Don't Read in the Closet volume one (4 page)

“You’ve got to be
kidding me. How the Tartarus am I supposed to get those two in the same room
together, never mind lined up to fall in love?”

“Bad assignment?” Achan
asked, sounding genuinely sympathetic.

“You could say that.
Last I saw these two hated each other. To the point of sending trained
assassins.”

Achan winced, but then
did something completely shocking. He raised himself up on his tip-toes and
brushed a quick kiss to Dashiel’s cheek. “You’ll do it. I know you will.”

Dashiel sucked in a
shocked breath, only to find Achan smelt divine—a combination of sweet from the
sweet-ice and spicy from something that was simply Achan. As he pulled away,
their eyes met and held—making it feel like they were the only two immortals in
Godshome. But just as Dashiel went to move in and bring their lips together for
a proper kiss, Achan stepped back—blushing furiously.

“Well that was—” Achan
cleared his throat. “Interesting.”

“Achan—”

“I should go,” Achan
continued—sounding overly bright and cheerful as he took several more steps
back. “First day and all that. Got to make a good impression.”

“Wait! Achan! Will I see
you at the Spring Festival tomorrow?” Dashiel rushed to ask, desperate not to
let the other god escape again.

Like flicking a switch,
Achan changed in an instant. As if playing from a script, the cocky,
self-assured god was back in the blink of an eye. “Well, that all depends.”

“On?”

“If I get a better
offer.”

Dashiel gaped at him.
But before he could think—or sputter in indignation—the sound of tinkling bells
interrupted, calling Achan away to deliver more messages.

“Oops! Saved by the
bell. Must go.”

“Achan!” Achan
turned—flying backwards so he could look at Dashiel but still technically be
answering the summons. Smart godling. “Tell me I can pick you up tomorrow
evening to go to the Spring Festival.”

Achan sighed
theatrically. “Oh all right. I wouldn’t want you pining away.”

And with that, Achan
spun around and dashed off, laughing all the way. Strangely enough, Dashiel
felt like laughing too. It was only then he realised he didn’t know where Achan
lived. Damn! The little imp wasn’t going to make it easy on him it seemed. He’d
have to hunt down the information himself. Somehow, the thrill of the chase
made the pursuit all the sweeter.

****

Hearing the steady beat
of rain against the roof, Dashiel sighed and sank further into his chair by the
fire. It looked like Jupiter’s Minions were out living it up with one last
winter storm before tomorrow’s big Spring Festival. After the day he’d had
trying to get the leaders of two rival crime syndicates to fall in love it
seemed like the perfect excuse to bar the door, ignore the whole Pantheon and unwind
with a good book and a glass of red.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t
so easy to concentrate on the words or the Merlot. Achan’s image invaded his
thoughts time and again. Something about the god haunted him, especially since
their little impromptu meeting earlier in the day. Dashiel couldn’t shake the
feeling there was something else going on. Something more than just an
accidental re-acquaintance with an old friend that had turned out to be a real
hottie. One he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about.

A fist pounding on the
door snapped Dashiel out of his ruminations. The rain was still coming down in
buckets outside. Which didn’t mean much admittedly—The Pantheon was full of
gods and goddesses crazy enough to run around partying in weather like this.
But he couldn’t think why they’d be bothering him. He’d let it be known
centuries ago that rain depressed the crap out of him. He was more a spring and
summer sunshine kind of god.

The hammering came
again, this time louder—more insistent.

“I’m coming,” Dashiel grumbled,
pushing himself up out of his comfy chair and heading for the front door—all
the while thinking of interesting ways to torture and maim immortals that came
to the door in the middle of the night during a thunderstorm.

He flung open the door
in disgust, ready to give whoever was on the other side a piece of his mind,
and was stunned to find a very wet, very bedraggled looking Achan dripping on
the stoop.

About a thousand miles
away from the teasing, mischievous god he’d been only a few hours ago, Achan
was a mess. His spikes were all gone now—his hair plastered to his head by the
rain in mangled disarray. His normal full lips were thin and
bloodless—trembling slightly as he panted for breath. And his eye make-up ran
down his cheeks in long black streaks, making him look like a very sad raccoon.
Or on second thoughts, more like a very frightened raccoon.

“Achan! Are you all
right?”

“Dash, I… I think I’m in
trouble,” Achan whispered—so softly it was lucky Dashiel was a god or he’d
never have been able to hear him.

Suddenly, above the
drumming of the rain, Dashiel heard the sound of troops moving down the
street—pounding on doors, shouting out orders to open up.

Achan jumped—his eyes
wide and terrified. “Please, Dashiel. I don’t know where else to go. I need
your help.”

The petrified look on
Achan’s face and the sound of the Quirinus—the city’s official guards—getting
closer spurred Dashiel into action.

“Quick, get inside.”
Grabbing hold of Achan’s very wet arm, he dragged the dishevelled god inside
and quickly locked the door.

Through the solid oak
panel, they could still hear the Quirinus Guards moving down the
street—systematically knocking on doors, yelling orders and getting closer with
every second.

“Oh gods! They’re
coming.” Achan was shaking now. “I didn’t do it, Dash. I swear I didn’t—”

Dashiel stared at Achan.
There was no way he could just hand him over. Not like this. Not before he’d
got some bloody good answers to the questions rushing through his head.

“Calm down. You head
into the bathroom and clean-up. I’ll handle this.”

A heavy fist pounded on
the door. “Quirinus. Open up.”

Achan might have let out
a terrified squeak, but Dashiel simply pushed him towards the bathroom door.
“Go.”

The fist pounded again.

“I’m coming,” Dashiel
shouted back, waiting until Achan disappeared from view and he heard the
distinctive snick of the lock before moving to answer the front door.

