Sirenz Back in Fashion (14 page)

I headed uptown, then veered off to the subway. It was only ten blocks, a fifteen-minute walk and I'd still be early, but I was taking no chances. A train came quickly, and it looked, happily for me, empty. I stepped onto the car, and it was only when the doors whooshed closed and the train started moving that I discovered I wasn't alone. At one end of the car a couple sat, huddled over in conversation so that I couldn't see their faces. I only had one stop until I got off, so I settled down in a seat in the center and watched the blackness zip by.

“I told you we'd find her here,” said a snide female voice.

I looked up. The pair in the corner had moved, by stealth it seemed, to the seats directly across from me. The woman was a statuesque blonde with stick-straight hair, clad head-to-toe in black leather and matte-black Wayfarers. She made an odd companion to the guy next to her, who was muscular but way shorter, and dressed like he was ready to run a marathon—except for the strange-looking gold winged hat, or helmet, or whatever it was he had on his head.

“Hello, Margaret,” the woman said.

“Do I know yo—” I started to say, then stopped. I didn't have to ask; I did know her. “Persephone?” The air left my lungs.

She smiled, but it was shallow. “All alone?”

I looked around, as if doing that would ensure that I wasn't being eavesdropped upon, but then I remembered, her assigned jaunt at that rodeo camp in Texas, where Hera sent her for some R&R. She probably had a couple more days on the dude ranch, and then it would officially be time to go to momma's place. Till then, I knew, she couldn't see either Demeter or Hades. I was safe-ish.

“Yes, unfortunately,” I replied, still keeping my voice low; one could never take too many precautions when it came to members of the pantheon appearing when you least expected it.

“So she
is
in Tartarus!” Persephone hissed, stomping a stiletto boot. Running Man tried to move over a seat but, without looking, she clamped a hand on his arm and he stayed put. She leaned toward me. “How long has she been down there?”

Avoiding her piercing stare, I bowed my head and counted the days … had it been over a month already? I swallowed painfully. A hard lump formed in my throat: a paralyzing biscuit of fear, the realization that I'd wasted a lot of time, and a heavy dose of guilt.

“I'm getting her out,” I blurted.

The train jerked to a stop. Three or four people got on, and I had to get off—this was my stop. I got up to leave, but so did Persephone. She reached over with a long arm and pushed me back into my seat. No one took any notice, and I didn't dare argue.
I have plenty of time; I'll still be able to talk to Shar,
I reasoned.
And now I can tell her that I ran into Persephone. That should make her understand how difficult my part of this whole thing has become.

A warning bell rang. The doors smashed shut and the train lurched forward.

I couldn't tell, because of her dark glasses, but I had the uncomfortable impression Persephone was glaring at me. She got right in my face so that we were almost nose to nose.

“How did this happen? Tell me.”

I laced my fingers nervously then looked pleadingly at her. “I can't.”

She jammed her fists on her hips. “You
will
.”

“If I tell you,” I said, desperately, “then I'm taking the risk of violating my contract, which means Shar and I could be down there permanently. You wouldn't want
that
.”

Running man giggled, but then grunted as she elbowed him in the ribs.

“Shut up, Hermes!”

Hermes?!

She slashed a hand through the air. “You know that's
not
what I want. But this situation is unacceptable.”

“It's not doing much for me, either.”

“Save the glib tongue, Margaret. Do you have any contact with her?”

“Yes,” I began, seeing a means of escape. “As a matter of fact, I was just on my way—”

“Good. Then the next time you talk to her”—she pulled her glasses down her nose to pin me with an icy gray stare—“you tell her to be extremely careful. Winter always comes. She and I will meet again.”

“Really, I don't think you have anything to worry about. Shar's not interested in anything Hades has to offer. As wonderful as he may be,” I added hastily, not wanting to insult her and thereby cause more problems for myself.

