Once Upon A Midnight

by Stephanie Rowe

  Her eyebrows crept up her forehead. “How can you hope to defeat them when you don’t even know who they are?”

  “I will know who they are just as soon as you tell me. Why do you think I’m here? To look at your undead flowers and have a cry-fest with you?”

  She released the flower she was patting and stared me down. “I don’t believe you can do it.”

  “I don’t care.” I threw my hands in the air, no longer concerned with whether or not I offended her. “Look, I don’t have the time or desire to list off my qualifications, and I’m definitely not going to fill you in on the details of my plan when your ass would probably jump right back in bed with his royal fishiness the moment he waved his magical trident at you.”

  Her jaw dropped, but I hurried along, hoping to finish my rant before she flung me against the wall like she had Demarco and Tweety. I’d asked nicely and that hadn’t worked, and I had no intention of leaving until she gave me the information I needed.

  “Athena is holding my son hostage, and I’m going to get him back. I figured you’d do the same for Persephone, but clearly I was wrong.”

  “I told you, Amphitrite won’t let me leave.”

  “Yeah, and that’s a lame excuse. She’s a sea nymph, you’re a goddess. You should be able to kick her ass, but instead you’re letting her imprison you while your daughter is suffering.” I shook my head, disgusted. “But why don’t you go ahead and stay down here, bawling your eyes out, while I go release our children. And I’ll be sure to let Persephone know that your betrayal is the reason she was forced back into the underworld, and that you refused to help me free her. I bet that’ll do wonders for your mother-daughter bonding.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  I laughed, turning back so she could see the sincerity written across my face. “You don’t know a damn thing about me, but I will get my son back or I’ll die trying. Are you going to grow a pair and help me? Or are you gonna spend all of eternity crying like a little bitch trapped in a well?”

  Her eyebrows rose. “Grow a pair?”

  I narrowly resisted the urge to knock my head against the wall in frustration. “Never mind. Are you gonna give me the names, or what?”

  “You really think you have a shot at restoring Zeus?” She still sounded skeptical, but at least she was no longer outright hostile.

  The odds were stacked against me. Stealing from one god was doubtful, but five gods…I had to be suicidal for even trying. But I’d never be able to live with myself if I didn’t. I shrugged. “I don’t know. But I’m not going to give up and leave my kid with a sociopath.”

  She searched my gaze for a few moments before nodding. “Ares, Hermes, and Hera. I don’t know where any of them are keeping the essences, but those are the gods they were entrusted to.”

  I took a deep breath. Now that I had the names, I could finally move on to the next step and figure out where each essence was hidden. “Thanks. I am sorry about your daughter, and I do hope to restore Zeus.”

  “Good luck.” Her eyes grew hooded as she returned her attention to her plants.

  I smiled to myself and headed for the exit. Luck was one of the few things I could count on.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  DEMARCO’S HOME LOOKED like a typical cozy beach house. Neutral paint colors and framed ocean-based art adorned the walls, the floors were laminate wood and vinyl, overstuffed comfortable furniture filled the living room, and gigantic windows with gossamer curtains let in an abundance of sunlight. Basically, it was the opposite of my underground childhood home. I wondered what it would be like to grow up here with a mom who bandaged up wounded birds and taught me to look after the weak. I couldn’t even imagine it.

  “This is nice,” I said, following Demarco and Tweety through the living room, trailing my fingers over the back of the sofa. My hand came back dusty, so I wiped it on my jeans. Dust was everywhere. It stirred in the air, eliciting a sneeze from Tweety.

  Demarco led us toward the kitchen, brushing away a cobweb as he went. “Yeah, I don’t really spend much time in here.”

  Which—judging by the obvious disuse of the place—had to be an understatement. I could make out footsteps going from the front door to the kitchen, and then to the open hallway closet where an apartment-sized washer and dryer sat. If I had to guess, I’d say he only came into the house to eat and do laundry. He’d said his mother died not long before he met me, which probably had something to do with the neglected state of the place. Did coming here make him think of her? After four years of being completely alone, it was a miracle the guy wasn’t insane.

