Aphrodite's War (3 page)

“Rule number three,” Ares said, glaring at Aphrodite. “No cupid
arrows.”
“No charmed weapons of any kind, Ares,” Zeus said, furrowing his
brows at both of them in turn.

Aphrodite smiled her approval as she stood. She did not need her little
cherub to do her dirty work. “I do not have issue with your decree,
mighty Zeus.”

Ares clenched his fists and tightened his jaw. “Nor do I.”
“Then it is settled,” Zeus said. “You have two mortal weeks to make
them fall in love, Aphrodite. Ares, you must stop her.”

“Let it be known,” Zeus addressed the excited crowd. “The challenge
is concluded at the end of July, by the Christian calendar.” A breeze
whistled through the hyacinth, saturating the courtyard with its luscious
floral scent. “The defeated will be banished from Olympus and must
roam the earth as a human for one hundred years.”

Zeus spread both his hands wide creating dancing shadows to dim the
golden filigree that accented the furniture and urns. Ares repeated the
gesture, pressing one hand against that of Zeus and waited for Aphrodite
to comply. She stood, raising her palms and completing the circle.

“We are agreed,” Zeus said, and jagged ribbons of electricity
connected them. Aphrodite’s muscles seized as the aching hum coursed
through her body. The ritual demonstrated a show of trust and power, like
a human handshake. But enduring the physical manifestations of Zeus’
authority left crisp agony in its wake.

She gritted her teeth against the taste of blood, watching Ares grimace
as they were honor-bound.
When the lightning faded Aphrodite released the bond. The smell of
ozone and charred flesh stung her nose and seared the back of her throat.

“You may begin at your leisure,” Zeus said. “I care not what else you
do.” He dissipated without further comment. The hall returned to a loud
bustle, ripe with wagers and gossip. Aphrodite leveled her sights at Ares.

“I look forward to your downfall,” she said. Her triumph would be
absolute.
His lips crooked upward. “As I do yours.” He spun with a flourish,
creating a musky gust with his exit.
The tension left Aphrodite’s shoulders and neck as it always did when
Ares vacated Olympus. She breathed easier, in fresher air.

In his stead, a long absent but welcome presence made himself known
to her. His arrival could not be more fortunate. Her heart lifted as she
faced the newcomer.

Her reason for coming to Earth appeared before her, luminous as
sunshine on falling rain. She would never have had Hermes in Eden. Her
kind could not procreate there; only in a mortal realm could she give
birth.

She smiled her adoration on his perfect tan skin, his flaxen curls. His
sea-foam eyes met hers and she saw love reflected there. Whenever
Aphrodite worshipped the beauty of him, she forgot the pain of her exile.

“My son,” she said, placing a gentle hand on his jaw. “Where have
you been?”

“Mother…” He said the word with reverence and deep affection. “…
You remember I’ve been to the southern hemisphere, yeah?” He planted
a warm kiss on her cheek. It felt like butter and fireworks to her heart.

“Oh yes, that is correct.” She tsked him with sweetness. “You speak in
the vulgar dialect of the mortals with their clumsy English.” Her child
had been chasing waves in Australia, no doubt. “What brings you here,
my sweet?”

Hermes held her at arms length and teased her with a grin. Sunlight
danced from trellises and twinkled in his eyes. “Can’t a man visit his
mother on a whim?”

“Surfing season is over?”

Hermes gasped, clutching at his chest in a mockingly disgruntled
fashion. “What? You’re implying I only came to see you because I’m
bored?”

Aphrodite arched her brows and placed her hands on her hips in
response, causing Hermes’ boisterous laugher to ring off the pillars and
shake grapes from the vines. He folded her into his arms and squeezed.
She reciprocated, and experienced a comfort she never knew anywhere
else.
“You are well timed,” she said. “He just left.”

“I know.” Her son’s visage shadowed at the mention of his father as
he dropped his arms. “I sensed his anger.” He peered into her eyes,
concern clashing with his handsome good looks. “He’s up to something.”

“Absolutely,” Aphrodite said. “Did you hear of the competition?”

“Yeah, I was wondering about that. Everyone around here is buzzing
like flies on a dead dingo, but I couldn’t quite pick up on it. What’s going
on?”

Aphrodite tried to be brief. “Ares and I are embattled. Losing means
departing Olympus.”

