Marked by the Demigod

by Alessa Winters

  "Exactly. For...for a while they thought they needed me." It feels that the amount he's not saying is large, a gaping distance between their knowledge. "Now they think they don't."

  The implications lay heavy between them, and Aimes finally takes a bite of the pierogie. It's warm, with something resembling potato and cheese inside, and is pretty much the best thing at the moment. "Wow," she says, gesturing with the pierogie.

  He cracks a smile again. "Told you it was comfort food." And his voice slips deeper into the accent, the vowels clipping out.

  "So you're really Russian?" She blurts out. At his surprised look, she amends it with "It's hard to tell. With the accent."

  He mulls that over for a few seconds. "I just told you my brothers want me dead, and you ask about Russia?"

  "I'm tired?" She suggests, and now that she's eating she feels like she's going to keel over and fall asleep any moment. "I'm tired, there's a lot here I don't get, I'm apparently in Poland, with a guy I’ve somehow married, and I've had a beer?"

  He's perfectly still for a few seconds, unreadable. As if instead of showing confusion he just freezes all expression. "I was born in Russia, yes. Haven't been there much lately."

  It's like she’s stepped on a land mine again. "I don't get a lot about you," she says, out of a lack of anything else to say. "Doesn't mean anything bad, just that there's like...always questions circling around." She wants to touch him, suddenly, to press herself against his side and lean into him, feel how warm he is and fall asleep. "From my perspective, this whole thing is weird."

  He sits back, sudden, as if relieved. "From mine too." He blurts out, and it reminds her of how scared shitless he looked when they first fucked, with his face slack and his mouth open.

  He must've been terrified, if he picked up the first girl that showed interest.

  He runs his hand through his hair. "I haven't had a human I talked to this much outside of making money or the waiter in decades." He sighs, as if her humanness is the odd part out. "There's just everything that you don't seem to know and it doesn't even occur to me to talk about what it is or anything, or what you do know, and..." He trails off, eyes wide for a second, before slumping.

  She gets the feeling that this is the first time he's being completely honest with her, and it's not flattering. "I'm also jet lagged."

  "I don't even know what time zone my body thinks I am in," he says, quirking a sideways smile, and it's heartbreakingly real. "Sometimes I go between four different zones a day, before finding a place safe to sleep."

  They sit there for a few seconds. "You can sleep at my place tonight?" She offers, as if a rejection will be too rough.

  He raises an eyebrow, slow, as if considering. "I would like to," he says, slow, as if speaking too fast will break the moment. "But I don't want to spend too many nights there, in case people are tracking me. If they found out where you were..." He shrugs, not meeting her eyes, instead staring at their decreasing pile of pierogi. His face twists, sudden, before he holds out his hand to her.

  Tentative, she lays her hand on his. His lips quirk up into a smile, and --

  And they're suddenly back in her apartment, on the couch and she's pressing up against his side. She jerks back, startled, and he grins wider. "You always look so surprised by that."

  She blinks, her eyes adjusting to the darkness of her apartment. Both of her cats sit in the hall, staring at them with wide unblinking eyes, their fur on end.

  The easy smile is back, as if their somewhat serious conversation hadn't happened seconds before, and his mood is whiplash all over again, whiplash she's too tired for.

  But he's here, and she doesn't feel as hollow as she usually does.

  So she pulls him up, takes him to the bedroom, the cats twining between their legs, and ignores the feeling that this is a very bad idea.

  The bed is long cold the next morning when she finally wakes.

  It's past 11 AM, but Russ doesn't expect her to do any serious work after a late night flight. So she flops over on her bed, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes.

  Both her cats stare at her at the movement from the bottom of the bed.

  She lets herself lay there for a while, wallowing in the bottomless pit of feeling really fucking alone, until her phone buzzes.

  TRIXIE (11:23 AM): I think our find my friend app is broken. It says you were in Europe yesterday.

  Aimes groans.

  AIMES (11:23 AM): My phone spazzed last night, sorry.

  TRIXIE (11:24 AM) Lol.