The rain had eased to a
steady drizzle, but the look on the guard’s face on the other side of the door
was every bit as thunderous as the storm had been. Dashiel pretended not to
notice.

“Good evening, officer.
What can I do for you?”

“We’re looking for Achan
Mercury-Herald. Have you seen him?”

Dashiel shrugged. “Once
or twice.”

The guard’s eyes
narrowed—he looked completely unimpressed. But Dashiel merely leant casually
against the door frame.

“Sorry, I can’t help
you. But if there’s nothing else, I have company I really must be getting
back—”

“Who else is here?” The
guard demanded moving to step forward.

“I don’t think so.”
Dashiel stood up straight and blocked the way with his body. “Your pardon, but
I’m entertaining the sort of company that… let’s just say doesn’t appreciate
being disturbed. If you know what I mean. I’m sure Maximus Quirinus can vouch
for me… tomorrow.”

“Maximus Quirinus is in
there?”

“No,” Dashiel replied,
but with his eyes he said something very different.

Fortunately, the guard
wasn’t stupid. Or at least not stupid enough to tempt that Dashiel might
actually have Maximus Quirinus—temper and all—in his bed. He certainly wouldn’t
want to be the one on duty when they had to tell the boss about whatever was
going on. It was well known that Quirinus Guards did everything in their power
to sort problems out themselves before bothering their leader.

“Why are you looking for
Achan anyway?”

“None of your business,”
the guard snapped, glancing down the street as they heard the distinctive
jingle of armour heading their way.

Dashiel affected a
casual shrug. He’d find out soon enough from Achan anyway. “Fair enough.”

A second guard hurried
up the front steps to join them. “Sir, there’s a Venus who says he saw Achan
with the Chalice heading towards the Alpheus river.”

Dashiel stiffened. “The
Chalice of Eternal Ambrosia?”

“No!” The first guard
barked,
then
cursed under his breath. “You didn’t hear
that. There’s no need to… alarm anybody at this stage. We have the situation
well in hand.” The guard took a deep breath. “But if you do happen to see Achan
Mercury-Herald, you’re to report it at once.”

“Of course.”

With that, the guards
turned and hurried away towards The Venus Quarter.

After shutting and
locking the door, Dashiel turned and leant heavily against the smooth wooden
panel. What a mess. He wasn’t even sure where to begin unravelling the tangle
that had unceremoniously landed in his lap.

Out of the corner of his
eye, he caught sight of Achan peering at him from around the bathroom
door—looking a little less damp, but still pale and wide-eyed.

“I didn’t do this,” he
said—soft and low.

Dashiel just stared at
him.

“I didn’t, Dashiel. You
have to believe me. I didn’t do this.”

“Well it’s not like you
don’t have a history.”

“I never stole the
Chalice. I just… borrowed it. I put it right back.”

“Borrowed!” Dashiel
bellowed,
then
shook his head in exasperation. “What a
fucking mess! What were you thinking?”

Achan seemed to bristle
as he stepped out from behind the bathroom door. “I only did it to…”

“To what, Achan? To get
everyone’s attention? To show them how clever you were? What a good Mercury
you’d become? Well, congratulations, Achan. They all know.”

“I didn’t do it to show
them!”

Achan’s face was a
twisted mask of anger and torment now, but Dashiel was too upset himself to
back down. This was serious. Serious enough to see Achan banished to—

Dashiel couldn’t even
stand to think of the endless torture and punishment gods and immortal
creatures might expect to be sentenced to for crimes of this nature.

“Then why, Achan? Why’d
you do it? ‘
Cause
I sure as Tartarus hope it was worth
it after the mess you’re in now.”

Achan just looked
away—his cheeks dark red, his jaw set.

“Well?”

“I wanted to show you! I
wanted you to notice!”

“What?”

“The only reason I did
it, the only reason I did any of it was to get your attention.”

“You stole the Chalice
of Eternal Ambrosia so I’d notice you?”

“I didn’t steal it. I
just borrowed it. I distributed the Ambrosia for the ceremony and that’s it. I
put the Chalice right back. Everyone saw that.”

Dashiel had absolutely
no idea what to say. His head was spinning—a thousand thoughts and confusing
emotions bombarding him. He didn’t even know where to begin.

“Okay.” Dashiel took a
deep breath and ran his hands through his hair again. First things first.
“Okay. Let’s just calm down and try to figure a way out of this mess.”

“How?”

How indeed.

“We have to find out who
really took the Chalice. That’s our first challenge,” Dashiel said as he
watched Achan begin to pace back and forth across the living room. “Then we
have to get it back and work out how to clear your name.”

And after that, they
really needed to have a little chat.

“How are we supposed to
do that?” Achan sounded tight and agitated. “The entire Quirinus Guard is out
there looking for it. And they’ve already decided I took it.”

“Yes, but who better to
catch a thief than a thief?”

Achan stopped his
frantic pacing and cocked his head in incomprehension.

“Think about it. What
would you have done?”

“I don’t know!” Achan
snapped,
then
let out a frustrated breath. “I really
don’t. No one’s ever been able to take the Chalice. It’s too well protected.”

“But you did.”

“No I didn’t. I never
actually stole the Chalice, I just—” Achan froze mid-sentence—kohl darkened
eyes widening.

“What?”

“I didn’t take the
Chalice.”

Without another word,
Achan bolted for the door.

“Achan! Wait! Where are
you going?”

“Come on! We have to
hurry. I just hope we’re not too late.”

****

The amphitheatre was
dark and quiet. Dashiel couldn’t get over how different the place looked. He’d
never seen it so cold and still. Then again, he’d never bothered coming here
outside a ceremony or festival. Still, he had expected at least a few guards
and officials to be hanging around, even afterhours. But apparently they were
all out combing Godshome for Achan and the missing Chalice.