Slay

by Matthew Laurence

  “Leads to another land,” Thalia says. “Usually a spa or retreat of some renown, but always in a place of wealth, happiness, and life. We serve only the most exclusive clientele; those with the connections to know of us, the resources to afford our services, and the good humor to … appreciate us.”

  “Fellow immortals are, of course, always welcome, regardless of personal fortune,” Euphrosyne adds, resuming her dance.

  “We try to stay neutral,” Aglaea says, returning to her couch and beckoning for aid. A delightfully clichéd pair of gauze-clad servants approach, bearing platters of fruit, cheese, and other snacks. A man and a woman, they’re both the picture of health, unafraid of showing off their assets, and just the sort of people you’d expect to see serving gods. I arch an eyebrow at them, and Thalia laughs.

  “We adore the classic approach. Besides, our guests expect it, and we are nothing if we cannot meet those hopes. Come, join us. We ask for little but time and goodwill, and offer everything within our power.”

  I smile at that. So this is how these girls have made their way without worshippers—knowingly or not, they gain strength from the healthy spread of delight. Well, no harm in indulging that. I step forward, about to take a treat from the offered tray, when Nathan speaks up.

  “Uh, this isn’t a pomegranate-stay-forever thing, is it?” he asks, dropping a rather relevant mythological reference to Persephone’s most famous mistake. I glance at him, smiling at his dash of paranoia.

  All three sisters give him blank looks for a second before breaking out in titters of joy. If Aglaea’s laugh was melodious, this is like a symphony, their voices blending together in a wave of warmth. “No, no,” Thalia says between giggles. “Nor have we styled ourselves after the lotus-eaters. We hide no peril nor poisons, and offer no temptations beyond that which you see before you.”

  Euphrosyne waggles her eyebrows at Nathan, adding some splendidly distracting hip switches to her dance. “And aren’t those enough?”

  He coughs and manages to squeak out, “Very, uh, enough.”

  I select a fresh-baked cracker topped with fig and cheese from the tray, giving its bearer a wink as I do. The woman smiles back, clearly happy to be of service. The treat is delicious, and her manner relaxes me further. This is no empty-headed slave; she genuinely likes being here, making people happy, just like her masters.

  Sekhmet also partakes of one of the offered snacks—something meaty, I notice—and Nathan follows suit. “So, how often do other gods come through that door?” I ask, pointing at the entrance we used.

  The trio exchange looks, and a touch of unhappiness finds its way to their faces for the first time. “We can only tell you that, other than yourselves, three gods have entered the doors of Los Angeles in recent memory,” Thalia says at last.

  “And not necessarily through the CURE Salon,” Euphrosyne adds.

  “Yet you cannot tell us their identities?” Sekhmet asks, narrowing her eyes.

  They all shake their heads. It’s kind of eerie to see them do it in unison. “Privacy’s important to our clients,” Aglaea says. “That makes our policy simple: If you don’t specifically tell us it’s okay to blab about your visit, we don’t.”

  “I guess that’s fair,” I say. “Well, keep us secret, too.”

  Thalia nods. “Of course. Now, please, let us forget such troublesome things and bask in merriment and good cheer. You came for relaxation and pleasure, yes? We are only too happy to serve.”

  Sekhmet grimaces. “I do not believe we—”

  I clear my throat meaningfully. “You promised,” I whisper.

  She pauses. “Yes. Thank you for your hospitality,” she says, looking strained. “Such services would be … lovely.”

  Another cabana boy steps forward, this one holding a silver tray with several handwritten menus stacked in its center. I take one, noting it’s a full list of spa services—some of which are probably illegal back in California—as well as potential meals, drinks, and harder substances.

  I hold up the menu. “Do I just tell you three, or…?”

  Aglaea favors us with her laughter again and waves a hand. A woman wearing (slightly) more clothing approaches, projecting an air of professionalism. “This is Alexandra. She will take your orders and assign servants and suites as needed. Say hello, Alexandra.”

  “Hello, Alexandra,” the woman says, smiling. “If you’ll follow me?”

  We begin moving after her, saying our good-byes to the Graces as we pull away. “Do visit us any time,” Thalia says, waving.