  TRIXIE (11:24 AM) Need Jetlag brunch?

  And she's still full from the perogies the night before, but coffee sounds divine, and she chuckles at herself. Divine. In a world of gods and demigods and magical creatures, she's still calling coffee divine.

  It sure is more reliable than the demigods.

  AIMES (11:27 AM): Meet you at Nat’s.

  She gets there before Trixie, and curls up in one of the plastic booths in the back with a full pot of their black coffee, feeling way more hungover than one beer. Nat’s is the antithesis of the fancy LA restaurant, with stained tile, cheap menus, and the most unhealthy food imaginable. And it’s glorious.

  Pulling out her phone, she thumbs her way over to the one picture she has of him, fast asleep in that hotel bed with the quilt pushed down around his feet.

  It might be a good idea to let Katya know that she popped out of the country. You know, with this big government organization that tracks things and such.

  AIMES (11:49 AM): So he took me to Poland last night.

  The three dots appear and disappear four times, as Aimes drinks as much coffee as she can.

  KATYA (11:55 AM): Shit.

  That pretty much sums it up.

  KATYA (11:56 AM): You're back though?

  AIMES (11:56 AM): yeah. He was gone before I woke up tho.

  Trixie slides into the booth next to her, pours herself a mug of coffee, and sighs. "How long till you travel again?" She asks, plaintive.

  It takes her a few seconds to think. "I'm in North Carolina next Thursday, but I'll be back same day."

  Her phone buzzes.

  KATYA (12:01 PM): Can you stop by Flasks this evening?

  AIMES (12:01 PM): Sure.

  "Well, if you're back same day, I'm going to Vegas this weekend, wanna come?" She's overly casual, which sets off all the alarm bells in Aimes's head that this is way more important.

  The waiter takes their orders, before Aimes turns back. "What's in Vegas?"

  "Male strippers." Trixie says, immediate. "And an interior design convention. And Kristopher has this big lawyer thing and he can't come along anymore, and I bought two tickets for pretty much everything."

  "Was he going to go to the male strippers with you?" Aimes elbows her, and gets rewarded with a smile.

  "Actually, they were his idea. Said he wanted to learn some tricks." Trixie raises the eyebrow again, as if daring her to call her out. "But his case...thingie...went south."

  "I'll see if I can get my return flight changed to Vegas instead of Burbank, so I don't have to bounce as much."

  The idea of travelling again sounds soul sucking.

  It has been years since they last had a girl weekend in Vegas, years. Rocky disapproved of it on concept, and Trixie hates going alone, so they just...hadn't.

  Trixie watches her a bit too intensely, but nods, and she has the sudden feeling that she agreed to something too quickly.

  13

  That evening, the blurry bartender is back behind the wine bar, and Katya already has a glass poured for her, waiting.

  Great. Means she thinks that she needs Aimes to be drunk for the conversation.

  "Without naming names," Katya starts, in lieu of a greeting, "I must say your guy is trouble.

  Aimes sits next to her, picking up her glass and clicking it with Katya's. "Cheers."

  The blurry bartender makes a show of turning away and not watching them.

  Katya clinks her glass back. "P
oland, eh?"

  "I have a passport." Aimes says, as if it matters. "He said he was taking me out for food. Turns out his idea of food was pierogies."

  "So he's just showing up?" Katya isn't looking at her.

  The back of her neck prickles. "Rarely, but yes."

  "You shouldn't go with him." Katya all but blurts. "There's buzz...a lot of buzz...that he's planning something dangerous. Something big."

  It rankles her, although she knows it shouldn't. He’s dangerous, the packet and the random cross-world trips only reinforce that. "He said he was constantly on the run right now," she says, staring at the empty rows of wine glasses behind the bar. "Says that he doesn't know what time zone he's in or when he should be sleeping."

  Katya's brow furrows just enough to show the words making a small impact on her. "I mean, he's always done that, but..." she sighs, reaching behind the bar and pouring herself another glass of wine, before gesturing with it to see if Aimes wants more.