“Really?” Hermes stroked his smooth chin. Aphrodite could almost
see the rivers of thought rambling through his head. She understood how
Hermes felt about his father. Their loathing for him was mutual. “So if he
fails…”

“He cannot set foot in Olympus for one hundred years. He shall
become not unlike a mortal man.”

“Sweet,” Hermes said. Aphrodite shared the idea of an Ares-free
home sifting through his thoughts. But his features crumbled. “Mom,
he’ll cheat.”

“More than likely.” She shrugged. “I might need a little assistance,
and since you have nothing better to do now that summer is over in
Australia…”

He grinned at her, pearly teeth gleaming. “Anything for you, Mom.”
# # #

Strife relished the bite of a stiff martini as the warble of Circuit Freq
thumped through her body and assaulted her ears. She hovered in a dark
corner, absorbing the vibe in the air and breathing the dusty odor of dry
ice.

The crowd jumped to the beat, their mood giving Strife an extra high
that had nothing to do with alcohol.
She delighted in Germany’s club scene. The black clothes, the
piercings, and dismal dance bars amused her.

She’d called Europe home since the sixteen-hundreds, and Strife
enjoyed watching fashion and culture evolve. Just in the last forty years
music had gone from Disco, to New Wave, to Electronica. The constant
changes thrilled her. Not to mention she’d take Latex and leggings over a
toga in any era. And certainly the men were easier to manipulate under
the influence of increasingly potent drugs.

Even now, hot sweating bodies writhed together. Lust and artificial
pleasure oozed through her veins as though it belonged to her. She
leeched it from the crowd like a greedy lover, giving nothing in return.

She became dimly aware of a shift in mood. Strife experienced it first
as irritation, an unexpected ache deep within that she tried to brush away.
It disturbed her euphoria.

A glance at the thick fog on the dance floor revealed an abrupt
scattering of limbs and fists. A brawl broke out.

Strife inched to the edge of it to observe. Dancers fled or became
trampled in the melee. Screams overpowered the clash of drum machines
and keyboards.

What had set them off? She’d sensed no ill will or anger in this
ecstasy-laced bunch before. What happened to the happy haze?
A familiar ghost seeped into her consciousness like poison gas.

By all the realms of life, not him. Not here. Strife recalled the
drowning sensation she felt whenever that aura invaded her space. She’d
hoped to never experience it again.

Horror twisted her intestines as fighters, victims, and bouncers were
tossed like bowling pins from the man marching toward her. A shiver
stroked her spine. Strife tried to blink the vision away with no success.

Ares.

“Did you miss me, my pet?” he asked. He looked out of place in
formal wear with his wavy black hair slicked back. He’d trimmed his
beard to a goatee. Knowing Ares he’d done it purposely, to tempt
aggression from those who abhorred the upper class.

She’d run from him more than three hundred years ago and now he
stood before her as though time and distance were of no importance. She
stood astonished and belittled.

“How did you find me?”

“Dear Strife…” he said, winding her hair between his fingers, and
causing her to flinch. His pungent cologne couldn’t mask the smell of
blood. Strife suspected his sleeves would be warm and sticky to the
touch.

I always knew where you were.

The words were unspoken, yet they carved an angry welt in her
psyche. Her whereabouts were never a secret; he just hadn’t bothered to
search for her. Until now.

“You must want something.” No need to hide her repugnance, he
deserved it. “What makes you think I’ll give it to you?”

“Ah, Strife… May I call you Strife? I understand you use your true
name these days.” He halted a steampunk with a top hat and a soul patch,
took the drink from his hand, and claimed it in a swallow. “I imagine it
works well with this riff-raff. Makes you sound so interesting.”

“What’s your fucking problem, man?” the kid said, but Ares tamed
him with a narrowed glare. Whatever the young man saw, or whatever
Ares sent to the boy’s thoughts she missed, but the human went white.
He shuffled away, peeking back as he distanced himself.

“I have a task for you,” Ares said.

Strife stood her ground. “No. I like my life here. I have a man that
takes care of my needs and gives me anything and everything. Not to
mention a lucrative trade.”

“Manufacturing and dealing drugs with your sugar daddy?” Strife
wanted to slap that smug expression from his face. “It is beneath you,
Strife.”

“You have nothing I want,” she said, crossing her arms in defiance.

“I would not waste your time with petty offers.” A smirk tilted his
lips. Strife couldn’t help feeling a twinge of anticipation. Chaos comes
when Ares smiles. “How would you like to help me ruin Aphrodite once
and for all?”

