A woman's voice hissed in her ear. "What's a pale lil' thing like you doing dating a ladykiller like Strafford Law?"
She turned, flushed to her ears. "I'm not dating him…"
The woman, a statuesque beauty in a purple leotard, platform boots and powder pink pigtails, regarded her with jealous eyes. "He's holding your hand."
Indeed he was. Chloe squeezed it desperately to get his attention. He stopped scanning the top of the crowd, turned back, and frowned.
"Got no time for your antics tonight, Stacia," He shouted over the music.
Stacia smiled. "You always had time before you up and disappeared on me."
Strafford was not amused. "Stacia. Only in your dreams did I ever give you the time of day. As you know, I'm not a fan of used goods."
Stacia's smile vanished. "You're no Dionysus yourself, honey."
He shrugged. "Tha's true. I'm not Dionysus nor do I want to be him…or go where he's been." He gave her a look that said, take a hint.
Stacia's face turned red. "You think 'cause you get all hugged up with the Oracle that makes you too good for me now?!" She screeched, her eyes getting all boggled, her cheeks flushed with anger.
Strafford's brows were clenched tight with impatience. "Stacia. Stop your bloody bellowin' and jus' tell me where Tom is."
Stacia calmed, smiled like a sane person. "Tom is where Tom is, Your Highness." She then turned, her pigtails whipping Chloe in the face, and pushed into the crowd.
"Would I be wrong if I tried to scalp her?" Chloe shouted, pulling a few strands of pink hair out of her mouth.
He laughed. "Not at all. But don't be surprised if she tries to scalp you first. She's a maenad, a lunatic," He explained. He pointed out a few more of them, some in cages dancing horribly off beat, others swimming around them like piranhas, their eyes drinking him in. "As you saw a minute ago, they're bloody mental so it's probably better if you avoid them as much as possible. Oh, and never say anythin' bad abou' Dionysus. They'll have their way with you over him. They have this uncanny loyalty to their lord, but it's only 'cause he's shaggin' all of 'em."
"Did you shag any of them?" She asked. She was done pretending she hadn't staked a claim on him. Anyone who tried to get in the way of that would join Radiance.
Strafford laughed and ran a thumb over her pouty lips. “I do seem to attract crazy females, eh?” He winked.
“Hardy, har-har.”
"Your Highness would like a drink?" A voice shouted up from beneath them.
A tray of drinks moved to the side to reveal a dwarfed man with goat legs and little horns.
Satyr, she thought, knowing.
"Nectar wine? Plum rum? Spicy gin? Nymph water?" The satyr rambled off.
"Ah, wha' the hell," Strafford said, picking the violet rum, "Howya TwinkleWink?"
The little satyr shrugged. "Not too bad, Your Highness, not too bad."
"You're drinking?" Chloe asked, watching him take a sip.
"It's okay," He replied, "It's jus' a lil' plum rum and demigods are immune to the effects. Besides, I'm of age. You, however, will drink water 'cause you're not." He handed her a glass and clinked his against it. "Sláinte."
"What brings Your Highnesses to Los Atlas?" TwinkleWink questioned, his amber eyes sparkling in the strobe lighting.
Before she could inform him that she wasn't royalty, Strafford replied, "Duty."
"Yes, yes," TwinkleWink said with a nod of his curly head, "Always duty."
"Aye, you know where Tom is? It's important we see him."
"Mr. Tom is in the area dedicated to Very Important Persons. Should I take you there, Your Highness?"
"Aye," Strafford answered, sipping, "Yes, you should."
TwinkleWink handed his tray off to another satyr in passing. "Follow me.” With a little hop, he started a slow trot into the darker depths of the club.
The satyr paved their way through the masses by kicking emos in the shins with his little hooves. It seemed no one dared to retaliate though and Chloe wondered why. Surely they couldn't be afraid of the satyr. She wasn't even afraid of the satyr.
Satyrs are in the retinue of Dionysus, dear, said Madame Cee, Offense of a satyr is an offense of the god of Wine.
She understood. No one dared offend Dionysus by kicking TwinkleWink's butt, even if the little goat did deserve it.
