Nothing “happened” that night except that we stayed up fairly late talking. Then the night of bad sleep and the day at the ocean caught up with me and I started zoning out. Eryx and I heard other people moving around in the hallways outside our room, which made us a little uneasy, but Irene said it was just the others coming back, no worries, though we were too tired to meet them. Eryx and I conked on the floor and Irene slept on her mattress.
I shut my eyes and jerked them open a second later to find it was morning. Late morning. My heart was pounding and I felt sweaty. Bad dream. Something about running down dark corridors filled with hairy hands that reached out to grab me, and then being flung around in a terrible storm. The details were already fading, and I was glad to let them go.
Paper crinkled, and I sat up. Irene was just coming back into the room with a white paper bag. Eryx was still asleep.
“Hey,” she said. “Took you long enough to wake up.”
“What time is it?”
She shrugged. Her clothes were another crazy-quilt mishmash of colors and styles that seemed to run together like a dozen flavors of half-melted ice cream. “It’s half past sunrise. I don’t watch the clock on my days off. Everyone’s already gone for the day again, I know that.”
“What’s in the bag?”
“Breakfast. Day-olds from the donut place. Super-cheap.”
We woke Eryx up and went outside to eat under an overgrown tree because Irene’s room was already heating up. The air was warm and muggy, and all three of us had bedhead—minus the bed—and limp, wrinkled clothes to go with our breakfast of stale donuts. It was like a day-old picnic.
“We should go over to the hotel today,” Irene said, “if you two want to ask about jobs. Lucian’ll be in today.”
We combed our hair with my comb, and Irene showed us an outdoor faucet behind the strip mall laundromat where we could get water for washing up. Irene said it’s best to use it after dark so the laundromat owner doesn’t notice people are swiping their water and remove the faucet, but just this once should be okay. We also filled our water bottles. Finding easy access to water lifted a major-ass worry I didn’t even realize I was carrying.
The hotel is about a half mile from the nursing home, easy walking distance as long as you stick to the shade. It’s weird to feel summer air in October and strange to sweat when you walk down an autumn sidewalk.
The Haidou Hotel isn’t on the ocean, which kind of sucks. I was hoping it had beachfront so we could swim without having to hike halfway through town, though I should have realized it was nowhere near the sea—Irene would have been swimming at the hotel’s beach, if one existed, instead of by our packs. Like everything else in Aquapura, it’s kind of run-down, but it’s pretty big. It has five floors, a pool, and a restaurant/bar that sometimes gets live music. Irene said employees aren’t allowed to use the pool.
Irene took us through the lobby, past the bar, and back to the manager’s office. An older guy in his late thirties sat behind a desk shuffling papers beside a laptop. He had silver-streaked dark hair, a little bit of a paunch, and a short beard. He looked up when Irene walked in. Eryx and I hovered uncertainly in the door behind her.
“Hey, Lucian,” Irene said. “I’ve got two guys here who need jobs. I think they’d do great for you.”
“Yeah?” He flicked at glance at us, uncaring. I wasn’t sure if Irene was taking the right approach. “Who are they?”
She pointed. “This is Danny, and this is Eryx.”
Lucian didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Then he made a sharp gesture. “Well, get your asses in here so I can look at you.”
I hadn’t noticed how hard my heart was beating until right then. Eryx and I shuffled into the office, and Lucian looked at us from the fortress of his desk. He sucked at his teeth, put his hands behind his head, and sucked his teeth some more. I stood there beside Eryx, not sure what to do. It felt weird, him just sitting there and looking at me. I didn’t like it. My skin was too tight where his eyes touched it.
Finally he said, “You guys work hard? Do what you’re told and keep your mouths shut?”
“Yes, sir,” I said. Eryx just nodded.
Lucian gave me another long look, and I had a sudden urge to run away, run all the way to the ocean and keep going. But I didn’t. Doing even a crappy job for a weirdo would free me of Dumpster slavery. So I stood there and tried to look earnest and hard-working.
“Sure, fine,” he said. “Danny, you can start tomorrow. Eryx, you start today.”
This caught all three of us off-guard. “Uh, sure,” Eryx said. “Great! Doing what?”
“Working in the restaurant,” Lucian said. “One of my busboys called in sick. We’ll get you a uniform. Danny, get your ass in here at three tomorrow for the dinner shift. Pay is two bucks under minimum, but sometimes I might have some other non-restaurant stuff that pays more. Got it?”
“Cool!” I said. “Thanks! See you, Eryx.”
“Yeah,” he said. “After work.”
And we left him in Lucian’s office. He sketched a fast wave as we went. Suddenly I found myself worrying about him. We’d been together every second since we’d left Michigan, and the idea of leaving him alone with a stranger made me unhappy. How trustworthy could Lucian be? He hired people under the table so he could pay them less than minimum wage.
I hate this. Worry seems to be with me all the time, and it wants to change into panic at bad moments. It’s like carrying around a backpack with a tiger in it. I’m scared all the time, but I keep going. What can else can I do?
“That went pretty easy,” Irene said once we were outside.
“Yeah,” I said. “But the pay sucks.”
“True.” Irene was kind of shuffling along, hands stuffed in the pockets of her cotton-candy shorts. “Lucian’s weird, but at least you always know where you stand with him.”
I remembered something. “Today’s Monday. You said the hotel throws out a lot of tourist left-behinds. You think there’ll be any summer clothes Eryx and I can scam?”
“Oh, sure. Come on!”
She took me around back of the hotel to a bunch of huge Dumpsters, and I kind of sighed, thinking about diving in yet again, but instead she took me through a back door into a big room. Machines—I think they were AC units—boomed like monsters chained to the floor. Near the door were piles of clear plastic garbage bags.
“Here!” Irene shouted over the noise. “One of the guys will take these out later! We better go through them now!”
We did. I couldn’t believe the shit people throw away. I mean, you expect pizza boxes, condom wrappers—gross—and pop bottles. But beach towels? A baby car seat? A set of knitting needles? There were also clothes, either thrown out or forgotten. I found four t-shirts that would fit me or Eryx and some shorts for us, too. And swim suits! Someone else had left a wheeled suitcase. I grabbed that and shoved the clothes and beach towels into it. I also found half a tube of toothpaste, a whole bottle of body soap, a comb, and three toothbrushes. I took two of them, figuring I could clean them with the body soap.
