full of gods and goddesses crazy enough to run around partying in weather like this. But he couldn’t think why they’d be bothering him. He’d let it be known centuries ago that rain depressed the crap out of him. He was more a spring and summer sunshine kind of god.
The hammering came again, this time louder—more insistent.
“I’m coming,” Dashiel grumbled, pushing himself up out of his comfy chair and heading for the front door—all the while thinking of interesting ways to torture and maim immortals that came to the door in the middle of the night during a thunderstorm.
He flung open the door in disgust, ready to give whoever was on the other side a piece of his mind, and was stunned to find a very wet, very bedraggled looking Achan dripping on the stoop.
About a thousand miles away from the teasing, mischievous god he’d been only a few hours ago, Achan was a mess. His spikes were all gone now—his hair plastered to his head by the rain in mangled disarray. His normal full lips were thin and bloodless—trembling slightly as he panted for breath. And his eye make-up ran down his cheeks in long black streaks, making him look like a very sad raccoon. Or on second thoughts, more like a very frightened raccoon.
“Achan! Are you all right?”
“Dash, I… I think I’m in trouble,” Achan whispered—so softly it was lucky Dashiel was a god or he’d never have been able to hear him.
Suddenly, above the drumming of the rain, Dashiel heard the sound of troops moving down the street—pounding on doors, shouting out orders to open up.
Achan jumped—his eyes wide and terrified. “Please, Dashiel. I don’t know where else to go. I need your help.”
The petrified look on Achan’s face and the sound of the Quirinus—the city’s official guards—getting closer spurred Dashiel into action.
“Quick, get inside.” Grabbing hold of Achan’s very wet arm, he dragged the dishevelled god inside and quickly locked the door.
Through the solid oak panel, they could still hear the Quirinus Guards moving down the street—systematically knocking on doors, yelling orders and getting closer with every second.
“Oh gods! They’re coming.” Achan was shaking now. “I didn’t do it, Dash. I swear I didn’t—”
Dashiel stared at Achan. There was no way he could just hand him over. Not like this. Not before he’d got some bloody good answers to the questions rushing through his head.
“Calm down. You head into the bathroom and clean-up. I’ll handle this.”
A heavy fist pounded on the door. “Quirinus. Open up.”
Achan might have let out a terrified squeak, but Dashiel simply pushed him towards the bathroom door. “Go.”
The fist pounded again.
“I’m coming,” Dashiel shouted back, waiting until Achan disappeared from view and he heard the distinctive snick of the lock before moving to answer the front door.
The rain had eased to a steady drizzle, but the look on the guard’s face on the other side of the door was every bit as thunderous as the storm had been. Dashiel pretended not to notice.
“Good evening, officer. What can I do for you?”
“We’re looking for Achan Mercury-Herald. Have you seen him?”
Dashiel shrugged. “Once or twice.”
The guard’s eyes narrowed—he looked completely unimpressed. But Dashiel merely leant casually against the door frame.
“Sorry, I can’t help you. But if there’s nothing else, I have company I really must be getting back—”
“Who else is here?” The guard demanded moving to step forward.
“I don’t think so.” Dashiel stood up straight and blocked the way with his body. “Your pardon, but I’m entertaining the sort of company that… let’s just say doesn’t appreciate being disturbed. If you know what I mean. I’m sure Maximus Quirinus can vouch for me… tomorrow.”
“Maximus Quirinus is in there?”
“No,” Dashiel replied, but with his eyes he said something very different.
Fortunately, the guard wasn’t stupid. Or at least not stupid enough to tempt that Dashiel might actually have Maximus Quirinus—temper and all—in his bed. He certainly wouldn’t want to be the one on duty when they had to tell the boss about whatever was going on. It was well known that Quirinus Guards did everything in their power to sort problems out themselves before bothering their leader.
“Why are you looking for Achan anyway?”
“None of your business,” the guard snapped, glancing down the street as they heard the distinctive jingle of armour heading their way.
Dashiel affected a casual shrug. He’d find out soon enough from Achan anyway. “Fair enough.”
A second guard hurried up the front steps to join them. “Sir, there’s a Venus who says he saw Achan with the Chalice heading towards the Alpheus river.”
Dashiel stiffened. “The Chalice of Eternal Ambrosia?”
“No!” The first guard barked, then cursed under his breath. “You didn’t hear that. There’s no need to… alarm anybody at this stage. We have the situation well in hand.” The guard took a deep breath. “But if you do happen to see Achan Mercury-Herald, you’re to report it at once.”
