I’d stopped her.
She’d stabbed me.
I hadn’t died.
Moving on.
I swatted Festos’ hand away. “Leave it. What does that have to do with anything?” I pulled my shirt back down to cover the ugly slash.
He slung an arm around me. “How do you feel about tattoos, honeybunch?”
I blinked and thought about it. I’d never considered a tattoo. But I’d always believed that with the right design, there was something empowering about them. Maybe the first step in my straightening out this giant mess involved doing something small to reclaim my body. To feel right within myself again, instead of the slightly off-kilter grossness that had dogged me for the past couple of months. Maybe it was time to turn my pain to power. I nodded. “Tell me more.”
He did.
***
Which is how I found myself, an hour later, warily stepping clear of the pine tree that served as my entry point into this stretch of Oregon forest.
I glanced up at the gray, drizzly sky. No evil minions sent courtesy of Zeus or Hades yet, but they were coming. Thus, I hugged the tree trunks as much as possible, hoping my green and brown camo clothing would buy me some cover.
I tucked my egg-shaped sapphire pendant safely back under my puffy winter vest. I didn’t need to hold onto it, squeezing in rapid pulses when I stepped through trees to travel from point A to point B, but it made me feel better. You try walking into a tree without worrying that you’re either going to get a mouthful of bark, a trunk rash makeover or, worse yet, end up all Han Solo-like embedded in wood. Then come back and mock my superstitious rituals around the magic talisman that made the traveling possible.
I stepped over a gnarled root jutting up from the dirt, and began my trek southwest to the tattoo-parlor-in-a-cabin that Festos had sent me to find. He had assured me that getting a tattoo from the Goddess Aglaia, one of the three Greek Graces, had a way of providing clarity in difficult situations. I’d thought it was worth enough of a shot to check it out.
It was slow going. There was no nice path. I hopscotched my way around ferns and rocks and over half-rotted logs. My black boots scuffed along through carpets of fallen pine needles, garnering the occasional mud splatter.
An old compass and sheer determination kept me from getting lost. I would have preferred to come out right in front of the cabin, but Festos had pressed upon me that Aglaia could be touchy. The bigger heads-up I gave her on approach, the better my chances of getting her co-operation.
I wove my way through the sea of trees. Towering Hemlocks, whose spindly branches started dozens of feet above me. Fat, needly, blue-green Cedars. Vine Maples with moss-encrusted branches trailing to the ground in long, lazy arches, tall enough for me to walk under.
The misty light filtering down to me was depressing and gray, and my breath puffed tiny bursts of white in the cold. All in all, it was a fairly classic January day.
Which pissed me off because it was mid-March. Not that you’d know by looking around.
There were no signs of spring. No tiny shoots of tough-leaved Oregon Iris, growing in preparation for its bloom of purple. No rhodos or foxgloves. No buds waiting to unfurl into thick, leathery Madrone leaves.
Nada.
I had a horrible, gut churning suspicion that somehow I was to blame. That this life sucking limbo of our world stemmed directly from how I felt. And I had no idea how to stop it. Thinking happy thoughts hadn’t worked. Meditating hadn’t worked. A month of plastering my room with photos of the cutest kittens the Net had to offer definitely hadn’t worked.
Humanity’s savior indeed.
Shouldn’t a savior feel more … capable? I scrambled around an eight-foot-high tangle of moss, fallen trunks, and winding roots, my worries causing the pain in my temples to spike.
I tugged my knit cap down more snugly over my ears, tucking a wayward strand of my dark brown hair back up inside it. Not so much for warmth, since the constant simmer of rage that I couldn’t seem to shake off kept me feeling nice and toasty all the time.
More because the low pressure system that didn’t seem to want to leave Earth’s atmosphere these days felt like it had ground zero’d in my brain. My headache was in full swing. My teeth throbbed; my skull felt like someone had shoved it in a vice and was squeezing slowly. Wearing the fleece-lined cap seemed to help, if only psychologically.
