Once Upon A Midnight

by Stephanie Rowe

  Not exactly the welcome I’d hoped for, but I nodded anyway. “Yeah. I need to talk to you…about…about something.”

  He reached out and brushed my face. The contact sent little bolts of electricity through me, sparking memories of the night we’d shared. I tried to focus on them, fanning the flames in hopes they’d grow, but they sputtered out before revealing anything.

  “You’re real,” he breathed. “And really here. Where did you come from?”

  That took the wind out of my sails. “You don’t remember me?”

  “Oh, I do,” he hurried to say. “But that night…it’s so…I wasn’t even sure it happened. I remember you. I remember…” His expression turned thoughtful. “I remember what happened. But when I woke up, you were gone. You never came back, so I thought…” He shook his head. “I didn’t know if you were real.”

  So much for getting answers. He sounded as clueless as I was about what had happened. I leaned against the door frame and sighed. “It’s like that for me, too. I’m not even sure how I got here that night. Or how I got home, for that matter. I think somebody must have slipped us some sort of magical roofie. I just don’t know who or why.”

  He shrugged. “All I remember is you.”

  “I remember someone else. A woman.”

  He looked at me like I was crazy. “Trust me, I would have known if someone else was here. No one’s ever here.”

  I could tell the conversation was going nowhere and figured it was time to start over. Completely. I extended a hand and said, “I’m Romi. Nice to meet you.”

  He looked at my hand for a moment before placing his own in mine and igniting more fireworks under my skin. “I’m Demarco.”

  His hand stayed rigid, no shaking, no squeezing, nothing. It was only marginally better than what Tweety had done the first time he’d shown up on my doorstep and I’d tried to greet him. I’d taught Tweety how to properly shake hands since, but wondered why Demarco didn’t know.

  “You said you want to come in and talk?” he asked.

  “Yes, please.”

  Gesturing for me to follow him, he turned and headed down a stairway. The muscles of his bare back and his lingering scent triggered more fragmented memories. Sand. Rough skin beneath my fingertips. The taste of his lips. The pressure of his body. A wave rolling up our legs. Laughter as he scooted us inland.

  Shaking myself from the memories, I tried to strike up a conversation. “I take it you don’t get many visitors?”

  He snorted. “You could say that.”

  I waited for him to expand, but he didn’t.

  All righty then.

  We took a few more steps before I made a second attempt. “Nice place you got here. Right on the beach and everything. Prime real estate and all that.” Yeah, I was rambling, but there really is no good way to tell a stranger he’s the father of your kid. And what if he freaked out? A lot could happen in four years, and I needed to find out if I’d be blowing up any other lives before I dropped this little bomb. “You live here all alone?”

  “Yes.”

  Well at least I wouldn’t have to deal with some pissed-off wife or live-in girlfriend. That was good.

  Demarco stepped off the stairs onto a concrete floor, turning to watch me as I finished my descent to enter a room that had to be more than a thousand square feet with high ceilings and windows. Giant racks covered the walls, containing every sort of weapon imaginable. Toward the back wall sat two fire-darkened brick-and-mortar forges. The first was large enough to manipulate up to six feet of metal, the second looked like it could only handle about half that, and they were both connected to a computer. A giant anvil stood to the left of the forges, and there was some sort of complicated-looking computerized machine on the right.

  My gaze drifted from the racks of weapons to the forges and then back to the weapons. “Did you…” I studied the weapon nearest me…a broadsword with a detailed hilt. The blade looked sharp, and the craftsmanship was better than any I’d seen, shy of the Harpē. No machine had manufactured this blade. It had been handmade, of that I was certain. “You’re a blacksmith.”

  He nodded.

  “You made this?” Ignoring the blisters on my hands, I picked up the broadsword. It was lighter than it looked, and its balance felt perfect. The rapier above it had similar markings, but more details on the hilt. “You made all of these, didn’t you?”

  He nodded.

  Holy crap. Suddenly I understood exactly where Demarco had gotten his godblood from. “You’re a son of Hephaestus.”

