Dionysus (Greek God Romance Book 1) (6 page)

“You forgot the it.”

“What was that?”

“You came in and said, ‘Good. I made just in time.’”

“Also on purpose.”

“Get off it.” She laughed, throwing the towel over her shoulder and putting her hands on the counter. She stared into his alluring purple eyes, smirked and said, “Worried?”

Dionysus grunted. “Come closer.”

Rebecca brought her face close to his. He whispered, “You’re right. But I’ll admit nothing to this gang. No weaknesses.” He winked at her.

Rebecca winked back. “What can I get you?”

“How did you do it?”

“My charm.”

“This group?”

Rebecca surveyed the bar, careful not to look at Medusa in the eyes. A satyr sitting at the third stool to the left accidentally looked at her while drunk and turned to stone. Dionysus snapped his fingers and he was back, lively, and spilling his mug of beer about.

Medusa walked up to the bar. “What brings you here at this time, Dionysus?”

“You speak so boldly to a god.”

She cackled. “Whose patronage isn’t as old as dust here?”

Dionysus tilted his head. “I always admired your tongue.”

“You’ve done more than that.”

Rebecca made a sour face and poured Medusa a drink, one drink actually. She had been slinging it all night. She had discovered the secret to all these mythological creatures’ hearts—piña coladas.

Rebecca slid one over to Medusa. “Thank you, wonderful mortal. You have purchased your life, this day.” She took the drink and slinked off to the back.

He gestured over his shoulder with his thumb. “What’s that drink?”

“You don’t know?”

“No.”

“It’s a piña colada. . . I thought you invented drinks.”

“I made the originals.”

“What was that back there?”

“What was what?”

“You know.”

He smiled, looking around. “You’ve become cryptic. Perfect for this town.”

“And?”

He scratched at the back of his head, still avoiding eye contact. “Get my usual.”

Rebecca went to the back where a section was devoted to Dionysus. She grabbed the darkest ale to ever exist. No light escaped it. Dionysus had called it, Black Hole—fitting.

She slid him his beer, and he offered, “We slept together once.”

She made a slightly disgusted face.

“Don’t give me that.”

“I have to.”

He laughed merrily, enjoying what was to come. “Am I to believe that you never had a sloppy night with an ogre of a man?”

“Maybe. . .”

He pierced into her hazel eyes. “Maybe. . .? I’m sure there is some lucky fella whose still skipping around town having shared a bed with you.”

She grinned, loving the banter. “All right. We all have a bad one in the pocket. But Medusa?”

He shrugged. “It was one of the rare times that I was very drunk, very young and wondered what she could do with her long tongue.”

“A lot.”

He nodded, sipped, and flicked a gold coin. “Plenty.”

Finally,
Rebecca said to herself,
what I’m good at, some lovely flirting.
She had been discouraged by Olympus’ unique persuasion of man and their attitude towards her—and obviously, the insanity of the place. But looking back at yesterday, and today, she concluded that Dionysus was interested. She arched her back slightly and said, “Still into women with snakes for hair and deadly eyes?”

He lifted his eyebrows. “All women have deadly eyes.”

“And the snakes?”

“I like to be the only one with a snake in hand.”

She turned, smiled at the ground, made another piña colada, served a lycaon then strutted back, leaning over and putting her chin in her hand.

Dionysus nodded over at the lycaon. “A lycaon?” He looked around the place. Suddenly a Queen song came on the jukebox, he spotted the three gorgon sisters, the three famous witches, centaurs, satyrs, Empusa with her fiery hair and signature bronze skin.

Empusa was the inspiration for “bronzing.” She had been seen by the creator of California Tan who was driving past Olympus, and spotted Empusa. She stood by the outskirts in contrast to the night—a bronze silhouette. Luckily for the creator of California Tan, she did not pull over and take a closer look. It would have been her last.

Dionysus was floored by how comfortable Rebecca was in this setting. Some of the monsters in here would skin a mortal for looking at them. The lycaon loved a mortal hunt.
This is unprecedented.

Now, the term “monster” should be used lightly and Dionysus only used the term when he felt he was expected to. The truth was that the “monsters” were gods and goddesses themselves. The saying, “History is written by the victorious.” This was a saying that came about as Dionysus was drunk off of a particularly nasty wine concoction he had invented—it made him wildly belligerent. That saying was meant to rub disdain at his father’s choices. For his father, Zeus, had decided to label just about every god of old or new heritage who’s aesthetics were unappealing as a
monster.
Zeus had sent heroes to dispose of them, and they would be gone for a time, but would regenerate like all gods and goddesses do. He banned them from Mount Olympus back at the might of his power and was tricked by a combined effort of Hermes and Dionysus to allow them into present-day Olympus.

She arched her left brow singularly, keeping the right steady as if she embodied Dwayne Johnson, and put her face close to Dionysus who remained in deep thought. “Problem?”

“No.” He shook his head. “No. No. No.
Absolutely
fascinating.”

“What?” She gestured with her head at the crowd. “This bunch?”

“I noticed you didn’t use any terms like scary. . . or monsters. Monsters is used often on Olympus.”

“Monsters?” She frowned. “Isn’t everyone related?”

“More or less.”

“Are you all monsters then?”

He burst out laughing, his shoulders shrugging slightly. “The funny thing is. . . too many of us are.”

“They seem okay with you.”

“I gave them a home. They’ll forget sooner or later.”