“That's not what I heard,” she said, glancing at Hermes, who stared at the ceiling. “From what I've been told, she spends an awful lot of time wearing skimpy clothes and strolling the beach. Hades is forced to bear her company because of the contract. When he's not there, it wouldn't surprise me if she has a number of gullible men from the Elysian Fields dancing to her whims. That farm-fresh-virgin act is so predictably human. Isn't that right, Hermes?”

Hermes snuck a glance at me but said nothing. Beaches? In Tartarus? Yet I was sure I'd seen Hades walking around in a towel behind her. That explained a few things, like why my beach-loving roomie hadn't found an escape route and was always harping on me to get the job done. Persephone must have seen the doubt in my eyes.

“Not so confident about Sharisse's priorities, hmmm?” she mused.

The train pulled into the station at 115th Street, over sixty blocks away from Pandora's. Panicking, I pulled out my pocket watch; it was 7:03—I'd missed Shar completely. Couldn't anything go right?

“Please!” I said. Hermes looked at me like I was infected with something. I choked back tears. “I was supposed to talk to Shar, but—”

“Where do you need to go?” Persephone sighed, about to snap her fingers.

I shook my head. “I missed her because we were talking. We only have five minutes a week together and the time has past.” I tried not to look accusatory, but it
was
her fault. I only hoped that I could guilt her into helping me let Shar know I was at least trying.

“If I fail, we'll both be down there for eternity,” I said. “We're trying to work out the details of what has to be done. I
need
to talk to her. If she thinks that I've given up, or betrayed her”—I lowered my voice to a suggestive tone—“she might turn to Hades for a shoulder to cry on. We know what
that
can lead to.” I waggled my eyebrows.

The implication wasn't lost on Persephone. She pursed her lips. “Hermes is going back down with a message for my Hades.” She licked her lips and Hermes rolled his eyes. “I suppose he can relay a few words for you, too.”

Hermes nodded reluctantly; clearly that was an order, not a request.

“Thanks,” I sniffed. “Things really haven't been going so well.”

Persephone whipped out a diamond-studded compact and lipstick case, not looking at all interested in my problems, and Hermes seemed just as bored.

“Okay, tell her that … I'm so sorry I missed her. I was going to meet Jeremy for this concert but I knew we had to talk so I rearranged things to make sure that we did, but then I ran into you.” I took a deep breath, trying to think of what else to say. “Just make her understand that I'm really trying to get this done and that I'll talk to her next week if it's not done. But it will be. I promise!”

“Work harder, Margaret,” Persephone said, snapping the compact shut.

We all stepped off the train. I blinked, and they were gone.

At least Shar will know what happened
, I thought,
and I won't have to deal with the Window Girl fan club. Maybe they'll be discouraged and won't show up next time—if I still have to talk to her there.

I caught an express train that would land me close to the restaurant where Jeremy and I were grabbing a quick bite. Not bothering to check the time, I bounded up the station steps and quickly crossed the street, but I couldn't see him through the crush of people in front of the Sweet Pea Vegetarian Grille. So I texted him:

Where r u?

“Right behind you.”

I jumped. I gave him a smile, but he said brusquely, without looking at me, “We lost our table. Let's get over to the Beacon. We might still be able to catch a bit of the opening.”

“Jeremy—”

He walked, staring straight ahead, apparently ignoring me.

I tried not to whine. “I know it's been weird lately, but this is not how it's always going to be. Jeremy,” I pleaded, not liking the way I sounded. He kept walking, but I grabbed his arm and pulled him to the side, making him stop. “Please, look at me. Don't be mad.”

He glared down into my eyes.

“Please,” I whispered.

His face softened and he cracked a wry smile.

“That's the problem. I can't stay mad at you.” He unhooked himself from my grasp, put both arms around me, and hugged me tightly. “But it's because I want to see you.” I could hear the frustration in his voice. He kissed the top of my head. “I miss you.”

I wished we were alone and not on a crowded street. I pulled away slightly and gazed up at him. “And I've missed you.”

He bent his face toward mine. Not caring who was looking, I returned the kiss, putting my hands on his face and drawing him closer to me, but at the same time feeling strangely forlorn.