  His expression hardened. “You know him?”

  “No. Not personally. I try to stay away from gods. I know about him, though.” I put the broadsword down and went straight to the daggers. The one that caught my eye had a curved razor-sharp blade, with a wicked-cool handle, heavy enough to throw, light enough to wield forever. It had to be the finest dagger I’d ever seen. I pulled out one of my own daggers and compared the two. “The craftsmanship is really incredible. You wouldn’t believe what I paid for Bert here, and this dagger makes him look and feel like tinfoil.”

  “Bert?” Demarco asked.

  I tapped my other dagger. “And Ernie. My—uh…” I’d almost slipped and told him my kid named them. Although I needed to find a way to transition into that conversation soon, that didn’t seem like the right lead-in. “A child named them for me.”

  “Oh. What happened to your hands?” Demarco asked.

  Self-conscious, I turned away from him and went back to studying the dagger. “Occupational hazard.”

  “Do you want me to bandage them?” He closed the distance between us, invading my space and making it hard to breathe as he gently turned my hands over and took in the damage. “This looks like a burn. I have really great ointment that’ll—”

  “No, thanks.” His touch made the rest of my skin feel like it was about to burst into flames. I ripped my hands away from his before I lost my mind and wrapped my arms around his neck. “It’s healing.”

  “Your loss. But take the dagger.”

  “Hm?”

  “The dagger. Take it. It’s yours.”

  First, he offered to doctor up my hands. Now he wanted to trade. “What do you want for it?” I asked, sliding my pack off my shoulder and doing a quick inventory. “I don’t have a ton on me right now, but if there’s something you have in mind, I can probably get it.” And for a dagger that fine, I would.

  He seemed genuinely confused. “I don’t want anything for it. I’m giving it to you. It’s a…a gift.”

  I eyed him, wondering what the catch was.

  “I don’t need it, and I can make another one if I do. That one right there goes with it.” He pointed to a smaller, but otherwise identical, knife. “I want you to have them.”

  “I can’t. Thanks anyway.”

  He bristled. “Why not?” Before I could form an answer, he shook his head. “Never mind. Why don’t you trade me for yours then?”

  Could he seriously not see how much better his were? “It’s not a fair trade.”

  “I’ll melt them down and remake them. It’ll give me a project.”

  He was definitely getting the shaft, but I’d warned him. Besides, I really wanted the daggers. “Deal,” I said, swapping out the new daggers for my old ones before turning to marvel at the rest of his weapons. “I can’t believe you made all of these. I hope…”

  I snapped my mouth shut before I told him I hoped our kid got his gift. That didn’t make for a good transition either. Demarco’s generosity did embolden me to break the news, though, so I turned to lay it all out when a portrait hanging above his forges caught my eye.

  Once again, fragmented memories assaulted me. The woman in the photo, standing in my kitchen with a glass of wine in her hand. She was beyond beautiful, with hooded blue-green eyes the color of the ocean, and long blonde hair. The taste of wine lingered on my tongue. A satiny dress slid over my head, revealing far more than it covered. The sound of waves hitting the surf.
Sand beneath my toes as I practiced the dance-like fighting style of Capoeira on the beach.

  Closing my eyes, I opened myself to the memory.

  My golden dress flowed around me as I spun into a kick, flinging both sand and water into the air. Body humming from the wine and stimulated by the feel of the silky cloth against my bare skin, I was content to dance to the music of the ocean until he appeared. That perfect skin…those intense silvery-blue eyes…solid, muscular arms that held me so gently, almost reverently. The smell of metal and man invading my senses and making me lightheaded as he trailed kisses down my neck, tickling me with the stubble on his chin.

  The godblood racing through his veins called to me, luring me with his power. Fiery, all-consuming desire burned away inhibitions and fears as he removed my dress and gently ran his fingers over my exposed flesh.

