Aphrodite's War (12 page)

He slid past Poetry, stopping to rub a finger along Amir’s silky jaw.
The lethargic cat mustered the energy to bite the tip with his pointy little
fangs. Again.

Adrian shook off the sting and retreated to the fridge. Cool air seeped
past his nose to his feet as he groped for the cold ones at the back. He
popped all three before taking a swig.

Poetry still had her hands full of black Persian so Adrian left hers on
the edge of the counter before heading back to the living room with a
brew for Jenny.

“Oh my God!” Jenny’s squeaky voice brought him back to the
situation at hand. “Would you look at this?”

She cranked the volume and Vinesh Pratap’s voice boomed through
the speakers. “We have since learned the fire was caused by two
bombs…”

“That explains the bangs I heard,” Adrian said, gulping another
mouthful as he passed her a bottle. “Thought I had new neighbors
coming in.” Stupid. How could he mistake explosions for clumsy
movers?

“…Buddy’s, a known gay club. It is believed to be the work of a
protest group in support of Frank Fleisher…”

The lager went skunky in Adrian’s mouth. This wasn’t good. He tried
to calculate the impact this information would have on his case, but
rational thought eluded him.

As if on cue, the phone rang. The news hounds had descended. Lucky
him.
CHAPTER TWENTY

“Pretty please?” For the second time in one day Aphrodite found
herself submissive in the presence of another god…in their territory. She
did not enjoy it. Especially since this particular deity was once her mate.

Hephaestus tapped out a chest plate. His measured strikes shaped
space for a man’s pectorals. The insistent clanging drummed a painful
rhythm in Aphrodite’s temples. She had loved him long ago. Until Ares
stole her away. She left Hephaestus behind in Eden to dominate this
realm.

But he pursued her, sacrificing everything he knew and loved to come
for her. His journey through a dimensional portal had ended with a long
fall from the heavens that permanently maimed him. And still Aphrodite
had shown no sympathy. She shunned him in favor of her lover.

Now, like her, he remained a prisoner of this world.

It was a mistake, breaking the ancient and sacred bond. She had
scarred him deeply, but it was too late to heal ancient wounds now.
Perhaps she could beseech him for old time’s sake.

“No. I won’t help you.”
Or perhaps not.

“In fact, I hope you lose. I relish the thought of you wallowing among
the humans without your powers or indulgences.” He returned to
hammering the metal, every beat a dagger to Aphrodite’s ears.

“Like you?” She made no effort to hide her contempt. “You are
nothing more than a Nephilim.”

“I chose this,” Hephaestus said. He spread his arms to encompass the
huge forge in which they stood. “I embraced this planet and made the
best of my situation. I certainly don’t spend my days mincing around,
playing at false godliness.”

Aphrodite swallowed angry remarks and pursed her lips. This was not
going well. Hephaestus’s resentment oozed from his pores like a
sickness. No doubt he blamed her for his physical hurts as well as his
emotional ones. She could almost sense his ill will on her skin. His love
for her was long gone, withered and decayed from neglect.

She attempted another angle. “She is one of yours.”
“Who is?”
“The girl. My champion is one of your protégés.”

Hephaestus abruptly ceased his labors. For a moment Aphrodite
wondered if she had gone deaf. Neither breathed. The stillness gave the
monstrous room an ominous bearing. She jerked when the woof of a gas
flame burst to life in an oven somewhere behind her.

“Poetry.” Hephaestus spat the name of the only female under his
tutelage. “Why would you choose my favorite smith? Was it not enough
for you to destroy our union?” His face reddened, his eyes blazed. “After
all these years you dare interfere with my humans?” Her former partner
advanced.

“I apologize. I did not know she was yours. Her parents revere me as
classical art.” She retreated, knocking a pair of pliers and a ball peen
hammer off someone’s work space as she groped her way. “She wears
my likeness on her back.”

Hephaestus stopped, putting his weight on his good foot. He dropped
his chin and rubbed a calloused hand over the bristles on his head. Quiet
returned, less profound than before.

“I hate that tattoo.”

“I had no knowledge that she toiled beside you,” Aphrodite said,
clasping her hands together in a mockery of prayer. “I swear. I only
learned of it when I followed her here.”

She experienced his exasperation, saw it in the way he tugged at his
beard.