The last thing I found was a big brown mug with a lid on it, the kind that you can use to get cheap refills on convenience store coffee with. I decided it would come in really handy, so I rinsed it out in one of the employee bathrooms and filled it with water. Nothing else worth taking would fit into the suitcase.
I ducked behind one of the AC units and changed into some shorts. Good thing, too—it got hotter and hotter as we walked back to the nursing home, me towing the suitcase like a little camper trailer.
“I love Florida,” Irene said. “Even when it gets really hot and muggy. It’s like having summer all year.”
“Do you miss winter?”
“When I don’t have a house?” She made a face. “And anyway, snow is so boring and monochromatic. That’s my favorite word—monochromatic. So’s the opposite—polychromatic.”
“One color and many colors,” I said, sipping water from my new mug.
“You’re smarter than you look,” Irene said, giving me a slug on the arm that reminded me of Eryx.
“I read a lot,” I told her, a little embarrassed. “Or I used to. Now I guess I can’t.”
“And you write,” she added. “In that diary. Like all the time.”
“It’s a journal, not a diary,” I protested.
“Yeah, whatever, diary-boy.” But I could tell she was only joking with me, so I didn’t feel bad. “You ever write about me in there?”
The question caught me flat and personal, like she’d suddenly reached inside my mouth and tried to touch my heart. I had no idea how to answer, and I ended up just staring down at the hot cracks in the sidewalk and clutching the mug to my chest.
“You did!” she accused. “What did you say, diary-boy? Come on—you have to say!”
I shoved my embarrassment aside. “You really wanna know?”
“Yeah!”
“I said you were a bitch who tried to steal our stuff.”
She made a little half-smile. “Okay, that’s fair. What else?”
“Uh . . . I said you wear colorful clothes and you swam with me and Eryx in the ocean like a seal. And I said you were really nice for showing us a place to live.” No way was I going to say what I’d written about her chest or her skin or the way I thought about her and me and Eryx together. I could feel my face getting red just because I was thinking about it.
Irene’s expression changed. It became kind of thoughtful. “I don’t think anyone’s ever written anything down about me before. I’m in words that stay forever. Thanks.”
“Sure,” was all I could think of to say.
“Anyway,” she said with a little head toss, “Florida is way better than Michigan or Illinois.”
“When were you in Illinois?” I asked.
“That was where I got the abortion,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Oh.” I just kept walking. The suitcase wheels rumbled on the sidewalk behind me. After a second, I added, “Why go all the way to Illinois for that?”
“You can get one there without parental consent,” Irene said. “In Michigan, they have to call your folks for permission. After that was over, I ran down here.”
“Your parents would have freaked out if they found out you were pregnant?” I said.
“They did freak out. Both of them.” Irene kicked at a pebble. “I thought Mom would have been cool at least, but she went killer ballistic, even more than Dad.”
“Geez. Sucky.”
“You bet. They wanted me to have the baby and give it up for adoption, but I didn’t. No way was I gonna go through that. I knew Dad’s ID number, so I swiped his credit card, got a cash advance, and took a train to Chicago. In and out at the clinic, and then down to sunny Florida.”
“What about the father? Didn’t he help?”
Her face went hard. “I’m not talking about him. He was a fuckhead.”
I felt like an asshole. “Oh. Okay. Sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.” She suddenly slid her hand into my elbow, like we were walking to a formal dance party. “I like you anyway.”
I got red again. “Thanks.” And then I thought, Idiot! You should have said you liked her, too. But it was too late and it would come across as stupid, so I didn’t say anything else.
We got ambushed the second we got back to the nursing home. By then, sweat was trickling seawater warm down my back and legs, and the sunlight felt heavy. The shade trees around the building cooled the air a little—I didn’t feel like I was going to melt, at least. I shared some of my water with Iris, and she was glad to have it. We rounded a corner and this old guy, rail-thin and gray-bearded, suddenly leaped out at us and yelled, “Storm’s coming!”
I about shit a brick. Irene, though, barely reacted.
“Hi, Phillip,” she said. “Is everyone hanging around today?”
Phillip scratched his cheek. His eyes were blue as lake water, and he wore a fisherman’s sweater despite the heat. “Yeh. ’S too hot out for scrounging. I told you it would be today.”
“Yeah, you did,” Irene said. “Phillip, this is Danny. He and his step-brother Eryx are moving in. Danny, meet Phillip. He likes to predict the weather.”
Phillip extended his hand. I didn’t want to take it—this weirdo had just scared the shit out of me—but Irene would think I was rude, so I shook. He smelled sweaty, and his hands were rough with calluses.
“Big storm,” Phillip repeated. “Damn big. I used to train horses, you know.”
“Really?” I said. “That’s nice.”
“You bet. I had a great life once. Not like now.”
He wandered away, his steps strangely fluid.
“Are they all like that?” I murmured.
“Kinda,” Irene said. “You hungry? Let’s go see Cerise.”
Cerise had a garden in one of the courtyards created by the twisting building. I didn’t realize it was a garden at first—Irene showed me a section of overgrown ground that looked like everything else. But then I realized stuff had been planted there: carrots, lettuce, melons, tomatoes, celery, and other plants I didn’t recognize. Fruit trees surrounded the place, and I saw oranges, lemons, and limes. Everything was allowed to run half-wild, though, which was why it took me a while to see it really was a garden.
“Do you like it?” From under one of the trees came an older black woman with graying hair tucked up under a tattered yellow gardening hat that reminded me of a giant sunflower. She wore a long green dress. Along with her came a man with long blond hair in graying tangles. His running shorts were covered with dust, and a silver baseball cap was turned sideways on his head.
“Don’t come too close,” the woman added, holding up her hand. “I’ve been impure ever since I ate that bad meat.”
“Oh, uh . . . all right,” I said. Was she sick?
“Don’t mind her,” the man said. “She gets like this sometimes. I’m Henry. This is Cerise.”
“Your garden is cool. Did you plant all of it?”
“No, child,” Cerise said. “I coaxed it out of the ground and let it grow where it wanted. You may pick some fruit and vegetables, but don’t come close.”
Henry rolled his eyes. “Just stay there or she’ll freak out. I’ll bring you what you want. I used to be a mailman, so I’m all for carrying packages.”
“Take all you like,” Cerise said with a wide smile. “I have plenty.”
Irene and I did like. Henry brought us oranges, tomatoes, carrots, and string beans. A week ago, I would have nibbled politely and silently called it vegan crap. Now it was the most delicious salad I’d ever tasted. We wandered back to the room, munching as we went. An orange burst in my mouth like a sweet sunset. A crisp carrot gave me a taste of autumn. Maybe I’d go swimming down in the ocean again. And maybe Irene would come with me. Should I just ask her? I wanted to, but didn’t know how, which made feel stupid and helpless.