  “They seem nice,” Nathan says, glancing back.

  “Welcoming, yes,” Sekhmet mutters. “Pity they cannot be more.”

  He gives her a questioning look, but she shakes her head with a pointed stare at Alexandra. The woman is a respectful distance ahead, weaving her way around the pools and privacy screens, but it’s clear Sekhmet doesn’t want to get into details now.

  As we follow the girl, a singular doorway in the nearest wall catches my attention. Unlike the dozens of others nearby, it’s covered with a dark, heavy cloth. I stop, then veer away from Alexandra’s trail, fascinated.

  “Miss?” I hear her saying as I draw closer to the cloaked portal. “Lady Freya?”

  I reach out a hand, unstoppably curious.

  “Um, that door is out of order, mistress!” Alexandra says, sounding panicked. “Please, if you could just—”

  I grab a handful of fabric and pull it aside before she can reach me. The door beyond is … ruined. Burned, splintered fragments jut out from all angles. Cracked slashes and bullet holes march across its midsection, all exit wounds and outward-facing shards, as if a SWAT team of grizzly bears tried to break through from the other side. I concentrate, and harsh wards of throbbing magic hit me like a wave of fetid trash from a long-sealed Dumpster. The familiar weaves of the Graces and their allies are warring with … something in that mess, an oddly familiar current of magic I know I’ve felt before.

  Glittering chains crisscross the door, adding their own magic to the chaos and sealing the whole affair with indisputable finality. It’s like something went wrong, they tried to fix it directly, failed, then threw up their hands and locked it away forever.

  Alexandra’s there in a flash, hurriedly drawing the curtain back into place. “I’m so sorry, Lady Freya—that portal is no longer in service.”

  “No kidding,” I say, reaching out with my will to fix those strange weaves in my mind. Where have I seen them before?

  “Now, if you would follow, I can—”

  “What happened to the door?” Sekhmet asks, glaring at the dark cloth.

  “I—I beg your forgiveness, Lady Sekhmet, but I am unable to say,” Alexandra says, looking miserable. “Our v-vow of privacy forbids me.”

  Sekhmet growls, transferring her gaze from the door to the girl. “A technicality,” she says after a moment of study. “You refer to your vow, not that of your masters. This is an internal matter, and one of some … embarrassment?” Her nostrils flare, and she narrows her eyes in concentration. “No. Fear. What do you fear, child?”

  Alexandra shuffles back, fidgeting and sweating. “N-not all our guests have been welcome, Lady Sekhmet. Certain creatures wished harm upon my masters and were rebuffed. They corrupted this portal, forcing its closure.”

  Sekhmet keeps up the stare for another heartbeat, then relents. “Forgive me, child,” she says, bowing slightly. “I seek security for myself and my allies, and would stand sentinel against all threats, including those you fear. I will not trouble you further, but if you wish our aid, you need but ask.”

  Relief blooms on Alexandra’s features as Sekhmet backs away. “Thank you, Lady Sekhmet. My masters would feel nothing but honor to count a goddess of your stature among their allies.”

  I smile at her words—this is clearly a well-trained assistant. “Lead on, then,” I say, giving the door another glance before turning back to the bathhouse.

  Alexandra brings us to a cushion
-filled waiting nook where she takes our orders, committing the various spa treatments and massages we select to memory. I “help” Sekhmet with a few add-ons, then take a moment to watch with amusement as Nathan makes his own choices, uncomfortably skirting the menu’s more explicit options. I have to hold back an immature giggle as he stumbles over the section cheerfully titled “Threesomes and More!” Like the rest of the menu, it even comes with painterly illustrations of its most popular items.

  I wish he wouldn’t worry so. I know his heart; he’s not a prude, so this restraint is probably for my benefit. The poor boy still doesn’t understand just how much I’ve seen of desire.

  As I finish that thought, a whim strikes me, and I reach out to Nathan, seeking his sense of self. I’ve always respected his privacy, but in this moment the urge to pry is suddenly beyond my meager skills at civility. I feel his nervousness and tease it apart, tracing it back to—Oh dear, I think, recognizing that telltale mix of awkwardness, hope, and confusion.