  My body hummed with anticipation as he silently paid homage to every inch of it. First with his hands, then with his lips. When I couldn’t take the torture anymore, I attacked, ripping away the buttons of his jeans like a madwoman. I shoved him down into the sand and climbed on top of him…

  My eyes sprang open and my cheeks burned with embarrassment. “I was slipped some sort of magical roofie,” I admitted aloud. It was the only explanation for my behavior.

  “What?” he asked.

  “And that’s who did it.” I pointed at the photograph over his forges, piecing together the memories. I’d seen that face before…even before I’d met her on the night Doreán was conceived. “Aphrodite. Of course. It must have been in the wine she gave me. But how? How did she get me away from Shade?”

  “Shade?”

  Holding up my index finger to silence his questions until it came to me, I subtracted forty weeks from Doreán’s birthday to come up with… “Of course. Dammit. How did I not see that before?”

  “What are you talking about?” Demarco asked.

  “Aphrodisia. He was conceived in the middle of Aphrodite’s holiday, which explains why she was able to spring me from Shade’s prison. She probably roofied Shade too, and sent some of her tramps to keep him busy.” I felt like the biggest idiot ever. “I should have known. I can’t believe I didn’t see it.”

  “Who was conceived?”

  I blinked. How had I let that slip? Now I needed to tell him, but before I could, I had one little question of my own. I pointed to the photograph and asked, “Why do you have a picture of Aphrodite? Do you worship her or something?”

  His expression hardened. “That’s not Aphrodite; that’s my mom.”

  A wave of revulsion washed over me. Bile rose in the back of my throat and I took a step away, trying to put as much distance between us as possible.

  “What’s wrong?”

  My stomach roiled. “Everything. If Aphrodite is your mom, that makes you my—”

  “That’s not Aphrodite!” he snapped. The conviction in his voice made it sound like he legitimately didn’t know his mother was the goddess of love and debauchery, which I found pretty much impossible to believe. More likely, he was playing me. Either way, something fishy was going on and I needed to get away from him and clear my head in air that didn’t smell like him.

  “Romi, I don’t know what’s going on, but—”

  He looked so sincere, but how could he be? How could he not know his mother was Aphrodite? “Forget it. I’m—” I had no clue what I was going to say, so instead I turned my back on him and headed for the stairs.

  “Wait, where are you going?” he asked.

  “I need to leave. I’m sorry. Coming here was a mistake.”

  “Romi, would you listen for a second? Don’t leave. There’s an explanation, just—”

  Outside, an eagle screamed a warning, cutting off Demarco’s sentence.

  “What was that?” he asked.

  Not what, who. Tweety. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. Tweety had shifted into his griffin form, which meant Doreán was in trouble.

  I swore and ran up the stairs, the sound of footsteps thundering behind me.

  CHAPTER SIX

  EVERYTHING HAD BEEN calm when I entered Demarco’s shop, but somewhere between my cold-shower worthy stroll down memory lane and realizing my twisted, depraved grandmother was also the mom of my son’s father, Tweety had re-sprouted feathers, beak, and talons, and was now screeching and dive-bombing what appeared to be a little girl.

  Fan-freaking-tastic.

  Since I needed to see the full picture before I jumped into the fray, I blew luck onto my hands and wiped my eyes, blinking until they cleared. The little girl turned out to be a full-grown huntress wielding a big-ass bow, with a full quiver strapped to her back and a determined look on her face. She grabbed an arrow, knocked it, and fired at the griffin.

  Tweety dove, and the arrow barely missed his wing.

  “What is that?” Demarco asked, slowing to stop beside me and pointing at the lion-like eagle.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve never seen a griffin before,” I replied.

  He gaped at me.

  Yeah, I’d never seen one until Tweety showed up on my doorstep with a collar around his neck either.

  “Why is it attacking a kid?”

  Tweety needed my help, I had no clue where Doreán was, and I didn’t have time to play twenty questions with the son of Aphrodite. I unsheathed my new daggers and said, “Don’t worry about it. We’ve got it under control.”

  “Who’s we?”

  Ignoring his question, I cupped my hands over my mouth and shouted for my kid.