“I wonder how Eryx is doing at work,” I said around the carrot.
“Probably fine,” Irene said, a little shortly.
I looked at her. “You okay?”
“I’m great,” she said. “Just tired with all the walking we did today.”
“Oh.” So much for swimming then. Disappointment made me heavy, but I worked not to show it. We ended up back in the room, sitting on her mattress and eating in silence. Then I repacked the stuff from the hotel, using the suitcase as my new dresser. Iris still didn’t say much. I couldn’t figure out what was bothering her. I worried I must have said or done something stupid, and my stomach got all tight. As a final touch to the moving-in process, I put my new mug on the windowsill.
“The sacred water altar,” I said, trying to get her to smile. When she didn’t, I got up the courage to say, “What’s wrong?”
“Sometimes I feel like all the colors are draining out of me,” she said in a dull voice. “Like they’re bleeding out of my veins and leaving trails on the sidewalk behind me. I worry that one day I’ll get home—get here—and find there’s nothing left in me but gray and black.”
“No white?” I asked, still trying to lighten the mood. She was kind of freaking me.
“White’s all the colors mixed together.” Then she shook her head. “So why’d you run away?”
Oh shit. “I . . . I told you. We—Eryx and I—argued with our folks a lot.”
“About what?”
“Stuff.”
“Okay,” she said, and it was half warning, half tantrum. “If you don’t wanna tell me, then fine. Don’t.”
My heart twisted. “No, I do. I do. I just . . . it’s hard.”
“I won’t laugh or think you’re a bad person, Danny. I promise.”
So I told her. About moving in with Myron and Eryx showing me the cameras in the bathroom and calling up the videos. I didn’t tell her about what I did in the shower, but I think she figured it out. And I told her that Myron brought over men who wanted to pay money, but then I kind of lied and said that we ran away before they could do anything, though I didn’t really lie—I just sort of let her think that’s how it happened. Then I told her about the bus ride and how fucking scary it was and about the cop on the bus and about eating from a Dumpster. The more I talked, the faster the words came, until they tore out of me in a fire hydrant, waterfall rush.
Irene just listened and listened beside me on the mattress, her clashy clothes muted in the soft shadows of the room. Somehow, we got closer, and the sides of thighs touched, but we didn’t pull apart, and I was totally aware that I was alone in the room with her, and also aware that I was sitting in the spot where Eryx had been napping earlier. His scent clung to the mattress, and I felt drawn in two directions, a guitar string tightened at both ends. The air seemed thick.
“Sounds like a shitty time,” she said quietly, and her mouth looked pink. I thought of Eryx’s blue eyes. “But you did the right thing.”
“I hope so,” I said, meeting her gaze. God help me, I didn’t know what the hell to do.
Irene took my hand and I swallowed. “I know so.”
She leaned toward me, and I leaned toward her. My heart raced hard. I felt her breath, warm and smelling of oranges, on my cheek. We moved closer, slowly, and then I couldn’t stand it anymore. I moved in and kissed her.
It was soft and electric. She touched my hair just like Eryx had when he was looking for salt. I felt her fingers and her lips and her tongue like they were my own.
An electronic tone chittered between us. Both of us jumped and moved apart. Irene leaned back and groped in the front pocket of her shorts, finally coming up with a thin cell phone. She got up, snapped it open, and walked a few steps away with her back to me, her free arm folded across her stomach. I leaned back on my elbows, puzzled and disappointed.
“Yeah?” Irene said into the phone. Her tone was flat. “I’m okay. . . . When? . . . Okay, I’ll be there.” She flipped the phone shut without saying good-bye and turned to me. “That was Lucian. He wants me to come in to work. Now.”
“You have a cell phone?” I blurted out.
“Yeah. Lucian gave it to me in case he needed to call me in to work like he just did.” Her face and voice had gone flat again. She didn’t want to go in, and I didn’t blame her.
“So you’re gonna do it?” I asked, hoping she’d say no.
“Gotta. He’ll fire my ass if I don’t.” She trotted toward the door, tossing a wave over her shoulder as she went. “I’ll say hi to Eryx for you.” And she was gone, a bright sky fading into spring rain.
I puffed out my breath and flopped back on the mattress. How much ass did that suck? And how much did it rock at the same time?
After a while I got up and wandered around outside the nursing home. It was weird not having anything I had to do or anyplace I had to be. I kept expecting to hear Mom call my name and tell me to take out the trash or vacuum the living room or ask me where the hell the vodka bottle had gone. Maybe it would be a good idea to go scrounging, see if I could pick up a mattress of my own somewhere. But it was just too hot out to do anything like that, and anyway, it would take two people to carry a mattress, and I had just me.
Only then did it occur to me that it was strange for Irene to have a cell phone, especially one from her boss. Why would a hotel manager give a cell phone to an illegal, homeless teenage worker who was working for peanuts? Maybe it was something to do with drugs. I made a face at that. I wasn’t going to get involved with drugs. No fucking way. Alcohol’s a drug, and I saw what that shit did to my mom. It was a drunk guy who had killed Uncle Zack. I’d starve before I ran or dealt drugs.
“You’re the new one,” said a harsh voice behind me. I spun around and came face to face with the oldest woman I’d ever seen. Her hair was white and thin, like a windblown snowdrift, and her face showed sand dune wrinkles. She was thin, and her hands had shriveled into bird’s claws, but her back was yardstick-straight. A faded purple muumuu covered her from neck to ankles.
“That’s me,” I said, used to this by now. “I’m—”
“Danny Marina, I know,” she said. “I’m June.” From somewhere in the muumuu she came up with a brown cigarette and a purple lighter. She lit the one with the other and blew out a stream of smoke with a little satisfied smile, creating a smell of burning autumn leaves. She looked like a little purple dragon. “What are you running from, boy?”
I stared at her, a little pissed off at her nosiness. I didn’t like the word “boy” much, either. “Stuff,” I said.
She snorted, and two smoke rings came out of her nose. I had to admit I was impressed—I didn’t think that was possible. We were standing underneath a laurel oak tree, and a little breeze caught the rings, ripping them to pale shreds.
“You think you’re the only one who runs and hides, boy?” she said. “Let me tell you—I ran all my life. It was the stupidest thing I ever did.”
“What do you mean?” I asked without thinking.