TwinkleWink led them to a section of velvety red couches roped off from the main dance floor. It was long and empty, except for three very drunk emos, dancing off beat and laughing and falling all over each other. From the center of their small pile of bodies, emerged a tall, slouchy young man about Strafford's age, maybe older, with blue hair streaked in pink. Wearing a chic leather jacket and fitted jeans, he peeked at them with intoxicated eyes through a fan of blue and pink strands that hung over half of his face. This was so Tom Tipsy. Knocking the other two giggly emo girls to the floor, Tom leapt to his feet upon recognition.
He pretended to play a trumpet he formed with his hands. "Da, da-da, daaaa! His royal Highness, Prince Strafford of the Delphic Chateau!" He bowed clumsily and only managed to keep from crashing to the floor because of the girls he'd already pushed there. They used their arms to catch him and flop him back on the couch. Dropping down next to him, the uncontrollable laughter began again.
"I thought demigods were immune to this stuff!" Chloe hissed at Strafford. Even though they'd been warned, this was a bit overboard.
"Plum rum, yes. Nectar wine, not exactly," He said. "Especially if you drink seven bottles of it." He pointed at the nearby table where several empty bottles sat, corks popped. He set their now empty glasses down near them.
"Well, don't you two look nice?" Tom said, drunkenly, his arm around one of the girls, "A bit overdressed for my taste, but nice. Like the red hair and polka dots, Oracle." He burped loudly and Chloe's nose wrinkled in disgust.
The girls giggled. "Ooohhh, it's the Oracle Pythia," One gargled, "Aren't you supposed to, like, cause the downfall of Myth or something? Yeah right!"
Somehow, the three drunks found this extremely funny. She did not. She glared at Strafford. He had failed to mention that little bit of common knowledge, and she knew he knew. She, Chloe Clever, was supposed to bring Myth crumbling down? Had he not felt that this was something she needed to know? Weren't things bad enough already?
Strafford avoided her glare. She would let him for now, but later she would let him have it.
Brushing off his tweed vest, TwinkleWink turned to them. "I must take my leave now," He said. "Your Highnesses." He bowed once and trotted off into the crowd.
"I so just noticed something!" One of the girls shouted. Her straight hair was bright fuchsia with white tips.
"What?" The other girl replied. Her hair was bushy and lime green.
"His legs are totally furry!"
"Oh my gods, they are!" Giggles, giggles and more frickin' giggles. So many, Chloe wanted to throw up.
"Tom! We have to talk! Now!" Strafford said, looking equally annoyed with the situation he was witnessing. "Upstairs maybe?"
"No!" Tom hopped up. He swayed unsteadily. "Down!"
Strafford looked confused. "Down?"
"Yes, down! Sorry ladies. Duty calls! Did I tell you Strafford was a Prince?" He shrugged and stumbled down the three steps down to the dance floor, leaving behind two disappointed girls who quickly found comfort in kissing each other.
Barely being able to walk two steps without tripping up, Tom led them through the crowd, stopping to put in a few song requests with the disc jockey and to grab another drink from the bar. After entering through another door guarded by Janus's essence, they came to a staircase and began the winding descent.
The red walls of the stairwell were covered in framed puzzles made up of literally a thousand or more pieces to each. "Who did these?" Chloe asked, gaping up at the intricate pieces of art, "They're really good." She liked one in particular that was shaped like a star but curved to the right at the points.
"I did," To
m said in his casually drunken manner, "'Cause I am––the puzzle master!" He pumped his fists into the air triumphantly spilling nectar wine all over the arm holding his drink. He laughed stupidly, licked the wine from his hand and then took a long swig from the glass, almost falling over as he leaned his head back to drink. "Thanks, dude," Tom gargled to Strafford who had caught his arm before he had had a chance to take a head first tumble down the stairs.
"What are we doing here?" She hissed into Strafford's ear, "How can he help us? Look at him! He's a complete drunk!"
"I know," Strafford hissed back, "But he's a very smart drunk." He gestured at the walls. "A puzzle master, jus' like he said."
She sighed to herself. She just had to trust that he knew what he was doing. Why else would he bring her to a nightclub full of devout emos with their funky hairdos, hostile maenads that couldn't dance, shin-kicking satyrs with ridiculously funny names, and vampires drinking blood out of crystal goblets?