  “Here, Momma!” Doreán shouted back from somewhere above my head.

  I shielded my eyes and scanned the trees until I found him and reassured my pounding heart he was okay. Well, technically not okay, since he had to be well over fifty feet high, balancing on the branch of an evergreen. I considered using the shadows to get to him, but our shouting had gotten the huntress’s attention. She turned her back on Tweety and made a beeline for the tree my kid was perched in, giving me a full view of her face.

  “Artemis. Gods, that kid is gonna give me a heart attack,” I swore.

  Before Demarco could fire off any more questions, I moved to intercept the goddess of the hunt. No clue what I planned to do when I reached her, but I couldn’t just stand there and watch her go after my son. I’d gone my whole life without meeting a god only to have three of them drop in on me in one day.

  Why? What is going on?

  “Momma?” Demarco asked, hot on my heels. In my peripheral vision I caught him looking from me to Doreán, and then back to me. I could almost see the wheels spinning in his head as he took in my kid’s skin tone and did the math of when we’d hooked up. “How old is he?”

  I so didn’t need this. “Little busy here. Can we chat later?” I asked. Chances were I was about to die and could therefore avoid the whole awkward conversation anyway.

  “Stand aside,” Artemis demanded, as she approached. “I’ve come for the child.”

  “The child?” I gripped my daggers, calling shadows to my aid. “As in my kid? Do you really expect me to stand back and let you take him?”

  Tweety reached us and dove at the goddess again. She ducked and shielded her head with her bow, waving it wildly.

  After the griffin passed, she straightened and said, “No need to worry, I will not harm him.”

  Which didn’t make me feel one smidgen better. “Why are you after him then?” I asked.

  “I have my orders.”

  Orders from who?

  Before I could form the sentence out loud, the air in front of me sizzled with power and split into an elongated oval. Through the oval, I caught a glimpse of the golden city of Mount Olympus before a woman blocked my view and stepped through the portal. She wore an ankle-length flowing skirt and a billowing blouse, with her hair in some sort of braided updo I’d need a hundred fingers to master. She’d almost look harmless if not for the ruthless intelligence in her eyes, the sternness of her expression, and the calculating, condes
cending sneer she couldn’t quite fashion into a smile.

  “My orders,” she said, answering my unvoiced question. Her skirt shifted, revealing the spear and shield hidden in its massive folds.

  Athena. God number four? Seriously?

  Her lips twitched, and I wasn’t sure whether that meant she could read my thoughts or just the panic written all over my face.

  Tweety screeched, offering his assistance like the pubescent hothead he was. Lying through my hands, I signaled that I had the situation under control and waved for him to get to Doreán. He gave me a little flack—a loud squawk to let me know he wasn’t happy about being sidelined—before dutifully flying up to perch beside my kid. I was sure I’d hear all about his displeasure later, but there was no reason for him to die by my side. If this exchange went south, I expected Tweety to grab Doreán and get out of there.

  “State your name and business, or get off my property,” Demarco said, his voice rumbling with the ground beneath us. It rolled like waves, bouncing us up and down on the grass. I held my hands out to steady myself like I was surfing. Small rocks and dirt skittered across the ground.

  The newcomer narrowed her eyes at Demarco. “I have many names, but you may call me Athena,” she said. “I am the daughter of Zeus, and your ability to shift the earth does not impress me, imíaimos.”

  Wait, Demarco did that?

  I looked to him for confirmation, but he was busy glaring at Athena. Not good. Even if Demarco had moved the ground, he’d be no competition whatsoever for the goddess. In an effort to diffuse the potentially deadly situation, I stepped forward.

  “We’re all adults here,” I said. “Do we really need to stoop to name calling? Why don’t you just tell us what you want and we’ll all go on our merry little ways.”

  Athena’s sneer turned on me. “What I want, is for you to clean up the mess you made.”

  Well that answer was unexpected. “What mess? And what does that have to do with my son?”

  “I heard you like to make deals, so I asked Artemis to secure a bargaining chip.” She cast a glare at the huntress in question.