“I am sorry.”
“I almost believe you mean that.”

“I do.” Almost. She poured softness into her voice as she approached.
“There is a human saying ‘great minds think alike’.”
He peered at her from beneath his feathery eyebrows. “I am aware of
the phrase.”
Aphrodite smiled. His roar had become a mere growl.
“It seems we have the same taste in mortals.” Aphrodite traced her
hand along his sooty chin, delighting in how it tickled her palm.

“Would you permit Ares’s victory simply to spite me?” She twisted a
subtle hip forward, unleashing her charm. Her nipples hardened; she
aroused herself with her own seduction.

She crushed them against Hephaestus’s naked chest, inhaled his
masculinity.

“Would you really let the war god hurt me?” She fluttered her lashes
in a way that manipulated males of any age or profession. “Would you let
him break Poetry’s heart? Destroy her spirit? You understand his cruelty.
Once he finishes with her, she may never create again.”

A tremor passed through Hephaestus. Aphrodite felt it rumble through
her body as though it belonged to her.
“You win,” he said, a heavy sigh slumping his massive shoulders. “I
will come to your aid if I am able.”
Aphrodite rejoiced and clutched him closer. “I knew I could count on
you.”

Hephaestus removed her arms from his torso. “I’m not doing this for
you. Poetry doesn’t need you playing games with her life, her craft is too
important.”

“Yes, of course.” Aphrodite straightened the folds of her toga, noting
with irritation how her touch created black streaks. The fact that her
femininity had little effect on him heightened her ire, but she willed
herself calm. “I understand.”

She had nothing more to say. Now that she had his assistance she
would depart. She took a last look around Vulcan’s Forge, with its
towering ceilings and boxy ovens. The sooner she made her exit from
this ugly place the better.

“I appreciate this, my husband.”
His face contorted from hate and pain. “Do not call me that.” He
resumed pounding a curve into the breastplate.

Aphrodite nodded, more to herself. They would never be together
again. She ought to remember that if she wished to avoid upsetting her
new ally.

She pivoted toward the exit, keeping eyes open for a certain spot
before she went.
She almost missed Poetry’s corner tucked out of view. Aphrodite
recognized the carved petals waiting on the table.

She approached them, noting how only some were glazed and
polished. Certainly they would become another necklace. They reminded
her of the daisies Poetry frequently wore only these appeared to be roses.
Such a dark color she chose, purplish-black. Aphrodite mused vaguely if
her son had anything to do with the strange choice. He had a love of
roses, and a way of seducing women with them.

Aphrodite fingered through tools, molds and a dusty pile of photos.
Pitch flew into the air, tickling her nose. She repressed her sneeze,
sniffling instead and in doing so noting how the residue stank of iron.

A quick flip through the pictures demonstrated a common theme with
Poetry’s work. Did this woman do anything other than flowers? How
dull. Beautiful work, yes, but time for something new.
Something a man might wear.

She caught sight of a spool of wire and a spark of an idea formed. She
did not have Apollo’s power of inspiration, but no matter. If love could
not move a woman to greater heights, it was because she did not live.

Aphrodite picked the roll from the shelf and kissed it. A whispering
mist passed from her lips to the shining silver thread.
With her work done and her plans in place, Aphrodite disappeared.
She very much enjoyed when things went her way.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

Adrian drew a deep shaking breath of metal and dust. But he wasn’t
complaining. Anything to get away from the chaos on Jasper Avenue and
his landline. He had a bad feeling this would be the nearest thing to
peace and quiet he’d get for a long time.

“Thanks for the ride,” Poetry said. “You keep doing me all these
favors…” She shook her head. “…I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”

“It’s no big deal.” He gawked at his surroundings; sky-high ceilings,
wall-to-wall kilns, ovens and fire pits. Uncomfortable warmth settled on
his skin. “Do you live or work here?”

“Yes.” Poetry shot him a smirk over her shoulder. “I moved into an
upstairs apartment after…after…you know, ‘The Kevin Incident’.”
Jenny ran her fingers over a work bench as she strolled. “Ew. This
place is gritty.”

“If it really bothers you that much you don’t have to stay here,”
Poetry said. Adrian heard the edge in her voice and saw the tension in her
shoulders as she led them to a staircase. “Besides, it was your idea.”

“Rowr.”