  I wiped off the top of a barstool and sat as Tweety followed Demarco into the kitchen, which appeared to be the only dust-free room in the house. Demarco opened cupboards and pointed out where everything was before heading to the fridge.

  “I don’t know if you guys are hungry, but there’s some leftover shrimp pasta in here. I made it the day you arrived…so three days ago?”

  Shrugging, I said, “About.”

  “Wow. It feels like it’s been a lot longer. The different time zones have me all messed up, no wonder I’m so tired. Anyway, there’s also lunch meat and veggies in here if you want a sandwich or something. I’ve got beer, soda”—he pointed to a large freestanding wine rack—“wine over there. As I said, the place is stocked, so help yourselves.”

  “Thanks again for letting us crash here.” I said.

  After leaving Demeter’s sadistic little greenhouse of undead flora, I’d returned to a concerned Demarco and a still-dazed Tweety. We’d collected my belay rope and were trying to figure out where to go next. Rather than checking into another hotel room, Demarco had offered up his house as a place to regroup, rest, and do a little recon on the gods and goddesses holding the essences of Zeus.

  “Not a problem.” Demarco grabbed a beer from the fridge and tipped it toward me in offering.

  “No thanks. I could go for a glass of wine though.”

  “You got it.” He headed for the rack. “Any preferences? I have a bit of everything.”

  “A merlot or a red blend would be great. Tweety, do you need some help?”

  The griffin had piled his arms full of what looked like sandwich fixings and now stood in front of the counter as if he couldn’t figure out how to put everything down. I jumped up from the barstool and began plucking items out of his grasp and setting them on the counter.

  “Thanks, Romi. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I feel so out of it.”

  “Look at me,” I demanded, pulling his face down so I could get a good look at his eyes. They were slightly dilated. I had him follow my finger with his gaze and his bright green orbs danced all over the place like it was disco night at the local bar. “Looks like you do have a concussion after all. Let me make you a sandwich, and then you can head outside and don your feather coat to help you heal.”

  “I get to sleep in a tree?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “I don’t see why not. It’s not like anyone is here to see you.”

  He gave me a lopsided grin. “I can’t even remember the last time I got to do that.”

  “Just don’t fall out, weirdo.”

  “You do realize I was born in a nest, right?”

  “And sometimes little birdies do fall out of their nests, so what’s your point?”

  He chuckled, handing me a butter knife.

  Demarco warmed me and him up some shrimp pasta while I made Tweety’s sandwich. The three of us sat at the bar and gobbled our food down in silence before rinsing the dishes and placing them in the dishwasher.

  One kitchen wall was full of framed five-by-seven photographs. I studied them, but didn’t see any pictures of Demarco. “Who are these people?” I asked.

  “My mom’s family.”

  “You have family?” I don’t know why it struck me as odd. Maybe because he hadn’t talked about them. But as he’d pointed out, we’d only been reunited for the equivalent of about three days. Now that I knew th
ey were his relatives, I studied the pictures more carefully. This was Doreán’s family too. I wondered what sort of people they were. “Wow. Are you planning to go meet them now?”

  “I don’t know,” he replied, washing his hands. “Mom disappeared more than twenty-five years ago. If I showed up on my grandparents’ doorstep, they’d probably want answers. What can I say? Sorry your daughter didn’t call, but she was abducted by a goddess, impregnated by a god, and then we were forced to live in a bubble beside the ocean?”

  “Doesn’t the phone work?” I asked, pointing to it. “And you said you have Internet, right?”

  “Yep. But Mom never talked about them. I think she cut off all communication, thinking it would be easier on them than trying to explain that she was okay but they couldn’t visit and we couldn’t leave. I wish I would have thought to ask her about it before she passed away, but I haven’t thought about them much since I was a kid.”