I rested one hand against an oak tree, willing it to bud. “Come on, baby,” I coaxed, channelling spring goddess thoughts its way. But its stems remained barren.
My anger at this steadfast lack of spring cranked itself to eleven. My arms started to prickle.
Destroy … A ribbon of moss green light shot out of each of my palms.
I gritted my teeth and willed my viney brightness inside myself.
With every day, I found it harder to fight the urge to just give in and give ‘er. Especially since I had no nice opposite angel voice to steer me the other way.
I took a couple of deep calming breaths, then checked the compass. If I was right, then my destination was very close. This was good because the light was starting to fade and I didn’t particularly want to be out here in the dark.
Just up ahead, the trees thinned out and I was able to see more light. Like from a clearing. If there was a cabin, then this is where I’d find it. And most likely any evil minion ambush, too. Viney light powers at the ready, I stepped free of the trees into a large grassy field. Everything was still.
Too still.
Even the cabin—though I was relieved to find that it actually existed—looked tightly shut up, if well-kept. There was no birdsong, no rustle of squirrels running through the grass. Just a lot more gray limbo.
And a rush of wind as the sky above me filled with beings.
Evil minions here to party. Just my luck.
Two
Even though nowadays Zeus and Hades hated me enough to trump their loathing for each other, their cooperation was tentative at best. As evidenced by how the two minion clumps now kept to their own halves of the sky.
I surveyed them with a grim smile.
Olympian Photokia filled the right half. Seven-foot-tall, muscly dudes, they had gold thunderbolt tattoos that snaked over their bald heads. Super cool, yet bad news for me, were their freaky gold glowing eyes that shot lightning.
You know the thing about lightning strikes? You don’t build up immunity. Get hit a million times and that million and first is still going to hurt like a mother. I speak from experience.
These Gold Crushers, as I called them, currently shared the sky with Pyrosim. These Underworld Infernorators resembled the guy from that painting “The Scream” except covered in flame, floating off the ground, and with arms that extended into long tentacles to shoot fire.
My anger blanketed me in an itchy warmth. “Kill you now or kill you on the equinox,” I called out to them, rubbing the back of my neck to relieve the irritation. “Same same.”
I felt Persephone smirk at me. Yeah, that’s right. My goddess essence smirked at me and I could feel it. No wonder I was a tad concerned for my mental well-being?
Where’s your peace and love now? she taunted.
I hated her. So. Much. Which was probably why I’d turned her into my inner monologue of negativity. I squeezed my eyes tight and shook my head, hoping to clear it. All that did was give the minions some kind of cue to rush me en masse.
Most families yelled at their kids when they got mad. Mine sent hit squads. Greek gods: putting the “diss” in dysfunctional.
Lightening struck. Fire flew. The world around me turned to gold and red. This had become a startlingly normal scenario over the past few months. Amazing what a girl can get used to.
I knocked away a Gold Crusher and an Infernorator with a one-two thwack of my light vines. Very grateful that my light packed a punch.
Most of the Pyrosim were content to focus their attention on the trees around me, transforming them into a river of flaming torches. Each
arboreal destruction hit me in the gut like a fist. I was Goddess of Spring, and that made the trees kinda like my babies.
I knew that taking the minions out one-on-one wasn’t enough. More trees were burning and a small squadron of Photokia had landed on the ground with a hard thud to ring me in. I had to amp up my power level to deal with this attack.
Firing single blasts from my eyes and palms wouldn’t put a dent in this mob, so stage three goddess power it was. I shot a full-body shockwave of green light that took out all the minions at once. I hated doing that unless absolutely necessary because it severely depleted me. I’d need large doses of sunlight to recharge and, well, I hadn’t really seen the sun in a while.
Minions gone, I surveyed the carnage around me in the fading light. I scratched at my smoking arms, staring at the blazing devastation and feeling more queasy guilt about the impact my existence had on Earth.
I couldn’t put out the flames. But I could warn the goddess in the cabin to get out.