We did miss the opening act, but he didn't make a big deal about it. We found our seats—not exactly nosebleed—and watched as the floor and boxes filled to capacity; the concert was sold out and then some.

Light boxes that looked like skyscrapers erupted from the floor and there was a flurry of pyrotechnic sparks and strobe lights. Elysian Fields came on in a flash of fire, with cheering, yells, and squeals from all directions. I couldn't hear myself scream, but I know I did as they broke into their first song, the one Jeremy had used for Arkady's runway show. I felt myself swaying in time to the music.

About halfway through the song, someone shook my shoulder. I turned to find Jeremy staring at me, and liking what he was seeing, by the grin on his face. He raised his eyebrows briefly and went back to the music, but I caught him stealing glimpses at me, song after song. Elysian Fields played for an hour and a half before they broke for an intermission. As the lights came up, I realized that I was starving and had to go to the bathroom.

“Let's go out,” said Jeremy, pulling me into the aisle and then into the crowded hallway. He handed me my ticket. “I'm grabbing a drink—do you want anything?”

I nodded. “A bottle of water and something to eat. Meet back at the seats?”

He gave me a quick kiss and squeezed my hand, not letting me go. “Where'd you learn to dance like that?”

With Paulina.

I blushed. “I went to this dance class with … ”

“Your new roommate?” he finished for me, his face falling. I gave him a pleading look, and his lips puckered into a resigned sort of smile before he turned and pushed his way toward the concession stands.

I forged a path to the women's room, where, of course, there was a mega-line. I waited patiently as it crawled up, and I made it into a stall just before I thought I would burst. I took care of business, washed my hands, and pushed through the door back into the hall.

Except I wasn't in the hall.

I was standing next to a drum kit on a massive platform. About ten guys with band tee shirts passed in front of and behind me, carrying pieces of wood, wires, and extra guitars. I turned around and there was Matt Davy, standing right next to me, his tight shirt damp with perspiration and clinging to his skinny torso, his pinstriped rock star pants slashed at the knees.

I'm … backstage!

I started breathing quickly, thinking that it was a very good thing I'd already used the bathroom.

“Margaret!” Hades, sporting an inches-thick gold rope chain with a diamond-studded
H
dangling from it, walked up behind Matt and put an arm around him.

“Matt, I'd like you to meet an associate of mine. Margaret Wiley, meet Matt Davy.”

Matt put his sinewy and callused hand into mine and grinned at me with the charmingly gap-toothed smile that I knew so well from my collection of posters, CDs, and pirated jpeg images stored on my phone.

“Pleasure, Margaret,” he said, his Brit-cool accent ringing in my ears. “Enjoying the show?”

All I could do was nod vigorously. I was turning into a gushy puddle and didn't care who saw me.

“Hold this for us, love,” he said, handing me his guitar and taking his signature tartan handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe his face. He took the guitar out of my shaking hands and handed me the handkerchief in its place.

“Brilliant meeting you,” he said, bending toward me and planting a kiss on my cheek. “H,” he said, addressing Hades, “I've got to go check on my mates. Thanks for bringing her back—you know I love meeting the fans.”

“H” for Hades gave a thumbs-up as Matt turned and slipped behind a curtain.

“We're going to have to do this more often, Margaret. It seems I've finally stumbled upon something that's rendered you speechless!”

“I'm backstage!” was all I could manage to get out.

He clapped his hands in front of my face to get my attention and I shook my head. I was still holding Matt's plaid hanky—a holy relic.

“You really don't deserve this little treat, Margaret, considering your lack of progress,” he continued, stepping out of the way so one of the roadies could bring new cymbals onto the stage. “But I figured it was a way to get your attention.”

Finally I came to myself. “My attention?! How about the scales? That got my attention!”

“That's the Margaret I know.” A corner of his mouth quirked. “Do you like them?”

“What do you think? Not very Siren-ish, are they?”