She blew out more smoke. “I had a philandering husband. You know what the word means, boy?”
“I’m not stupid,” I said, almost snapping. “It means he slept around.”
“Got that right. He fucked anything that moved—girls, women, boys, probably sheep and oak trees, for all I know. And I did know. But I didn’t confront him.”
“Why not?” I was getting interested, despite myself.
“He was a good-looking bastard, and a charmer. And he brought home a paycheck. And I was supposed to be a good little wife. And once he threatened to beat me. But they were all excuses.” June shifted a little bit and leaned against the tree trunk. “I ran from the truth. I should have confronted him, but instead I did the coward’s thing.”
“The coward’s thing?”
“I went after his lovers. Sugar in the gas tank. Harassing phone calls. Brick through the window. Dead animals on the front porch.” June inhaled more smoke as she leaned back against the tree. “I’m giving you free advice, boy, and it’s worth a hell of a lot more than you paid for it, so pay attention.”
“Advice?” Now I was confused. “What advice?”
“I should have left the bastard. But I was too chicken. Instead, I ran from the truth and bullied innocent people.” She abruptly lunged forward and poked me in the chest with a sharp finger. “Don’t you do the same.”
“Bully people?”
“Run from the thing you should confront, Danny-boy.” She made a smoky, dry cackle. “Danny-boy. I like that.” And she wandered away, singing “Oh, Danny boy” like she was half drunk, the cigarette hanging from her fingertips and trailing a peacock train of smoke.
Freaking weird. I decided not to hang around the nursing home after all and instead grabbed my brown water mug and headed into town, even though a slow walk made me sweat. I ended up at the library again. They had the AC running, so I was glad to slip inside where it was refrigerator cool. I found a bank of computers with Internet access, and all you had to do was sign in on a clipboard to use one. The librarian just nodded at me from behind her desk, so I made up a fake name and sat down, the mug at my feet where the librarian couldn’t see it.
I checked my e-mail first, more out of something to do than expecting anything to read—I didn’t have any friends who’d e-mail me. So I was kind of surprised to see I had two messages.
Both from Mom.
I stared at the screen for a long time, not reacting. I didn’t want to react. It would have been way easier if she hadn’t written, or if I hadn’t checked my mail, but I had, the box was open, and I couldn’t un-know that the messages were there. The subject line on both said, “Danny Please Read!”
How could she write to me after slapping me in the face—in all kinds of ways? She’d rather believe Myron over me. I felt myself getting angry and sad again. A fist tightened in my chest. I wanted to hear from her, but I was afraid of it at the same time. I wanted to know if she still cared about me, but I was scared she did. My feelings mixed and ran together into a giant blob, like a watercolor left in the rain.
Finally I just clicked on the first message. It took a long time to load, and I almost just switched off the fucking computer.
Dear Danny, the e-mail said. Please come home. I miss you so much. I’m sorry I slapped you. I’m not mad no more, and Myron isn’t either. Please please call us when you get this and Ill come get you. Is Eryx with you? Is he ok? Please let us know. We’re worried about him too. I love you very much. Mom.
The screen got a little blurry and I wiped at my eyes. I wanted to call her, and my butt was halfway out of my chair so I could go ask the librarian if there was pay phone around. Then I thought about the letter some more, about how she’d talked about Myron and said “we” and “us” so many times. She didn’t even say anything about what I told her about what Myron had done to me—and Eryx. I couldn’t trust her, and it wasn’t fair that I couldn’t trust her. She was my fucking mother.
Pissed off now, I opened a new browser window and typed in the URL for Myron’s web site. Even though I’d only seen it once, the name was burned into my brain. There was one chance. If the shit was gone, I’d know Mom had said something to Myron and maybe it would be okay to go home. I scrolled down to the hidden login place and clicked on it. The screen flickered and I waited, drumming the table with my fingers, hoping for an error message that told me the page no longer existed.
I got a screenful of porn instead. The page was still there, along with a couple of little boxes asking for my login and password.
I glanced up, suddenly nervous, but librarian couldn’t see my screen from where she was sitting. Out of some weird-ass need to know, I scrolled down through the sample pictures Myron had loaded on the login page. And there it was—a picture of me in the shower. My face was blurred out so you couldn’t tell for sure I was underage, but I knew it was me. My cheeks burned. A little further down were a couple pictures of Eryx. His face was blurred out, too, but I still recognized him. Fuck.
I snapped off the computer and just about ran out of the library, barely remembering my fucking mug.
The next few hours were kind of an empty fog, and I don’t really remember anything much. Eventually I found my way back to the nursing home and just lay on Irene’s mattress, staring up at nothing. It was starting to get dark when I realized that Eryx was in the room. I jumped.
“Shit!” I said. “Why don’t you make some noise or something?”
He shrugged. “Sorry.”
I sat up, glad to see him. “How was the job? Was it hard?”
“It’s about what you’d expect. I’m tired.” Eryx sat beside me, exactly where Irene had been sitting when I kissed her. He had a greasy paper bag in his hand and his face was closed off tight. “I brought you some food from the restaurant.”
The smell of fried food wafted up from the bag and suddenly I was starving. I devoured the chicken strips and cold rolls inside it and drained the last of the water from my mug.
“Lucian wants to see you,” Eryx said. “Now. Tonight.”
“He does?” I swallowed the last bit of chicken, surprised. “Why?”
“He needs someone to work at the hotel tonight. A bunch of businessmen came in at the last minute and they got busy.”
“Oh. Okay.” It wasn’t like I had anything else to do, though I realized I’d been kinda hoping to spend the evening with Eryx. “What will I be doing?”
He shrugged again. “I started out busing tables.”
“Are you all right?” I asked. “You don’t look too good.”
“I’m fucking wiped,” he said, lying down with his back to me. “I just want to sleep.”
And that’s all he would say. I wondered about that. Eryx only got stony quiet when he was upset about something, and that made me worry about the job. But if he wouldn’t tell about it, there wasn’t much to do. In any case, I—we—needed the work. I got up, already feeling a little nervous because I’d never had a real job before. Doing yard work for Uncle Zack doesn’t really count. But how hard could it be to clear tables and sweep floors? I did that at home all the time.
Just as I got to the door, Eryx said, “Danny!”
I turned. “What?”
There was a long pause, then he said. “Good luck, I guess. You better hurry.”
0o0
I’m back from the hotel. I can’t write about it. I just can’t.