“See. Amir likes it already.” Adrian’s lip curled at the loud smackingkissing noises. Obviously Poetry had a closer friendship with that
fluffball than she did with her roommate.

In the hour she’d been reunited with Amir he’d shown signs of
improvement. She literally had him eating out of her hand, Seafood
Medley treats to be exact. His Bentley reeked of them. He hoped to God
the stench was temporary.

He hated to admit it, but watching them relieved a lot of tension on
the drive over. The streets were creepishly hushed in some areas and
overrun with raging motorists and crazy pedestrians in others. Broken
glass covered the roads. They’d taken a few detours. The radio blared
nothing but disturbing updates and violent arguments between DJs. Not a
pleasant trip. Even the music they played became progressively
Megadeth.

But when Adrian thought of his incessantly ringing home phone and
the multitude of messages that were building up on his cell, he’d prefer
to hang out with the girls in this sweat box.

They climbed the stairs, and Adrian peered out across the field of
equipment and metalwork. If he saw Poetry’s station would he recognize
it? He tried to picture it. Would it have a feminine touch? Would it reflect
her gothic style?

“Right through here,” Poetry said.
“Oh, thank God,” Jenny said, her shoulders dropping with relief. “I
thought this was it.”

“No, this is the common room,” Poetry said. “But the apartment isn’t
much bigger.” She approached a closet. Adrian checked again. Yes, it
was a closet door.

Poetry opened it and bent to crawl inside. Adrian glanced at Jenny,
her expression uncertain.
Poetry popped her head out. “Are you two coming?”
Adrian grinned at Jenny, gestured toward the small space. “After
you.”

Once his turn came, he saw another narrow staircase. Unlike Poetry’s
last apartment, these didn’t smell like cheap, starchy food. Instead, he
detected the mildew and mustiness common to architectural relics. It
tickled his nose and he discretely covered it.

“Oh my God, Poetry,” Jenny said. “This place stinks.”
“And here we are,” Poetry said, her voice too cheery, too loud. No
doubt trying to gloss over Jenny’s rude comments. What did Gary see in

her? Besides the tight ass… “Home sweet home.”
Poetry flicked a switch, and the true grime of the suite became
apparent.

The walls needed washing and painting. The linoleum had wrinkles
and cracks. Everything, the appliances, fixtures and cupboards, begged to
be updated.

“I love it,” Adrian said.
Both women gaped at him.
“Really?” Poetry asked.

“Really.” He envisioned stainless steel faucets and cork floor tiles.
New storm windows and weather stripping. Cut glass light fixtures. DIY
heaven. “It has character and potential.”

Poetry peered around as though seeing the suite from his perspective.
“I guess it does.”
Jenny rolled her eyes but said nothing. For once.
Poetry placed her sleeping cat on the floor next to the refrigerator
beside his food and water dish, fashioning the towel into a makeshift bed.
Jenny paced the floor, grimacing and touching various surfaces.
“Can I get you guys something?” she asked. “Perhaps some…” She
opened the door and stared inside for a long pause. “Water?”
She sighed and went to the cupboard for glasses. “I need to do some
grocery shopping.”

A shrill beeping interrupted. Jenny checked her purse and yanked out
her cell phone. A grunt of satisfaction puffed from Jenny’s lips as she
viewed the screen and accepted the call.

“Gary…” Jenny transformed from obnoxious houseguest to instant
sweetheart. “I’m so glad you called.”

Trepidation crept down Adrian’s spine. He’d talked to Gary that
morning and knew about their blowout. He’d made plans to go for beers
with him and Ranjan so they could get ‘the bitch’ out of his system. That
was before she rang his intercom. So that’s why Jenny was staying here.
Duh.

“No, I’m safe,” Jenny was saying, “thanks to Poetry and Adrian.”
Adrian heard a muffled version of his friend’s voice over the crack of an
ice cube tray. “Yeah, we were less than a block away. It was like that
thing in L.A. with the black guy. It was so frightening.”

Adrian detected a hint of artificial tears in the end of her sentence and
bit his lip to hide his exasperation.
Poetry didn’t bother. She glared at the ceiling and blew her bangs into
the air. She handed both of them a glass of water.

“Aw, you’re so sweet,” Jenny said. “I’m just fine.” Another long
moment passed between Adrian and Poetry while Jenny continued her
conversation without them.