  Aimes scoots her glass over to her, and Katya finishes the bottle into her glass. The bartender wipes his hands and leaves through the backdoor, and Katya’s eyes follow them as he does.

  "But people are dying, somehow. I mean, not human people. At a more than...regular rate."

  Aimes gets the sudden feeling that Katya is keeping something from her, something big.

  "And there's talk, there's rumors, that he's somehow involved. Names dropped, languages spoken, signs that it's someone with more power than normal and..." She takes a gulp of her wine. "People are talking of taking him down. They just don't know that they...can't. Yet."

  Her stomach settles, cold, and wine seems like an excellent idea for the moment. "So that's why I need to keep things secret?"

  "I don't trust him to not do something too impulsive. I don't know why he's running, but there's a Demigod who's pissed off and killing people and there's not really anyone with the motivation or reputation."

  The wine tastes like ass, but she drinks it anyways. "What about his brothers? Why aren’t they under suspicion? He said they were...after him?"

  She wrinkles her nose at that. "They need him alive, they wouldn't jeopardize their grand plans of apocalypse or world domination." She rolls her yes, sudden and irreverent to their conversation. "Iakov wouldn't be scared of them."

  But Aimes remembers his face, his desperation, his exhaustion, and privately doubts anything Katya says.

  A few afternoons later when she has no more libraries to visit and nothing interesting to code, she decides to walk to the Cahuenga General Store to get a fancy salad instead of cobbling together a depressing one at home.

  It's a nice walk, with a shaded walkway and houses that are just on the rich side enough to be nice but not so rich she feels like she doesn't belong on the street. Burbank in the afternoon is beautiful and breezy, with kids skateboarding and just enough sound of humanity to soothe.

  It's lovely, and it's one she did all the time with Rocky, so she hasn't done it in a while, halfway out of fear that it would be too painful and then halfway out of the shame for avoiding it for so long.

  And now, as she strolls down the sidewalk, a small part of her muses that, if nothing else, at least this Iakov thing kicked her ass enough that she's no longer hung up on how shitty of an asshole Rocky was. Silver linings and all.

  She kicks a small pebble, and as if summoned by her thoughts, Iakov appears mid-step. It doesn't even startle her this time.

  "Does anyone ever see you appear midair and ask you about it?" Instead of the usual jump of emotion and adrenaline, she just feels a peaceful calm steal over her.

  "Only if I want them to." Iakov mutters, sticking his hands in his pockets.

  The stroll in silence for a few moments, and she steals another glance at him. "It's been a bit," she says, slow.

  He nods, curt and almost distracted. "Been running around everywhere." He eyes a couple as they walk by, but they pay no attention to him.

  She watches him, the strange feeling of calm over her. "Well, I'm walking for an early dinner, you want to come along?"

  He jerks, giving her a startled look. "Yes? I...yes." And so many expressions cross his face in such a quick amount of time that she almost gets whiplash.

  She knocks shoulders with him, and he leans against her, his jaw working. "So..." she trails off. "What'cha here for?"

  "Hmmm?" he says, watching a group of teenagers sharply as they walk past them. He leans in closer, away from the group.

  And she's not naive enough to think that he'd stop by without a reason. "Everything going okay? You safe?"

  It draws his attention enough that he looks at her, and the familiar feeling of comfort and home snaps within her. "Just thought I'd stop and say hello," he mutters. There are bags under his eyes and his skin looks ragged enough that, when they reach the next cross street, instead of following the bike trail, she pulls him down a quiet suburban street.

  The moment they get outside of view of the crowds of the trail, the muscle in the middle of his shoulder unwinds. It's heartbreaking enough that she leans against him, winding her arm around his waist.

  He hmmms and drapes an arm over her shoulder, and they walk in silence for a few seconds. "It's...been a bit. Since I slept," he says, his voice rough. "I didn't think too clearly, and came here instead of one of my safe houses." The arm around her tightens.

  The breeze on the side streets is just as nice, and the noise is a bit further away, and every step they take he relaxes. "What makes something a safe house?" She asks, more out of a need to fill the air than anything else. Touching him feels nice. Real.