0o0
The open-air hall on Olympus went totally silent. Every god and goddess stared at Zeus or at Ganymede. Ganymede felt his mouth drop open, and he shut it again with a snap so he wouldn’t look stupid. Hebe, pale and shaken, stood perfectly still. It was clear she couldn’t believe what Zeus had just said, that Ganymede was taking over her job as cupbearer. Hera leaped to her feet, her face white in front of her purple throne.
“What in heaven are you talking about?” Her voice made the pillars shake. Deimos and Phobos zipped under Ares’s throne in terror. “You can’t replace your own daughter with a mortal. You’re breaking your word!”
“Am I?” Zeus said mildly.
Hera gestured angrily at the entire hall. Pan ducked. “We all heard you. You promised to grant Hebe new responsibilities if she gave your little . . . your new friend eternal youth.”
“I did make that promise, and I will keep it,” Zeus said. He turned to Hebe. “Daughter, your new responsibilities are to wait on your mother as her maid.”
Hebe looked stricken, then angry. It was a demotion for her to go from serving at the king’s table to working in the queen’s chambers. “Father, you can’t mean that!”
“Of course I can.” Zeus plucked a bit of ambrosia from the plate in front of him and downed it. “I didn’t promise you could keep your old responsibilities, after all. You fulfilled your end of the bargain and I fulfilled mine. Go on now.”
Hebe looked uncertain and unhappy, and Ganymede felt bad for her. He hadn’t asked to be Zeus’s cupbearer, and although he had to admit the idea of being the main servant to the king of gods was pretty damn cool—no, it was fucking astounding—he didn’t like the idea of getting the job by shoving someone else aside. He felt like he should say something, but he didn’t think Zeus would listen to him, so he kept quiet.
“No!” Hera boomed. “I won’t accept this, Zeus. You go too far. This mortal boy hasn’t earned the position. He’s not good enough to replace our daughter, a true goddess. You shame yourself and her in front of this entire assembly.”
The entire assembly in question was watching this conversation with a whole lot of different expressions that ranged from interested to bored, from cautious to amused, but they were definitely watching. Zeus started to look a little uncomfortable. “What do you propose, wife? Ganymede is my choice, Hebe is yours.”
“A competition, then,” Hera said. “Three contests, each one set and judged by a different god. If your mortal boy”—her lip curled in scorn over the words mortal boy—“wins two contests, he will be cupbearer and Hebe will be my maid. If Hebe wins two, she keeps her rightful position.”
“And what will happen to Ganymede?” Zeus asked.
“I will fling him off Mount Olympus as you once threw down my son Hephaestus.”
Cold fear stabbed Ganymede’s stomach. The determined anger on Hera’s face said she’d do it in a heartbeat. He didn’t doubt her for a second. And he’d heard the story of how Hephaestus had fallen for nine days and nights, then smash-landed so hard that he’d been crippled for eternity, even though he was immortal. Ganymede swallowed and glanced at Zeus, expecting him to negate that part of the contest, but Zeus only stroked his beard.
“Very well, wife. It shall be so.”
Hebe shot Ganymede a look that said You’re going down, bitch, as Hera nodded her victory. Ganymede felt fear begin to spread through him, then he abruptly stiffened his spine. What the hell was wrong with him? He was a prince of Troy! And now he was an immortal just like Hebe. He’d competed lots of times, in wrestling and hunting and races and archery and sword fighting. The stakes were higher up here on Olympus, but he could do it.
Then he saw the cool expression on Hera’s face, and he had to struggle to hold onto his courage all over again.
“Since I seem to be the challenged one,” Zeus continued, “I’ll choose the first judge. Hermes, will you do the honors?”
“Happy to!” Hermes shot up from his throne of coins and hovered directly over the central fire, the wings on his sandals fluttering like crazy to keep him aloft. He didn’t look much older than Ganymede. “Hestia, can you be a dear?”
Hestia waved her hand, and the large fire in the center of the ring table shrank into a torch which leaped into Hestia’s hand. The gentle goddess herself had no throne, so she perched on the edge of the ring-shaped table, holding the Olympian torch out of harm’s way. Hermes gestured for both Ganymede and Hebe to join him in the middle of the ring. Hebe cleared the table with one leap and landed neatly in the center area. Ganymede decided he should be able to do just as well and jumped. He ended up soaring over Hermes’s head with an undignified yelp and came down hard on the grassy ground at the far side of the ring. He stumbled and rammed his midriff painfully into the edge of the table, coming face-to-face with Hera, who sat on the other side. Several of the gods snickered or tittered. Hera leaned down to him.
“You’re good at falling,” she hissed. “I’m glad.”
Ganymede straightened and turned back to face the center as if nothing had happened, though his heart was beating a mile a micro-second. He could feel Hera’s eyes on his back.
“A good servant has to be entertaining,” Hermes said, “so just for fun, the first contest will be juggling. First one to let something hit the floor loses.”
Ganymede immediately felt better, on firmer ground. His relief lasted all of a second—Hermes conjured up a set of six golden balls out of nothing and flung them at Ganymede and Hebe. He only barely caught his three, but once he did, he got to juggling. So did Hebe. Juggling three balls was easy, and Ganymede wondered if it would turn into a simple contest of endurance.
“Who else wants to join in?” Hermes said. “Go on—don’t be shy!”
Aphrodite threw in two bouquets of flowers. Athene threw olives. Persephone threw pomegranates. Hephaestus threw them each a blacksmith’s hammer. Ganymede and Hebe caught them all and added them to the strange collection of objects bobbing up and down over their heads. Ganymede was amazed and thrilled at his own skill. He could never have done this before the ambrosia made him into an immortal. It felt as if someone had handed him the rulebook to the universe. He could see every object, sense its weight, know exactly how it would arc and fall. And best of all, he had an audience, an audience of freaking gods!
Poseidon threw horseshoes. Dionysus threw wine goblets. Demeter threw apples. Ganymede and Hebe caught them all. Hebe started to get fancy, tossing her objects higher and higher. Ganymede tossed things under his knees and spun to catch them behind his back. The gods made little noises of appreciation and even applauded when Ganymede or Hebe did something especially good.
Hestia threw torches. Hades threw skulls.
Hera threw a knife.
Ganymede saw it coming, the blade zinging, heading straight for his gut. His fighter instincts took over and he twisted out of the way. His pile of objects collapsed and sped toward the floor, the knife in the lead. Abruptly, Zeus threw a thunderbolt toward Hebe. She squeaked and jumped aside. The thunderbolt his the grass in a dramatic explosion of light and thunder. Everyone jumped. When Ganymede’s vision cleared, he found the hall silent. A hundred varying objects lay scattered across the ground with Hebe and Ganymede standing in the center.
