IMPROBABLY, HE HAD done it. Exactly how he had done it was anyone’s guess, although he was sure that Hephaestus would have some kind of explanation. The only problem was, he has no idea where he was. Actually, that wasn’t strictly true. Judging by the palm trees and the familiar grey and purple mountains to the south, he was in Los Angeles. So far so good. The leaden sunlight was casting low shadows, which meant it was probably early evening. And the light dusting of snow on top of the mountains suggested winter. Beyond that, he was lost; invisible to a city that spread out like a parasite across the hills and plains, its veins the pulsing freeways, its skin the desert dust. He looked right and he saw the mountains. He looked left and he saw strip malls. If his plan had somehow worked and he had managed to project himself through Hermes’ cell phone signal, then his cousin couldn’t be far away. It was possible—or even likely, judging by the surroundings—that he was somewhere in Burbank. He didn’t know how much time he had left before his transition was discovered; or how long it would last before he suddenly found himself back in his prison cell. He had to move quickly. But which way? It wasn’t as though he could ask someone. Or even catch a ride.
‘Want a ride?’ said Violet.
Eros stared through the window of the large recreational vehicle that had materialized beside him, as if from the end of a rainbow. He felt like he was seeing a ghost; or more accurately, like a ghost who has suddenly been seen. ‘Violet,’ was all he could say.
‘Hop in,’ she said brightly. The coincidence was too bizarre to contemplate and she was holding up traffic. But she was so unspeakably thrilled to see him that she could barely think, let alone talk. He was, she realized with a rush of blood to her face, a profoundly beautiful man; even dressed in that filthy and ridiculous Kmart porn outfit.
Eros looked at her in a panic. Every thought he had ever had about Violet—from the sublime, to the remorseful, to the unrestrainedly lustful—seemed to converge in a pinpoint between his eyes. Everything he now knew about her flooded his skin with pins and needles. It was like being stabbed by an icicle while simultaneously being set on fire. He didn’t know what she was doing there, or how it was that she could see him again, or what he could possibly say to her. But he did know he couldn’t get into that car. ‘I can’t,’ he said. ‘I have to go…’ With his heart wrenching, he waved vaguely in the opposite direction.
‘Oh,’ said Violet, and Eros saw immediately that he had wounded her. The traffic behind her was building up, but still she seemed reluctant to leave. At least until some jerk leaned on his horn and she put on her indicator and shifted the car into drive.
‘Wait!’ said Eros. He couldn’t risk getting in the car, in case he simply fell through it, but he couldn’t bear the thought of losing sight of her so soon. His entire being was filled with an aching terror that he might never see her again. ‘Where are you going?’ he asked.
‘To see Henry,’ said Violet, ‘at the studio.’ To ask him about you, she almost added, but that now seemed pointless; not to mention embarrassing. Strangely, the longer she stared at Leo, the less real he seemed to become; as if she was staring at a hologram. Frowning, she shook her head sharply. The situation was now becoming so preposterous that she was starting to hallucinate.
Uh oh, thought Eros, as the colors around him became super-saturated; a sure sign that he was about to transition. Sounds, too, were distorted and loud, like he was listening underwater. At the same time, his voice was beginning to fade. ‘You need to give Henry a message,’ he said. He could barely make out his own words, and wasn’t sure if he was shouting or whispering. ‘It’s important.’
Violet nodded. In the chaos that surrounded them, she suddenly felt enshrouded in a bubble of calm. And the only people who existed in this bubble—who would ever exist in it—were the two of them. ‘What’s the message?’ she said.
‘Tell him,’ said Eros, trying to think of a way to put it that wouldn’t alarm Violet, but would sufficiently alarm Hermes, ‘tell him I’m with his mother.’
‘What did you say?’ said Violet. It was as if someone had turned off the volume of his voice, while at the same time dialing up the traffic noise. Behind her, the driver of a six-wheel pickup revved his engine and leaned on his horn. ‘Wait,’ she said to Leo, leaning out the window just enough to reassure the driver that she was indeed leaving, right after she’d said goodbye to her friend.
‘What fucking friend?’ yelled the driver, and Violet thought about giving him the finger, but didn’t, because she didn’t want him to shoot her. And then she turned back to the sidewalk and discovered that her fucking friend had fucking disappeared.