As I spun to raise the alarm, something doused me in water. Feeling like one of the animals Noah rejected, I panicked and tried to swim my way through the deluge.
Just as suddenly as the flow had started, it stopped. My cap gone, I flung my wet ringlets out of my face, wiped my eyes uselessly with my soaked sleeve, and did a double-take.
Standing before me was a vision of 1950s pin-up beauty. She was maybe 5’6”, looked about my age, with round cheeks, full lips, and straight dark brown hair that fell to her waist.
She sported a large yellow rose over her left ear, the color brilliant against her light brown skin. The rose’s blood red tips matched the large garnet ring she wore on her right middle finger. Her short sleeved, button-down shirt of the same red was tucked into her black pencil skirt. Her legs, about a million miles long in her red knee-high boots, were completely tattooed, as were her arms, which right now held some kind of thick, black fire hose aimed directly at me.
I raised my hands as if in surrender. “Normally, I make a better first impression.”
She arched an eyebrow. Doubt flickered in her large dark eyes.
“A not-quite-as-bad one?” I amended.
She huffed in annoyance as, with a flutter of her fingers, the hose promptly rolled itself up into a neat coil and nestled against the base of a quaint well, set off to the side of her cabin.
The goddess turned and strode back to her home, heels clicking on the green flagstones that led up to her front door. Her hips sashayed according to their own special laws of gravity.
Careful you don’t dislocate something, honey. With a quick look around to make sure the fire was truly out, I hurried after her like a wet dog. “Love your place,” I said, trying to redeem myself.
I really did. It was the cutest, gingerbread-colored log cabin imaginable. Like if I was a wicked witch who ate kids and wanted to sucker them in, this would be my impossibly adorable HQ.
The logs were thick and smooth. The roof pitched steeply down the sides, tiled in a light red metal. Red shutters framed the four windows—two upstairs, two down—along the front of the house. To the right of the windows, ten wide-planked steps led up to a red front door, with a circular window inset in the top.
Pin-up chick ignored my compliment, stepped through her front door, and shut it firmly behind her.
Festos was right. The goddess was a tad touchy. If there was some kind of Yelp page for goddesses, I was so slamming her customer service.
I stomped up the porch and banged on the front door, thinking that Festos better be correct about her tattoos providing clarity, otherwise this was just a giant waste of time.
I pounded on the door again, fully expecting arrows to shoot out and impale me. Surprisingly, the goddess opened it.
“Enough, already.” With a wave of her hand, she motioned me inside.
The inside of the cabin felt much larger than the outside. Very TARDISy. I stood in an airy foyer. Knotty planks of dark wood connected this space to the large living room and open kitchen off to one side. The furniture was all 1950s retro, with appliances in that special shade of mint green.
Her entire home smelled of coffee and chocolate. Two scents I could get behind. I liked her a bit more for it.
There was a lot of red and chrome furniture. From the “marbled” laminate table and matching vinyl chairs, to the curved, sectional sofa flanking a matching love seat. Awesome black and white portrait photos hung on the cream-colored walls in dark frames. I recognized Frank Sinatra and Ella Fitzgerald but the old-timey dude with a mustache was a mystery.
“Nikola Tesla,” she said, following my gaze. “He’s—”
I tore my eyes from the excellent decor to face my hostess. “A scientist guy. Yeah.” Props to years of listening to Hannah. “Please tell me you’re Aglaia, Goddess of Adornment, Splendor, and Beauty.” I was careful to stay on her welcome mat, since I was still filthy.
She scowled. “Who saddles a child with that name? I mean really. There’s not even a good nickname. Aggie?” She snorted. “I go by Jennifer.”
“As in Lopez?”
“As in a name no one can mispronounce constantly. You know how tiresome that gets?”
O-kay. I held out a hand. “I’m—”
“I know who you are, Hurricane Sophie.” She bent down to unzip her boots.
I scratched at my arms and tried not to go with my first impulse to mouth off to her. That didn’t tend to go well in terms of getting goddesses on my side. I discounted my second impulse to blast her as well since, you know, same outcome.