“Of course.”
With that, the guards turned and hurried away towards The Venus Quarter.
After shutting and locking the door, Dashiel turned and leant heavily against the smooth wooden panel. What a mess. He wasn’t even sure where to begin unra
velling the tangle that had unceremoniously landed in his lap.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Achan peering at him from around the bathroom door—looking a little less damp, but still pale and wide-eyed.
“I didn’t do this,” he said—soft and low.
Dashiel just stared at him.
“I didn’t, Dashiel. You have to believe me. I didn’t do this.”
“Well it’s not like you don’t have a history.”
“I never stole the Chalice. I just… borrowed it. I put it right back.”
“Borrowed!” Dashiel bellowed, then shook his head in exasperation. “What a fucking mess! What were you thinking?”
Achan seemed to bristle as he stepped out from behind the bathroom door. “I only did it to…”
“To what, Achan? To get everyone’s attention? To show them how clever you were? What a good Mercury you’d become? Well, congratulations, Achan. They all know.”
“I didn’t do it to show them!”
Achan’s face was a twisted mask of anger and torment now, but Dashiel was too upset himself to back down. This was serious. Serious enough to see Achan banished to—
Dashiel couldn’t even stand to think of the endless torture and punishment gods and immortal creatures might expect to be sentenced to for crimes of this nature.
“Then why, Achan? Why’d you do it? ‘Cause I sure as Tartarus hope it was worth it after the mess you’re in now.”
Achan just looked away—his cheeks dark red, his jaw set.
“Well?”
“I wanted to show you! I wanted you to notice!”
“What?”
“The only reason I did it, the only reason I did any of it was to get your attention.”
“You stole the Chalice of Eternal Ambrosia so I’d notice you?”
“I didn’t steal it. I just borrowed it. I distributed the Ambrosia for the ceremony and that’s it. I put the Chalice right back. Everyone saw that.”
Dashiel had absolutely no idea what to say. His head was spinning—a thousand thoughts and confusing emotions bombarding him. He didn’t even know where to begin.
“Okay.” Dashiel took a deep breath and ran his hands through his hair again. First things first. “Okay. Let’s just calm down and try to figure a way out of this mess.”
“How?”
How indeed.
“We have to find out who really took the Chalice. That’s our first challenge,” Dashiel said as he watched Achan begin to pace back and forth across the living room. “Then we have to get it back and work out how to clear your name.”
And after that, they really needed to have a little chat.
“How are we supposed to do that?” Achan sounded tight and agitated. “The entire Quirinus Guard is out there looking for it. And they’ve already decided I took it.”
“Yes, but who better to catch a thief than a thief?”
Achan stopped his frantic pacing and cocked his head in incomprehension.
“Think about it. What would you have done?”
“I don’t know!” Achan snapped, then let out a frustrated breath. “I really don’t. No one’s ever been able to take the Chalice. It’s too well protected.”
“But you did.”
“No I didn’t. I never actually stole the Chalice, I just—” Achan froze mid-sentence—kohl darkened eyes widening.
“What?”
“I didn’t take the Chalice.”
Without another word, Achan bolted for the door.
“Achan! Wait! Where are you going?”
“Come on! We have to hurry. I just hope we’re not too late.”
****
The amphitheatre was dark and quiet. Dashiel couldn’t get over how different the place looked. He’d never seen it so cold and still. Then again, he’d never bothered coming here outside a ceremony or festival. Still, he had expected at least a few guards and officials to be hanging around, even afterhours. But apparently they were all out combing Godshome for Achan and the missing Chalice.
Crouched down in the wings of the stage area, watching the sanctuary intently without any real understanding why, Dashiel leant in to whisper in Achan’s ear. “What are we doing here?”
“I never took the Chalice.”
“Achan—”
But Achan was already shaking his head. “I used the Obscure Object spell so it would blend in with the Sanctuary and looked like it had been taken when they opened the doors. While everyone was fussing and fretting, I ran in at the speed of light, snatched up the Chalice and shot back to start doing my little rain dance before anyone even realised what was going on.”
Dashiel blinked, completely stunned. “You used a first year, elementary school spell to fool the entire Pantheon?”
Achan shrugged, looking a little embarrassed. “Um… yeah.”
Dashiel was too astounded to say anything for a while. It was a bold and impressive scheme. But so risky at the same time. At the end of the day, there was really only one thing he absolutely had to know, however.