  The people in the photographs looked kind and fun. Two older gentlemen had guitars slung over their necks and huge grins stretched across their faces. A mom, dad, and three young children made goofy faces in front of a Christmas tree. A girl was tugged on an inner tube behind a boat. “I could see where any sort of family reunion would be awkward at first, but you have real, normal family members. Family that isn’t made up of sadistic deities who’d just as soon screw with you as look at you. Do you know what I’d do for that?”

  “You don’t have any human family?” he asked.

  I clamped my mouth shut, wishing I could take back what I’d said, and shook my head.

  “Both of your parents are gods?” he asked.

  “Shade’s actually a demigod.”

  “And your mom? You said she gave you up. Isn’t she human?”

  I didn’t want to lie to him, but I couldn’t tell him the truth, either. My hesitancy wasn’t even about not trusting Demarco. It was about not wanting to put him in a position where he might be forced to rat me out. Gods and humans alike would do just about anything to get their hands on the goddess of luck, which was precisely the reason I’d never told anyone Tyche was my mother. Hades and Poseidon had somehow known, but nobody had ever heard it from me, and I wasn’t ready to start blabbing about my mom now.

  “I think I’m gonna head outside,” Tweety said, interrupting my conversation with Demarco. The griffin had asked me about my mother before, and respected me when I told him I couldn’t talk about her. Of course, that was when my magical gag order was firmly in effect. Now he might not be so understanding.

  Still, I jumped at the chance to get out from beneath Demarco’s knowing gaze. “I’ll walk you out, Tweety,” I said, heading for the front door.

  Demarco followed without saying a word. I doubted that he’d let the subject drop, since he was on this big trust kick ever since we’d left the Pythia, but a girl could hope.

  We stepped out onto the front porch and I checked Tweety over again. He had a huge goose egg protruding from the back of his head, and winced when my fingers probed it.

  “Demeter really did a number on you,” I said. I’d never seen Tweety hurt before, and had no idea how to help him. “I hope changing into your other self helps.”

  “It will,” he assured me as he stripped off his shirt and sandals. “I’ll be fine. Get some rest so we can figure out where to go next, okay?” He got on all fours, and fur, feathers and talons begin to stretch out his body in weird and disturbing ways.

  “You just worry about getting better,” I replied.

  Once he was fully a griffin he took flight while I collected his discarded clothes. I shielded my eyes and watched as he circled an ancient evergreen before landing. He took a few steps and then settled on the branch with his head under his wing.

  “What happened to his shorts?” Demarco asked.

  I shrugged. “They seem to be a permanent fixture.”

  His face screwed up.

  “Don’t ask. On second thought, since you two are all buddy-buddy now, do ask. Then let me know what you find out. I’ve been trying to get him to tell me for years. You think it’s safe for him to sleep with a concussion?”

  He scratched his head. “How quickly do griffins heal?”

  “Do griffins even get concussions?” I mused.

  Between the two of us, we seemed to have plenty of questions, but no answers.

  Our conversation must have been picked up by Tweety’s sensitive hearing, because he raised his head and flicked a wing at us, silently assuring us he was fine. We went back inside the house and Demarco’s gaze cut to the rocking chair beside the sliding glass door.

  “Your mom’s favorite chair?” I asked.

  He tore his gaze away and focused on the floor, giving me a quick nod. “I don’t spend too much time in here. Too many memories.” Heading for the kitchen he asked, “Do you want another glass of wine?”

  “Not yet. I should probably do some research first.”

  He drained the rest of his beer. “Living room or kitchen table? Which would be the most comfortable for you?”

  Neither looked like they’d be comfortable for him. I kinda wanted to roam around the house and find more information on the father of my child, but I wasn’t going to force him to stay where so obviously didn’t want to be. “Neither,” I said, snatching my glass and the open wine bottle from the counter. “It’s too bright and airy in here, and I’m used to living underground. I can’t concentrate with these big windows and glaring sunshine. I’m going to your shop.”

  I headed for the front door, and when I didn’t hear his footsteps behind me, I stopped and looked over my shoulder. Demarco stood in the middle of the kitchen, his gaze fixed on me.