At the sound of that name Strife’s heart skipped a beat. “I’m
listening.”
CHAPTER FIVE

Poetry checked her watch. Jenny was early. And she looked gorgeous
as always. Even her spearmint-green pin-striped uniform couldn’t spoil
her beauty. Poetry smiled anyway. She hadn’t seen much of her
roommate this weekend and the apartment was quiet without her.

As expected, Gary trailed behind her, followed by Ranjan and Adrian.
“Hey, Poe. I like the matching color,” Jenny said, indicating Poetry’s
emerald bangs. “What section you working?”
Poetry pointed her chin to a row of booths, counted out four menus
and grabbed a coffee pot. “I got the wall today. When do you start?”

“Six,” she said. “We’re not eating, just a quick coffee before my
shift.” She wrapped her arm around Gary’s waist and squeezed. “So we
can hang out before I say goodbye to my sweetie.”

Poetry made no effort to muffle her gagging while she put the menus
away. “Yuck. You two need a room.”

“No kidding, eh?” Ranjan said. Poetry grinned in agreement and sat
them in the corner. In the light of day she couldn’t help but notice
Ranjan’s distinctive features; prominent nose, dusky eyes, and sienna
skin. Pretty exotic. She wondered what part of India he came from.

His eyebrows arched at her scrutiny. She stopped staring and shifted
her gaze to the table before making eye contact again.
“Make sure they don’t do any funny stuff,” she said with a wink. “We
just had the seats redone.”
She poured coffee for all, acknowledging grunted thanks, including
the one Adrian grumbled over his shoulder.
He busied himself inspecting the seams in the fabric, running fingers
over the stitching like he expected it to tell him a story. Weird.
Whatever. She made a loop with the coffee pot to other customers.

She let Jenny’s entourage hang out undisturbed while she sipped
roasted Columbian behind the waitress station. The scent soothed her
while Jenny and her new jock canoodled across the room.

Poetry ignored the twang of bitterness in her heart, not her coffee.
They were a cute couple. And it wasn’t as if Jenny deliberately rubbed
Poetry’s nose in her new relationship. Just because she’d suffered a nasty
break up didn’t mean Poetry couldn’t be happy for them. Right?

Whatever.
She made another round with her carafe and poured refills for Gary,
Ranjan, and Adrian but Jenny put her hand over her mug.
On her return to the dish pit, Poetry heard slurpy smacking behind
her. Jenny and Gary were kissing again.

“Gotta go sweetheart,” Jenny said. “See you tomorrow?”
“Looking forward to it,” Gary replied.

Hidden by the partition, Poetry grinned at Jenny when she emerged to
tie her apron.
“Aren’t you two cozy,” she said.

“Oh God, Poetry,” Jenny said. “He is such an awesome guy.” Her
eyes were bright like Christmas tree lights and she squeezed Poetry’s arm
with enthusiasm. “He has a condo on Jasper Avenue and he drives a
BMW, and you know what? We were talking and he thinks I’d make a
great legal secretary. They make decent money, you know?”

Poetry nodded, almost listening. She had a few minutes left to her
shift and most of her attention belonged to a table making ready to leave.
“Not a bad idea,” she said, and strolled toward the till.

She greeted the regulars with her usual friendly banter, accepting their
money and pocketing the tip. She tried to be discreet, but considering
they’d only ordered burgers and Cokes, five bucks made her grin.

“Have a great day,” the gentleman said.
If everyone else tips like you today, I will.

From her periphery she noted Adrian going for the wallet in his back
pocket but waved goodbye to the couple as they opened the glass
doors…

...And let her nightmare inside.

Kevin slithered forward, all piercings and attitude. Last night’s
stubble peppered his face. Poetry could smell the booze, day old and
recent, blending with the reek of leather and sweat. She supposed his
smile was meant to be charming but it had the opposite effect. Her
stomach shrank like crumpled paper.

“Hey, baby,” Kevin sauntered to the till as if he belonged there.
Arrogant prick. But she was too scared to say the words out loud. “Miss
me?”

“What are you doing here?” A tremor betrayed her fear. Poetry
straightened her spine in defiance, edging away from the cash register.
“You need to leave.”

“Aw baby, don’t be like that.” His sweet tone didn’t match the fury in
his sun-stung eyes. “I just want to talk.”