“Why?”
“Why what?” Achan asked, sounding distracted as he once again stared at the dais in front of them.
“Why did you do all this? Why me?”
“Oh. That why,” Achan murmured, suddenly looking distinctly uncomfortable.
“Well?”
Achan looked down at the ground now, as if struggling to find the right words in the cracks and fissures of the polished marble. “I just… I’ve always… ever since we were godlings, I…” At last Achan lifted his gaze and Dashiel was struck by the stark honesty and need he saw on the other god’s face. “More than anyone I’ve ever met in all of The Pantheon, I want you. I want a chance to see if we fit together.”
For a long time all he could do was stare. In the face of Achan’s candour and sincerity, Dashiel found himself completely speechless—something that honestly didn’t happen all that often. But as the silence stretched out, he saw something painful and suspiciously shiny start to cloud Achan’s beautiful blue eyes. An ache immediately formed in his own heart—like Achan’s pain was his own.
He reached out and took Achan’s hand, amazed at how perfect it felt resting in his own. “I think… I think I’d like that too.”
Powerless to resist, Dashiel leant forward and pressed his lips to Achan’s. And it was everything he had never found in another’s touch. Sweet and hot, the sensation of Achan’s mouth beneath his own sent a rush of need washing over him.
Wanting more, Dashiel opened his mouth and ran his tongue over Achan’s full lips. Instantly, Achan opened for him and it was unparalleled as together they explored each other—licking over smooth teeth, tangling tongues and swallowing the tiny moans of pleasure neither of them could contain.
When they finally separated, panting for breath, they just stared at each other. The emotions and expressions he saw flashing across Achan’s face mirrored his own—excitement, trepidation, desire. It was all there and something else—a connection Dashiel had never felt before.
Then Achan started to grin. “Of course, there’s also the fact I desperately want to fuck you while you’re wearing those kick ass boots.”
Dashiel stifled a snort of laughter; it was good to know the imp that Achan seemed to have grown into hadn’t all been a fabrication. “Really?”
“Oh yeah! You look totally hot in them.”
“You know, I might just let you… one day.”
Achan’s eyes sparkled as he raised an eyebrow. “One day, huh?”
“You’re not the only one that knows how to tease. Or with a vested interest in making sure a guy keeps coming back for more.”
“I really don’t think you have to worry on that score,” Achan whispered.
“No?”
Achan’s answer was to seal their lips together again in a quick, hungry kiss. Unfortunately, before it could become anything deeper, Achan stiffened.
Dashiel pulled away. “What’s—?”
“Ssh
! Someone’s coming.”
Sure enough, seconds later, Dashiel was able to make out a figure creeping forward through the shadows.
Concealed under a heavy cowl it was impossible to see the identity of the trespasser, but the stranger headed straight for the Sanctuary that housed the Chalice—which was more than enough for Dashiel.
Waiting and judging with all the skill of a born hunter, Dashiel timed his ambush just right. In one swift move, he stood and drew his bow—the arrow he notched far deadlier than its gold tipped cousins. “That’s far enough.”
The intruder was left exposed and vulnerable—inches from the Sanctuary, but with nowhere to hide or run. And as he spun to face them, Dashiel instantly recognised the rather plain, stubbly square-jawed face and steely grey eyes of the gargoyle who had propositioned him weeks before at Bacchus’ Den. The same one that had been following him around off and on ever since.
“What—?”
But before he could finish the sentence, Achan stepped forward from the shadows and the gargoyle let out a low, mean hiss as he crouched into an attack stance.
Dashiel instantly resighted his bow. “Don’t even think about it.”
“I don’t understand,” Achan said, sounding confused.
“Of course you don’t, you stupid little fuck,” the gargoyle growled—still crouched, but unmoving. Which was the only reason he wasn’t sporting an arrow through his heart right now.
“Do I know you?” Achan asked tentatively.
“Dense fucking Mercury. Of course you don’t know me. But I know you.”
“You were trying to set him up, weren’t you?” Dashiel said—the venom in the gargoyle’s eyes made it quite clear he hated Achan.
“He needed to disappear.”
“So you were going to what? Have the Chalice mysteriously turn up in his possessions? Let the Elders banish him for stealing it?”
“It seemed the only permanent way to deal with him.”
“But why?” Achan asked, sounding both hurt and confused. “I don’t even know you.”
The guy literally snarled at Achan. “I saw him first. He’s mine.”
Don't Read in the Closet volume one Page 3