“I’m not sure about that.”

The
more, more
part in the Queen song was shouted by Eurayle, but her sisters, realizing that Rebecca was in the bar, ran over and covered her mouth.

Eurayle, accidentally, on many occasions, has killed a few mortals by singing karaoke.

Dionysus swung his stool around about to fly over before seeing the gorgon sisters cover her mouth. This made him admire Rebecca even more, if possible. “They like you. They
really
like you.”

She shrugged. “What can I say? I bring
all
the boys and girls to the yard.”

He snorted then made an audible “ah” as he drank from his beer.  He put it down and said, “I figured you wouldn’t be staying with us, then I remembered that Hermes probably couldn’t allow that.”

“Yeah. . . he hit me. . . twice.”

“Hit you?” There was a tremble in his voice, concern. It made Rebecca beam.

“Not like that.” She gestured it away with her hand. “He stopped me when I tried to drive away, then I ran into him leaving my apartment. I figure, if you get stopped from leaving a place twice, might as well stay and see the sights.”

“Ha! Did he wait until you woke up? Gods can forget mortal fragility.”

She nodded. “He did. . . Slight problem there.”

“Oh?”

“He’s watching TV. I think he’s add—”

“Ah, shit.”

“What?”

“This again.”

“Again?” Rebecca couldn’t believe it, but then, she remembered Hermes saying that it was his
first
time watching TV—another peculairity.

“Yeah, we’ve been through this song and dance before.”

“Oh?”

“Memory wipe.” He finished his beer, set it down and gestured with his head for another. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll take care of it.”

She held his stare, smiling, thinking,
this is a man.
She got his beer and came back. “You ready?”

“For?”

“Well. . . Hermes was supposed to take me to Heph’s shop, he said.”

“Oh. . . After?”

She nodded. “You going to make it?”

“For you lovely, anything.”

THAT’S GOT TO LEAVE A MARK

Zeus boulevard was the heart of Olympus and intersected with every street. If the name were not enough, Zeus also had his face on each sign and a logo at each corner. He was a god, a brand and had created vanity long ago.

Rebecca and Dionysus waited at the bar until dawn, then strolled together down Zeus Boulevard to get to Heph’s Shop of Wonders.

Hephaestus did not care for his nickname, which meant that everyone insisted on calling him that.

Dionysus said, “Uuuh.”

“What?”

“The sun. It’s too much.” He blocked it with his hand.

“You, all right?”

“I am a god. I am sublime.”

“Ha!”

“What?”

“If that’s what sublime looks like, I’ll pass.”

He swiftly changed the subject, looking back to see if any of the “monsters” heard her comment. “What’s the world up to?”

“You don’t know?”

He shrugged. “I am at a part of my life where I live in hibernation, most of us. . . actually. The world isn’t young anymore. We aren’t needed. People have found other things to pay tribute to.”

“You don’t seem like the kind of. . . god, if you will, that needs people to pay tribute to.”

“I don’t. I can’t imagine what the world would do to us if we came out of the closet, asking for this and that.”

“You’re afraid?”

He frowned. “Who isn’t?”

“Apollo left a book behind the counter. Greek mythology. He had it opened to you. It said you were torn to bits.”

“I was.”

“That’s got to leave a mark.”

He looked up. “It has. But the aggression is gone. Apollo could learn a thing or two.”

Rebecca looked over at him and smiled. “It was left there to provoke you.”

“Certainly. Also I think he finds it irritating you don’t know much about our lore and wants you to read it without saying so. If he said something about it, then he would relinquish power to you.”

“That’s
not
convoluted and crazy.”

He snorted. “Most of us are.”

Rebecca gestured around. “How did this happen?” Olympus looked much like one would envision Olympus to be. There were temples and massive columns with gorgeous marble statues and engravings running along the sides of the homes. They were colossal, each a mansion in their own right. Each god or goddess had a respective color that their homes would be: a sky blue for Zeus, a deep blue for Poseidon, red for Ares and so forth. They also had engravings around the top of their homes that correlated to specific battles. Battles that were never reported such as the story of how Typhoeus came to be, around Poseidon’s home. Rebecca could appreciate the craftsmanship but had no idea what any of it represented. She would later see the town from above and notice in detail the many statues that capped each roof, which was not visible from below because of the size of everything.

The trees outside the residences and temples were perfectly manicured and lined the sidewalks in rows. The sidewalks themselves were marble and sparkled.

“Too many people.”

“Eh?”

“You ever lie to someone?”

“Of course.”

He grinned. “So human.”

“Gods don’t lie?”

“The ones that are supposed to.”

“If I ask a pointed question, you have to answer honestly?”

He nodded.

“But not entirely?”

“Now you get it.”

She scoffed. “How is that different?”

He ignored the question and continued, “How many people do you think you can lie to and keep in the dark?”

She thought this over then said, “I don’t know. . . couldn’t be more than a handful. It would get out eventually.”

“Now try a civilization.”

“The jig was up.”

“Huh?”

“Expression.”

“Ah. . . Those are fun. You should teach me some.”

She smiled. “I will.”

He continued, “Humans kind of spawned out of control.”

“I’ll say.”

He laughed heartedly. “It’s a new age, this one where many do not want kids. But for centuries and millennia before that, people bred like rabbits. Five kids here. Ten there. And it almost seemed as if they did not care that they were worth less than the soil they stood upon. Zeus started it all. . . guess we are to blame.”