Vampires drinking blood out of crystal goblets?
"Please tell me this isn't an Empusa bar," Strafford said, his eyes making a slow observation of where they had just entered.
They had reached the bottom of the winding staircase and were now standing in a large, dark dungeon of a room with concrete flooring, heavy metal rock music turned up to EAR-SPLITTING and an array of dim red fluorescent lights. Booth seating circled the outer perimeter of the oval shaped dungeon, but many of the female, leather-clad vampires found it to be more fun crawling across the ceiling. They looked down on them as they entered.
Click-thump, click-thump.
"Vampires with hooves!" Chloe exclaimed. The few that were walking had on one high heel and one hoof.
Strafford nodded and shouted, "All Empusa have one foot and one hoof. Beautiful faces and allurin' voices, but they'll drain you dry in a heartbeat. They prefer men, but really, blood is blood to them. Keep your guard up. They move fast."
The Empusa seemed to sense their presence all at the same time. Some sniffed the air and then grinned heinously as they caught a whiff of their scent. Others dropped from the ceiling, landing lightly on their hoof-foot, licking their lips. One Empusa whose black hair was pulled tightly at the back of her head looked at her glass of blood and then at Chloe. She put the glass down, pulled at her tight leather mini skirt, and took a step forward.
Strafford yelled something in Greek, the sharp end of Aor pointed outward. The Empusa paused for a minute, hissed, then took a swipe at him. Before her arm had even come halfway, Strafford swung Aor and the empusa turned to black mist. Chloe had barely blinked before two more met the same fate. The heavy metal came to an abrupt stop.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Tom babbled, waving his hands drunkenly. "Damnit, Law! You're killing my clientele! And Vadma! Control your Emps! I thought I told you, your blood-suckers, your responsibility!"
"The demigod started it!" Vadma, a dangerously gorgeous empusa with white hair and a leather evening gown, hissed.
"One of your vamps was about to drain his girlfriend, so I don't blame him." Chloe waited for Strafford to correct him, but he didn't and she could hardly hide her smile. Tom held out a hand to Vadma, who took it after hissing at them. "Warm blood for all Empusa if you don't try to drain the Oracle again. Otherwise, I'll let Law destroy you. Won't even try to stop him."
Vadma agreed and to a round of satisfied hisses, Tom signaled to the bartender, who was also a very pretty Empusa.
Tom led them to a circular booth in the back of the blood bar, and ordered them a round of Bloody Marys'––minus the actual blood––from one of the Empusa servers. Tom's nectar wine had been finished before they'd reached the bottom of the stairs and he handed the empty glass off to the server.
"So, Law," Tom began, once the Empusa had click-thumped off to get their drinks and the heavy metal was back to making her ears ring. She was surprised they could hear each other at all. "What brings you––burp––to my world?"
"A prophecy, rather, a couple of 'em," Strafford replied, getting right down to business. "We need 'em solved, and we need it done now." He slid a small bag of drachmas over to Tom. He seemed to have an endless supply of the gold.
Tom sat back, folded his arms, and grinned. The jingling of the drachmas seemed to sober him a bit. "A prophecy, eh? I've never had the pleasure of deciphering a prophecy."
"Then this should be fun."
"You know I'm forbidden by the gods to have any contact with the Oracle whatsoever, don't you?" Tom questioned, his eyes drooping lazily.
"I know," Strafford replied, revealing yet another thing he had kept from her, "But when have you ever cared abou' wha's forbidden or not?"
"Touché." Tom drummed the table in drunken delight and snatched up his bag of drachmas. "Well, if the Sun Prince is willing to risk it, so am I! However, please forgive me if my skills at deciphering the complicated sooth-saying of Apollo and the Fates is a little below par. This is kind of out of the realm of my expertise."
"I'm sure you'll do fine," Chloe said. "We'll be happy with whatever you can tell us." If Strafford trusted him, she did too.
But Tom was all business when he said, "If you knew my history, Oracle, you wouldn't say that." Their drinks arrived then. Chloe took a small sip of her virgin Bloody Mary and looked up as an Empusa crawled along the ceiling over them.
Strafford pushed his cup away and slid two pieces of unfolded parchment paper in front of Tom. He'd written the prophecies down. "Time's a wastin'."