This visit had been a gongshow so far. But I needed her help. Maybe the way to salvage things was to match her in cool factor. “Yeah, well, I’m here to get ink done.” I said casually.
Jennifer kicked off her boots, then lined them up neatly against the wall. “You’re zero for two now, camper. One more strike and you’re out.” Her eyes narrowed as they swung between me and her front door. “Literally.”
Seriously? Now I was mad. As well as smoky, dirty, bleeding, and exhausted. “First off,” I said, counting off one index finger against the other, “I’m not the one who started the fire. And given the way you had the fire hose handy, I’m not the only client to bring trouble. Second of all …” I replayed the last minute, trying to see how I’d offended her. I shook my head. “I got nothing.”
Her expression hardened. “You’re here to get a tattoo. Not get ink or have a tat done. So you can skip your wannabe urban slang.”
Her condescension grated on me. I fixed her with a stare. “I guess a tramp stamp is out of the question?”
Jennifer laughed. Like the action surprised her. “Use the correct terminology next time,” she said. “And don’t ask me if I sling ink or use a gun either. Treat me and my art with respect. Capisce?”
I nodded. “Capisce. And sorry. I didn’t mean any offense.” I really didn’t. Also, antagonizing the one with the magic needle was never a good game plan.
The goddess eyed me up and down. “You’ll need to take a shower first. I’ve got some of my sister’s clothes. They should fit you. Follow me.”
I unlaced my boots, slipped out of them, and left them on the mat.
She led me through the living room and down a corridor floored in the same dark wood.
I tried to think clean thoughts and not feel like Pigpen with my cloud of dirt.
Jennifer stopped and flung a door open to reveal a bathroom that could have held its own in a four-star spa. The walls were a soft, muted green. Gray slate tile covered the floor. The round sink, painted with tiny vines and flowers was cool but the shower was spectacular.
“Whoa,” I breathed.
She preened. “I know.” She motioned to the tiny stones of green, black and white embedded in the floor and wall of the shower stall. “Hand collected.”
It was a wide stall, with no door. You simply stepped onto the rocks and turned to face the six shower heads jutting out from the sleek chrome fixture. I ran my hand over the stones on th
e wall. “I’m amazed you ever leave.”
Jennifer smiled. “Sometimes it’s tough. Get clean. I’ll bring you some clothes, and when you’re done just head right up the stairs.” She left.
I peeled off my stinky outfit, turned the jets to full blast hot, and stepped under the spray. Magnificent as the shower was, it didn’t stop me feeling jittery with nerves as I made my way up to Jennifer a few minutes later.
I tried to think reassuring thoughts as I climbed the stairs. All was not yet lost. I had until spring equinox and my final showdown against Zeus and Hades to sort all this out. Kai and I were prophesied to defeat them with a love ritual that would combine our powers and allow us to seize control of their minions. One above one below alive awake a key it is no more it is no more.
At the moment it was the last bit of that prophecy that concerned me the most. Hopefully, this was the time to find out, once and for all, if Earth and everyone on it would gone by this time next week.
All because of me.
I squinted as I stepped into bright sunshine in Jennifer’s upstairs studio. The retro vibe continued up here but instead of portraits, beautiful tattoo designs covered the walls. A massage table and small workstation sat off to one side next to a vintage wooden cabinet painted light yellow. Its two shelves held rows of ink bottles in a rainbow of colors. Below the shelves were a row of drawers, and then two large cupboard doors on the bottom. All with chrome pulls.
Jennifer motioned me over to the massage table. “Are you interested in any of my flash work or are you here for a custom piece?” She waved a hand toward her framed artwork.
“Definitely custom.” I wriggled onto the table and lifted the long, soft, green sweater she’d left for me to wear along with a pair of jeans.
She raised her eyebrows. “Nice scar.”
“Hoping I could transform it with a bouquet of black roses.” I paused. “With really sharp thorns.”
My Life From Hell Page 2