  He’s in love.

  It’s a surprisingly hesitant thing, too, like he doesn’t know if it’s wise to hold such emotions, isn’t sure if he can even bear to take a peek and examine them. I can’t help smiling; there’s nothing wrong with a high priest falling for his goddess, especially if she’s built around the concept of such affections. Why would he worry? The last time the issue was raised, we said we’d take our time and see what happens. Have I made such things seem unwelcome since?

  Maybe he thinks it might mess with our current relationship, or perhaps he still doesn’t realize precisely what “god of love” entails. I’m not some drama-ridden sitcom character, if that’s what he fears; I adore this emotion, most especially when it’s directed at me.

  Alexandra beckons to me as another servant approaches, and I realize this is an issue to pursue later. Right now, it’s time to enjoy my first massage in far too long. Oh, and let’s not forget the mani-pedi. Or the half-dozen other treatments I picked at random. I don’t even know what the hell “reflexology” is, but I’m getting that, along with all manner of aromatic, toxin-purging, relaxation-stuffed indulgences. Ooh, yes. Pampering to suit the tastes of the divine, and it’s all mine. I can’t tell you how overjoyed the thought of this is making me.

  Even gods can have religious experiences.

  6

  GLITZ IN THE SYSTEM

  FREYA

  I don’t care what Thalia says. That place is a trap.

  When Nathan and I emerge from the portal to CURE a few hours later, I feel better than I think I ever have. My hair is springy and gorgeous, my nails gleam, and my skin glows. The food was exquisite, the service was perfect, and did I mention my nails? They look glorious, expertly coated in a cool, bluish mint shade with a hint of shimmer. It goes flawlessly with my blond locks and fair skin. Everything in there was designed to appease gods, and it worked. I swear, leaving caused me physical pain.

  In fact, Sekhmet’s still inside. I think they’re doing her claws as well as her normal nails (I don’t know where they got the idea she’d like that…), so she may end up staying very late. That’s just fine, because it gives me a chance to chat with Nathan alone. I glance at him, noticing a stunned look of bliss on his face. I don’t think he’s ever been in such a place.

  “Not bad, eh?” I say, stretching as we leave the spa. The receptionist nods as we pass her desk, giving no sign we’re anything more than simple guests.

  He groans with happiness. “If that was the only nice thing that ever happened in my life, it would still be worth living.”

  “And it’s not the only thing, is it?”

  “Not by a long shot,” he says, grinning. “When do we go back?”

  “Um, whenever we want? This is LA! We’re supposed to enjoy the perks, aren’t we?”

  “If you insist.” He yawns. “That was fantastic, but I am beat. Any objections to an early night? I think that flight is finally catching up.”

  “No, but join me for a few drinks on the patio before you turn in—I have something I want to talk to you about.”

  “Oh no, drinks with a goddess. I live to serve.”

  I laugh with him as we make our way to the hotel’s poolside retreat. When we’re settled in, I decide the time is right.

  “I wanted to ask you about your feelings,” I say, figuring the direct approach is best.

  He frowns. “My … huh? About what?”

  “I can tell you’re in love, Nathan. I’m sorry to intrude, but I can’t help it—I’m wired to see that sort of thing.”

  His eyes pop. “Oh. God. Sorry. No, I should have realized—I just—Look, it’s not—I mean, I don’t want it to be a problem. It really won’t—”

  “Shh, hey—why would I mind? It’s what I was created to spread. I know the hearts of the world, and I know yours. So don’t be afraid. Tell me about it.”

  “Ugh, I’m sorry, I should have said something earlier,” he says, turning an endearing shade of red. “It’s just … stupid.”

  “Love is never stupid,” I say. “Though it can be inconvenient. But you don’t have to worry about that, because I’m here to help.”

  He nods, seeming reassured by that, though I can tell he still has doubts. He toys with his drink for a moment, then bobs his head again. “Well, okay. So … geez, where do I even begin?”

  “Maybe start by telling me what you want, and what I can do to make things easier?”

  “That’s just it—I really don’t know. It’s weird. And it’s not like there’s a future in it, right?”