Tom jingled the bag. "This pays for one prophecy, not two."
Strafford frowned, but didn't seem to be gearing up to argue. He snatched one of the slips. "The Kismet prophecy then. Get to it."
Tom looked at the paper for about ten seconds, burped, then sat back, tossing his blue hair out of his eyes. "That first line about the pure sacrifice is self-explanatory. Whatever it is, it has to be untainted. And by that I mean, worthy. No doubt this sacrifice is for a god.”
She didn’t really know how to respond to that, so she just nodded.
“A separation of souls, where only one must endure. Endure? Must mean hades because the next part says the darkness that is death, and that’s the Underworld."
She thought for a minute. "So the bright light that is life must mean the heavens.”
Tom shook his head. "Beyond that, Oracle. The Regalis Stella. A realm full of balls of burning gas and energy a.k.a life. The bright light is a star.”
“Dropper,” She said to Strafford and he nodded.
“Who?” Tom asked.
“Long story.” Tom accepted that with a shrug.
"A separation of souls," Strafford pushed on. “Wha’ souls?”
"Souls. Or soul.” Tom grinned. “The same soul that must endure. But there’s also a vital link here. Between the Regalis Stella and the Underworld. You need to find it."
Chloe was pretty sure she already had...
"Well, wha' abou' the willin' heart in the god's sight?" Strafford pointed to the last line of the Kismet prophecy. "Wha' does tha' mean?"
"One soul, same heart. And what god would be most logical in this situation?"
Chloe knew. "Aphrodite."
"Then I would think only she knows. Ask her."
She sighed. "Not happening. Aphrodite’s probably put a hit out on me by now. I killed Radiance."
"You killed Radiance? The Grace?" Tom's eyes practically bugged out of his head. He shook his head in disbelief. "Law. You know I'm not one for asking too many questions. But if she killed a Grace, a crap storm is about to rain down on you, and I need to know what's going on just in case the storm clouds decide to blow my way."
But Strafford never got the chance to explain.
Their Empusa server returned and hissed something in Tom's ear. "Right now?" He asked and she nodded. Tom turned sheet white. He cursed. "Get up! Now! Move it!" He practically pushed them out of the booth and ushered them into a secret elevator in the far back of the blood bar.
"Wha' the bloody hell is going
on, Tipsy?" Strafford asked. "If you push me again…"
"What do you think is going on?" Tom snapped. "Take a wild guess."
After a moment, Strafford groaned. "Ah, hell..."
"Yup," Tom said through clenched teeth, "My dad's here."
*****
XXXI. Chloe
The elevator opened up onto the empty third level of the club. It had a more retro feel, with blue leather couches and swirly marble tables of yellow and white. Pictures of abstract things covered the neon pink walls and zebra-skin rugs decorated the floor. Leaning over the banister, she peered down on the second level where several VIP types were dancing and sipping on nectar wine and plum rum in fancy glasses.
"Wha' is he doing here?" Strafford asked, standing beside her. He was looking over the crowd with a concerned frown.
"It's payday," Tom replied, as though they should know what he was talking about. He cursed through clenched teeth.
"Which one is he?" Chloe asked. She could only see an ocean of emos all dancing like a bunch of wild banshees to the incredible bass thumping through the club.
Tom pointed towards the front entrance. Chloe eyes searched around, and when she finally saw who he was pointing at, her mouth fell open.
"Typical reaction," Tom said, right before he stepped back onto the elevator and disappeared. She watched the god Dionysus make his way across the crowded dance floor, slow and unhurried as if he were purposely giving Tom time to make his getaway before he made it up to the third level. There was no doubt in her mind that he was headed there.
Dionysus was hot. There was simply no other word for him. His chocolate brown hair was parted down the middle and hung bone straight down to his slim waist. He was wearing extremely ripped jeans with silver and black chains hanging from the waistband and a sleeveless red t-shirt that hit right at his hip. It had the word "Sobriety" in a circle with a slash through it tattooed in graffiti-shaped letters on the front. He was tall, around six foot-three or even taller. His walk, which he led with his pelvis, was authoritative and sexy at the same time and everyone in the building cheered as soon as word spread that he was there.
Prophecy of the Most Beautiful Page 31