  “You coming?” I asked. Then, because I knew he was hurting and I really wanted to see his sexy dimples again, I asked, “Or are you just gonna stand there and stare at my ass all day?”

  The relief that washed over his face did funny things to my stomach. I wanted to hold him and comfort him, but I held my ground.

  He rewarded me with a smile. “What can I say? You’ve got a really nice ass.”

  The way my chest fluttered alerted me to the fact we were playing with fire, but I didn’t care. I liked him, we had a kid together, and we were grown adults. There was no reason we couldn’t flirt a little. Or a lot for that matter. In fact, there was nothing really stopping me from ripping his clothes off and having my way with his incredible body. Nothing except the research I needed to do so we could get our kid back.

  Tabling the flirting for now, I said, “Come on, we’ve got work to do.”

  He nodded. “Just don’t think I didn’t notice the way you deflected my question about your mom,” he said. “Romi, I’m letting you off the hook now, but we will have that conversation.”

  Damn.

  Pulling the rest of the six-pack from the fridge, he followed me out the door.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  THERE WERE ONLY two places to sit in Demarco’s shop: the small metal bench by the forges and the king-sized bed pushed against the back wall. Since the bed looked like the most comfortable option, I set my bottle and glass on the nightstand, kicked off my boots, and made myself at home. After removing my backpack, I retrieved The Lowly Pawn’s Comprehensive Guide for Surviving Amongst Gods and opened it on my lap. When I looked up, Demarco stood frozen, staring at me again.

  “What?” I asked, even though I knew perfectly well what had to be going through his mind, because I knew where my mind kept going. We were alone, his bed was comfortable, the wine was strong, and in griffin form, Tweety lacked the opposable thumbs necessary to open the door and barge in on us again.

  “Nothing.”

  I tried to ignore the husky, sensual tone of his voice, and patted the bed next to me. “Are you gonna help me or what?”

  He set the remaining four bottles of his six-pack next to my wine bottle and glass, removed his boots, and climbed onto the bed beside me, angling so he could see the book. “What exactly are we looking f
or?”

  Turning pages, I replied, “I think we should start with Hera. As Zeus’s wife, she’s the weak link of the five holding his essence.”

  “His own wife helped take him down?” Demarco asked. “Brutal.”

  “Yeah, but Zeus brought it upon himself. He’s pretty much a dog, lifting his leg wherever he wants and impregnating gods and mortals alike. Then the sleaze really names his illegitimate children after Hera, hoping she won’t get pissed and wipe them all out.”

  He chuckled. “Does that work?”

  “Not so much. You grew up with a television, so I’m sure you’ve at least heard some of Hercules’s lore, right?” At his nod, I continued. “He was the product of one of Zeus’s affairs with a mortal, and his real name was Heracles, which literally means ‘Hera’s glory.’”

  “In the movies Hera was always trying to kill Hercules.”

  “She hates him in real life too. Anyway, based on their history, chances are good that Zeus has been dipping his magic lightning bolt somewhere it doesn’t belong and Hera happened to be in one of her rages over his infidelity when the brothers came up with their plot. Hell, knowing Hades and Poseidon, they might have even sent Zeus some poor, innocent woman and then tattled when the big guy took the bait.”

  Demarco’s eyes lit up with laughter. “His magic lightning bolt, huh?”

  I grinned. Finally, someone picked up on my humor. “Yeah, you know.” My gaze darted down to the front of Demarco’s jeans, which was a huge mistake, because his expression had changed when I looked back up at his face. He looked…hungry. Swallowing hard, I returned my attention back to the book in my lap.

  “So, uh…yeah, she’s the weak link because she’s predictable. This isn’t the first revolt she’s partaken in, and she always ends up forgiving Zeus and leading the charge in restoring him to power. It’s a pretty messed-up situation if you ask me, but Hera is the goddess of marriage, and she takes that sacred vow seriously. Even if her husband is a philandering sociopath.”