  “Weird”? Gee, thanks for the compliment, mortal. “It kind of depends on you,” I say, trying hard to keep an even tone. This is like pulling teeth. Spit it out already so we can get to the fun stuff! “Gods have all the time in the world, Nathan.”

  He sighs and rubs his face. “I guess anything’s better than waiting and wondering. Okay, let’s give it a shot.”

  That is the worst proposal I’ve ever heard. “Really?” I say, failing to disguise my scorn.

  He seems taken aback by that, bewildered in a way that makes me feel like I’m missing something. “But you just said—I mean, you…” He shakes his head, and I sense this isn’t going how he expected. “You don’t think it can work at all, do you?”

  “Oh, for crying out loud! Dammit, Nathan, stop second-guessing yourself, put some steel in your spine, and say it,” I snap.

  I meet his eyes, and watch as the self-doubt fades and resolve begins taking its place. About time. “I need your help,” he says, blowing out a breath. “I have no idea how to make the first move, and I know this is a stupid thing for a high priest to ask his god, but … how do I even start with her?”

  Say what? “I’m sorry?” I blurt.

  “Sekhmet. Do you think she’ll—I mean, would she ever—?”

  Oh gods. “Y-you’re interested in Sekhmet,” I say. I think I can feel my eye twitch as the gears of my brain come undone, fly off their cogwheels, and land in a giant heap somewhere unhelpful.

  “Well, yes. Who did you think I was talking—” His eyes widen as he plays back our conversation in his head and realizes what’s happened. “Oh, fu—”

  “THERE YOU ARE!” a voice thunders, making us both jump in our chairs. We whirl to see Sekhmet storming toward us, an ancient Egyptian steamroller of perfectly toned anger.

  She reaches our table in an eyeblink and slams her hands on the surface. Vicious, hooked talons sprout from her fingertips, scoring long lines in the metal with a gut-churning screeeeech. “Am I to understand this is your doing?” she hisses, leaning in to laser me with her best glare.

  My conversation with Nathan hopelessly derailed, I look down at those claws … and giggle. I can’t help it—they’re a bright, beautiful shade of peachy gold, sparkling in the light with pinkish hues. Whoever did this was a master; the tones match her olive complexion beautifully, and it’s applied in several coats and layered just right. The fact that someone has done this to the personal weapons of one of the
world’s greatest engines of death is pretty much the most delicious contradiction I can imagine.

  My amusement is not the correct reaction, however. Impossibly, Sekhmet’s stare gets even more heated, and she growls deeply. “Explain. Yourself,” she grates.

  I pause, compose my features, then nod. “It’s part of the plan,” I say, improvising.

  She says nothing, though her eyes narrow further. I take that as leave to continue.

  “Take a moment to look at them in the light, Sekhmet. Appreciate the time, effort, and craftsmanship. I know how much you care about quality.”

  Another long stare, and then her eyes dart down to examine those talons a little more closely. The look of intense anger begins to fade.

  “This is no different than a masterwork weapon, expertly etched, tooled, and prepared for its wielder.”

  “Hnh,” she grunts, holding up her hand and watching the golden highlights sparkle.

  “You say you want to prepare yourself for this battlefield?” I say, getting into it now. “Well, here’s how. A new age means new weapons, and around here, that includes sexy, sexy nails. You know you’re beautiful—now it’s time to flaunt it.”

  The claws whip back under her skin with a soft svip!, and I notice her normal nails have the same polish. She pauses to examine them, too, then smiles. “Wisdom beyond your years,” she murmurs. “Oh, we shall rule this artificial paradise, little fighter. Yes, I can still rend our foes … I shall simply use words and will in place of muscle and claw.”

  I glance at Nathan as she says this, getting a better sense of his attraction: She’s stunning, yes, but also dangerous, supremely confident, and utterly without guile. With her, what you see is what you get, and I can hardly blame a priest of Freya for taking a liking to strong women. So why does the thought of playing matchmaker for these two feel … uncomfortable? He’s my friend, and—one brainwashed kiss aside—hasn’t tried to be anything else. Besides, I exist to spread love. Who would I be to stand in the way of such affection?

  A jealous god, perhaps?