  Even with all the knowledge of all the things he did.

  "Inability to be tracked." A car drives by, and he watches, before continuing. "In the 1980s I got into the whole underground bunker trend, but those are...difficult to maintain."

  She raises an eyebrow at him. "Underground bunker?"

  He shoots her a brief, tired smile. "You know, room with no entrance? Can only get there by teleporting, they're nifty, but so tiring." The concept is so foreign to her that she can't help but crack a smile, which he matches, crooked. "Mostly now warded hotel rooms and the occasional houses in out of the way areas."

  They draw close to the restaurant, and she pulls him aside on the sidewalk, looking up at him, and the attention makes him shift. "Do you want me to order something for you here?"

  He raises his eyebrows at her.

  "It's a small place, but it can be crowded."

  "I'm okay with crowds," he says, disgruntled.

  And okay she's seen him in much more crowded areas, but he still looks like he's going to jump out of his skin. "Yes, but you're tired now, and've stared at everyone who's walked by."

  She doesn't know what he's searching for in her eyes, but whatever it is he finds it. "I'll be okay," he says, soft. "Didn't think I was that obvious."

  She smiles at him, and he briefly looks so affected that it's hard to look at, then pulls him onto the Main Street and into the little store.

  It's adorable, with a faux Western what-not store feel to it, but not crowded. They order their food to go and sit at a tiny booth to wait, pressing up against each other. Iakov keeps a clear eye on the door, when his face abruptly changes into something a little bit funny, a little bit alert, and a little bit scowling.

  She pokes his side. "What?" she asks.

  He drapes his arm back over her shoulder in such a clearly possessive move that she only has a brief second to wonder, before Rocky strides into view.

  She tenses, feeling the familiar want to fold in on herself and doing everything she can to not do so. "Oh god." She mutters, staring hard at the little linoleum table in front of them.

  He walks right by, not even giving them a glance, and Iakov presses a kiss into the crown of her head. "That's the shitty ex, right?" he whispers.

  She nods, scowling at the table. Of course he'd still be going here.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him waiting a
t a nearby table, just like they are, and she hates this. Hates how she wants to hide and not look at him directly and not do anything to draw attention to her at all.

  Iakov shifts, blocking him from view, and she relaxes a bit. Or attempts to, anyways. "Thanks," she says, and she can hear how muted her voice is.

  Gone is the exhaustion from Iakov's face, as if it was never there. "Did you date him long?"

  "Yeah," she says, and Iakov's arm over her shoulder squeezes into a bit of a hug. "It wasn't exactly the nicest of breakups."

  She can feel his sigh more than hear it. "Near as I could tell, none are in America."

  "America has nothing to do with it," she snaps back, and he's smiling, a crook of his lips, as if that was the reaction he wanted. "Mostly it just..."

  "Two salads to go for Aimes?" The waitress calls out, and Rocky's head snaps up and over to them.

  Aimes shuts her eyes for a brief second, before standing and plastering a fake smile on her face, and doing nothing but watch as Iakov takes the salads from the waitress.

  Without even looking at him, she can sense the furrowed brow across Rocky's broad face. "Aimes?" he blurts out, and even that's a bit accusatory.

  It does no good to not look, so she gives him the fakest smile she can muster. "Hi," she says, only barely not jumping as Iakov once more drapes his arm around her shoulder. Even his arm feels smug.

  Rocky glances between the two of them, his eyebrows rising. "Trixie didn't say you were dating anyone." As if this is some sort of infidelity, and as if the last time he chatted with her wasn't four months ago.

  Iakov's arm tightens. "It's relatively new," he says, his American accent slipping for his much much more obvious Russian. "Jake." He doesn't extend a hand.

  Rocky looks so confused she almost feels bad for him. "Rocky, but Aimes," he starts, but Aimes moves on her gut instinct and towards the door, leaving him behind as quickly as possible.

  Amusement practically radiates off of Iakov as he catches up to her. "I have to say, you don't go for one type, do you?" They duck back down into the side streets, and his shoulders relax. "He seemed far more...brutish than I."