“Who won?” asked Dionysus in the silence.
“The thunderbolt struck the ground before the knife,” Hermes said. “By the rules of the contest, Ganymede wins.”
Ganymede’s heart swelled and he shot a glance at Zeus. Zeus nodded at him, sharing the triumph. Hebe’s face set, becoming more determined, and Hera looked pissed. But she had agreed to the rules of the game and there was nothing she could do.
“You chose the first judge,” she said, “so I choose Artemis as the second.”
Artemis was the goddess of the moon and hunting, and Ganymede figured he’d have a clear advantage here. He’d been hunting all his life. So he was a little surprised to hear her say, “I want to see a good chariot race. Whoever crosses the finish line first wins.”
Abruptly Ganymede found himself in a light hunting chariot behind two night-black horses. Hebe stood next to him in a chariot of her own, though her horses were silver as moonlight. Giant people, eight or nine times as tall as he was, loomed around him in a circle. Ganymede shrank away until he realized a second later that the giants were the gods. Ganymede, Hebe, and the chariots were shrunk to the size of dolls on the ring table.
“Go!” Artemis boomed.
Ganymede snapped the reins and the horses leaped forward. His reflexes were a little better than Hebe’s, so his team gained a tiny lead to start. Ganymede set himself in the chariot, legs bent, arms steady. He would win this easily—he’d been running chariots since he was a kid, and Hebe was a girl, not a charioteer.
And then Hebe passed him, her hair streaming behind her. She tossed a little smile over her shoulder and whipped her horses to even greater speed. Startled, Ganymede cracked his own whip, and his velvet horses thundered forward. The tabletop blurred past beneath their hooves, and Ganymede gained steadily on Hebe until they were side-by-side. Wind tore past his ears as they continued around the table. Ganymede concentrated on guiding the horses and barely noticed the giant gods leaning over the table. Their oddly deep voices thundered encouragement at both of them, and Ganymede heard some of them calling his own name.
The finish line was in sight, and Ganymede had drawn slightly ahead. It was barely fifty miniature yards away. Hera waved her hand, and the wood beneath Ganymede’s chariot changed to soft sand. It started to overturn, the horses snorting and threatening to panic. Outrage at Hera turned the world red for a moment, and Ganymede pushed the feeling aside. He managed to right the chariot and get the animals back under control, but Hebe had already rushed past him. The sand disappeared, and Ganymede tried to regain lost ground, but he was clearly too far away. Hebe neared the finish line.
Zeus made a small gesture of his own. A crack opened in the tabletop, and the edge caught one of Hebe’s wheels hard. A big piece broke out of the wooden rim, and Hebe’s chariot skidded sideways. The gods roared in either shock or approval, Ganymede couldn’t tell. He cracked his whip, and his own team leaped forward. They passed Hebe, who was already moving. She leaped gracefully from her broken chariot onto the backs of her team. A knife blade flashed, and the harness fell away from the horses. Freed of the chariot, the silver steeds bolted ahead, passed Ganymede, and sped across the finish line.
Abruptly, Ganymede was standing back in the great hall, his normal size restored. Hebe stood beside him.
“Hebe has won,” Artemis declared. Hera cheered.
“She crossed without her chariot,” Zeus protested. He sounded like a little kid. “And it was a chariot race.”
Artemis shrugged perfect shoulders and settled back on her dark throne. “I said that the winner was the first to cross the finish line. That was Hebe.”
“Fine,” Zeus grumbled. “One more contest, then. The judge will be—”
“Me,” Hades interrupted. “As the keeper of the dead, I’m known for being impartial. Does anyone object?”
No one did, though Zeus and Hera both glared thunder and lightning at each other. Ganymede realized that if he weren’t now immortal, he would be dead. The power in their gazes would have killed him.
“Since the winner will be pouring wine for eternity,” Hades said, “the contest will be wine tossing. And I won’t allow interference from either side. Both contestants are on their own.”
Ganymede felt glad about that. No more dirty tricks from Hera, even if it also meant Zeus had to keep his thunderbolts to himself. It was more fair, in any case.
Hades raised his golden goblet, and a silver statue appeared in the center of the grassy ring surrounded by the table. The statue twisted the eye. No matter how Ganymede looked at it, he couldn’t decide whether it was of a man or a woman, even though it was naked. The statue stood in a seashell-shaped basin.
“I like that,” Aphrodite said from her cushions. “It takes me back to my youth.”
“Mother,” whispered the teenaged boy with wings and a quiver on his back. “Quiet! You’re embarrassing me.”
“Pitcher!” Hades called, and suddenly Ganymede and Hebe were each holding a long-necked pitcher filled with purple wine. “Nose.”
The rules of wine-tossing, an ancient Greek game, were simple. The referee called out a target, and the players had to hit the target with a stream of wine. Whoever did the best, scored a point. Only rich people could afford to waste wine like that, but Ganymede had played often enough back in Troy, though sometimes the wine had actually been mostly water when times were thin.
Hebe and Ganymede both tossed. Thin streams of wine shot from their pitchers and hit the statue straight on the nose.
“Tie,” Hades said in a monotone. “Left ear.”
They started to throw again, but just as they were in mid-toss, the statue cocked its head. The movement caught Hebe off-guard, but Ganymede, a trained hunter, was used to a moving target and corrected his aim at the last second. Hebe missed, Ganymede didn’t.
“Point to Ganymede,” Hades said, and everyone except Hera applauded.
The wine pitchers changed into goblets. “Chin,” Hades intoned with all the excitement of a rock on downers.
The tossing continued. They threw wine from cups, saucers, jars, and their own hands. Hades made the statue jump and wiggle and dance and dodge, but Hebe adjusted quickly to the idea of a target that wouldn’t stand still, and Ganymede was still getting used to the idea of being surrounded by gods, and soon the score was tied. Ganymede’s stomach was tight with tension, though he didn’t feel tired—no immortal did.
“Skin,” Hades ordered, and suddenly Ganymede was clutching a sloshing, lopsided leather bag with a spout that folded shut. It was a wineskin, used for rough travel and on hunting trips. “Right knee.”
“Wait!” said Hebe, who had never lived rough in her entire long life. “How does this thing work?”
But Ganymede, heart thudding in his chest, was already aiming. He tucked the bag under his arm, flipped the spout open with his thumb, and squeezed the bag hard. A stream of wine shot out and caught the statue in the right knee before it could dodge aside.
“Point to Ganymede,” Hades said. “He wins the contest.”
The entire hall burst into ear-splitting applause and whistles and cheers. It took Ganymede a second to understand that all of it was for him, that he was the one they all loved, the one they were cheering for. He just stood there, stunned and amazed and thrilled.
Hebe’s eyes filled with tears, but she dashed them away before anyone but Ganymede, who was still close by, could notice. Holding herself proud and erect, she conjured up a golden cup—Zeus’s goblet—out of nothing, slammed it on the table before her father, and strode across the hall without looking back to take up a spot near Hera’s purple throne. Ganymede felt a pang of guilt for her, but there was nothing he could—or would—have done differently. If he had thrown the contest and let her win, Hera would have thrown him off Olympus. Hephaestus, a powerful Olympian, had been permanently crippled by that fall. It would have done worse to a minor immortal like Ganymede. Zeus’s demotion of Hebe was a kiss on the wrist in comparison to what Hera would have done to Ganymede.
“We will have a banquet to celebrate!” Zeus bellowed over the cheering. “Ganymede will serve in his new position.”
Ganymede ducked under the table and came up beside Zeus, the wine skin still in his hand. Zeus reached down from his great throne, squeezed Ganymede’s shoulder, and winked at him. The power and charisma of the god washed over him, and in that moment Ganymede would have done anything for the king. He picked up the golden goblet to fill it for the first time, but it seemed to him that wine from a skin wasn’t proper to serve the king of gods in the hall of Olympus. The moment the thought crossed his mind, he felt a tiny bit of power flare inside him and the skin changed into a golden pitcher brimming with sweetly-scented nectar that made the most wonderful wine smell like garbage water. Ganymede filled Zeus’s cup, and the god drank deeply.
“Wonderful!” Zeus proclaimed. “Now to the others, my boy.”
Ganymede dashed about the hall, filling cups and goblets for all the other gods, except for Aphrodite, who opened her soft red lips and asked him to pour straight into her mouth. This made his hands shake so hard he almost dropped the pitcher. He didn’t go near Hera. The other gods congratulated him with compliments or pats on the back or claps on the shoulder. Aphrodite cupped his ass.
“Mom!” hissed the kid with wings. “Act your age!”
“Grow up, Eros,” she laughed, then raised her voice. “You’ve picked a luscious one, Zeus!”
Zeus merely raised his cup in answer. Hera rose from her purple throne and swept out of the great hall without another word, Hebe on her heels. The girl Ganymede had seen earlier, the one in the multi-colored dress, put a hand on Eros’s shoulder and handed him a bit of ambrosia. A stream of color ghosted after her movements. Ganymede hadn’t noticed that before. She must be Iris, goddess of the rainbow and messenger for the Olympians. Eros took the ambrosia and put his arm around her. Like all the gods, he was awesomely handsome and she was impossibly pretty, but out of all the Olympians, Eros’s shining white wings and Iris’s flashing colors really grabbed Ganymede’s eye, and he found it hard to look away from them. They caught sight of him staring and waved at him. He waved back with a quick, embarrassed movement.
“If this is party, we need more entertainment!” Hermes called. “Ganymede! Show us what else you can do!”
Zeus gave permission, and Ganymede once again found himself the center of attention in the middle of the ring table. His initial clumsiness had worn off, giving him added confidence. He tried a few acrobatic moves, and discovered to his delight that his new body was even more powerful than he had thought. He could leap higher than the pillars and land with light, airy feet. He could turn double and triple back flips, land on one hand, and touch the soles of his feet to the back of his head. He moved smooth as water, easy as the ocean, and never made a mistake.
The gods applauded his every move, and Ganymede felt like he’d arrived. Here he could be the entertainer, and no one chided him for it. Hell, they encouraged it. Okay, so Hera had a mad-on for him, but you couldn’t please everyone. Olympus was shaping up to be a pretty cool place.
Ganymede finished his routine with a final triple handspring and bowed first to Zeus, then to the rest of the hall. A final burst of applause, and he went back to his place beside Zeus’s throne, not even breathing hard. Some of the gods rose to dance to Apollo’s lyre and Pan’s drum, and Zeus put a finger under Ganymede’s chin.
“I’m glad I chose you, my little prince,” he said with a smile that sent a shiver down Ganymede’s spine. “I think I’ll need some private entertainment later.”
Ganymede opened his mouth to reply, but before he could say a word, Zeus abruptly pulled his hand back and turned to talk to Athene.
It felt like he’d been slapped. Ganymede stood there with his mouth still open. Zeus was deliberately ignoring him. A rock formed in his stomach, and he also got a little ticked off. Without thinking, he raised a hand to touch Zeus’s wrist. Zeus and Athene both turned hard eyes on him.
“Yes?” Zeus rumbled, and suddenly Ganymede felt very small. He was an immortal now, true, but that meant nothing next to Zeus, who was the king of the fucking universe, and he had just interrupted the king’s conversation. A single word from him had reminded Ganymede of his place and position.
“M-more to drink, my lord?” he asked, holding up the pitcher.
“No.” Zeus waved him off. “Keep my goblet with you for when I want more, and don’t interrupt me again.”
Ganymede swallowed hard and, with a nod, lifted Zeus’s golden goblet off the table and slipped it into his belt. His heart was pounding like he’d escaped a pride of lions.
“Don’t mind him,” said a new voice. “He’s always like that.”
Ganymede turned. Redheaded Eros had slipped up behind him, his shimmering wings folded neatly across his back. Ganymede wanted to reach out and touch them, feel the silky feathers slide over his fingers.
“Like what?” Ganymede asked.
“Hot and cold. You just have to be ready when he wants you.”
“How do you—I mean, it isn’t—” Ganymede felt his face grow warm.
Eros laughed. “It’s not a secret, G. We’re worse than a tiny village when it comes to gossip. Everyone eventually learns everything about everybody eventually, so don’t do anything you wouldn’t want us to find out about. We’ll learn all about it within two hundred years, max.”
“Two hundred years,” Ganymede echoed. “Yeah.”
Eros thumped Ganymede on the shoulder. “You’ll get used to it. Or go insane. Don’t go insane. Zeus will throw you into Tartarus if you go insane.”
“I’ll try not to,” Ganymede said, feeling a little overwhelmed. Suddenly, the halls of Troy sounded pretty homey. And then a whole mess of thoughts rushed over him.
“Minos! And my brother!”
“What?” Eros said.
“King Minos was trying to kill me,” Ganymede explained. “And my brother Ilos was negotiating a trade agreement with him. Then Zeus brought me up here, and I completely forgot about everything down there. I need to know what happened. Can I find out?”
“Sure,” Eros said. “You’re one of us. You can find out just about anything you want to, once you learn how.”
“How do I?” Ganymede shot a sidelong glance at Zeus, who was still talking to Athene.
“Don’t ask him,” Eros said. “Geez, G. You’re slow on the uptake, aren’t you?”
“So what do I do?” Ganymede was growing a little worried. He wouldn’t put it past Minos to do something awful to Ilos now that Ganymede was gone. The more he thought about it, the more worried he got.
Eros rolled his eyes. “Zeus practically shouted it to you. Weren’t you paying attention?”
Ganymede wrinkled his forehead, puzzled. “I don’t understand.”
“What did he just give you?”
“Immortality,” Ganymede replied promptly.
Eros thwapped him on the shoulder. “No, dummy. Hebe gave you that. What did Zeus give you? Besides his ‘divine essence’?”
Ganymede rubbed his shoulder. “He . . . oh! His goblet!”
“You’re his cupbearer now. The goblet makes it official. So use it.”
A little uncertain, Ganymede unhooked the goblet from his belt. The moment he held it level, it filled itself with wine.
“Push,” Eros told him. “You felt yourself change when you became immortal, right? What element did you feel?”
“Water,” Ganymede said.
“That’s because you’re the cup bearer,” Eros said. “So wherever water exists, you can see. If your brother is near water—or any other liquid, I’ll bet—you can find him. Look into the goblet and push.”
Still uncertain, Ganymede did as Eros said. His own reflection, red and distorted, stared up at him. But Ganymede could also feel the liquid in the cup, sense its shape. And then he pushed harder with his mind and he felt more liquid everywhere in the world. It pulled at him, yanked him around, spread his thoughts thin. He felt himself disperse like mist in a wind. He was fading, disappearing.
A sharp, stinging pain cracked over him and abruptly he was standing in the great hall again. The gods continued their party.
“Careful,” Eros cautioned, lowering his hand. “Think about your brother, too.”
Ganymede rubbed his face where Eros had slapped him, then turned back to the goblet. He thought about Ilos and Minos, about his brother and the king.
And then he was looking down through the roof of the palace at Knossos. Minos lay on a luxurious bed, a jeweled wine cup at his side, his leg wrapped in a splint. He seemed pretty out of it—eyes glazed, face pale—and Ganymede figured he must be drunk or on some kind of ancient Greek painkillers or both. Ganymede felt kind of pleased about Minos lying there with a broken leg. The fucker deserved it.
And then he was part of a gentle rain shower, his droplets rushing down from the clouds. On their way to the ground, they passed Ilos, who was staring out of his bedroom window. He looked sad and worried, and Ganymede felt a pang. He knew what Ilos was worrying about.
“Can I look at what happened before this?” he asked aloud. He was still aware of Eros standing beside him, even though he was also part of the rain below.
“Well, yeah,” Eros said. “Just think about what you want to see, and you’ll see it.”
Ganymede did, and suddenly he was back at the rocky hillside where Minos had tried to kill him. It was weird—he was looking at everything from above and seeing it from eye level at the same time, sort of like the way people can see in a dream, but clearer. He saw the eagle fading into the distance, himself a tiny speck hanging from its talons. He watched Minos, who was lying at the bottom of the hill, sit up, dazed, his left leg bent at a nauseating angle. The hunting dogs barked at the sky for a few more seconds, then ran down to their master. Minos tried to stand up, then fainted from the pain when he moved his leg, and Ganymede couldn’t feel bad.
A bit later, some men from the hunting party found him and made a stretcher out of some branches and a tunic. Looking worried, they carried him back to the palace. Ilos was waiting in the courtyard.
“What happened to my brother?” Ilos demanded, completely forgetting all the stuff about being a diplomat. “Where is he?”
Minos lay on the stretcher in the courtyard with several men around him. A healer was already on the way, but someone had given him some strong wine to drink, and his voice was already a little slurred with it.
“Your brother . . .” Minos began. “I’m sorry, Ilos. We were chasing a stag up the hill, and then lightning struck the tree up at the top. It threw me back down the way we came, and I broke my leg. But Ganymede . . . I’m afraid Ganymede went over the cliff and down into the ravine. He’s dead.”
“No,” Ilos whispered. “No, he can’t be.”
“It’s true, young Ilos,” Minos said, all oil and sympathy. “The ravine is deep, and no one has ever managed to climb it. Still, we can send men down to look for his body once the rain has dried, though I’m afraid the river at the bottom may have already washed him out to sea.”
At that moment, the healer arrived. He ordered Minos brought into the palace, and Ilos couldn’t talk to him anymore. Ganymede pulled away from the scene and found himself back on Olympus with Eros still beside him.
“I have to go see my brother,” Ganymede said. “He thinks I’m dead! He’s scared and alone, and I have to tell him I’m all right. How do I do it?”
“I wouldn’t yet,” Eros said. “You’re still new to this. You could get lost.”
Urgency was making Ganymede pace in a little circle. “Can you take me?”
“Do I look like a errand boy? That’s Hermes’s job.”
Ganymede glanced over at Hermes, who was dancing with both Apollo and Aphrodite at the same time. After Zeus’s reaction to being interrupted, Ganymede wasn’t sure he could get away with tapping Hermes on the shoulder right then.
“Nah, he won’t do it now,” Eros said, and Ganymede wondered if the guy was a good guesser or if he was reading Ganymede’s thoughts. “But there is someone else.”
He reached behind himself and pulled a silver arrow from the quiver on his back. In his hands appeared a bow made of light and gold. Eros aimed for a tiny second and let fly. The arrow flicked across the hall and thumped into the ground less than an inch from the foot of Iris, who was nibbling ambrosia and talking to the little demon Phobos. She squeaked and jumped back, then glared across the hall at Eros. He gave her a little finger wave. There was a streak of color, and suddenly she was standing beside him. A rainbow trail faded in the air behind her.
“What?” she demanded.
“Can you run a quickie?” he said, and explained.
Iris looked at Ganymede. “Family problem, huh? Okay, I can help. Come on.”
She held out her hand. Ganymede took it, and Olympus vanished.