Fruit of Misfortune (23 page)

Eros closed the trunk and took his spot in
the driver’s seat. He looked at me through the rearview mirror.

“Do I look like a taxi driver?”

“You look like a lot of things to me.” I
fished my earphones out of the bag and inserted the stereo plug end
into my phone. “I’m not sure you’d like to hear the list.”

Eros turned to look at me with his pouty lips
pulling down at the corners. “Isis, sit up here, or this car is not
moving.”

“Listen,” I said, sticking an earphone bud in
my right ear. “We can sit and argue about the seating arrangement
if you want, but you should know that they’ll be back in less than
half an hour.”

“Why are you so difficult?”

Eros turned to face the front windshield, and
the car engine roared to life. He took a moment to slide on his
designer sunglasses, adjusted the rearview mirror, and then drove
the car out of the driveway.

I bit my lip to keep from crying. I slumped
back into the seat, boosting the music on my earphones to the
highest setting, loud enough for Eros to hear and not even attempt
to strike up a conversation. As we entered the outskirts of the
city, the buildings became smaller. Soon there was only open road
ahead of us and the countryside. The trees scurried by like green
wisps as I felt the car gaining speed. The Greek countryside
reminded me of the forest around the Ebony Estate and the long
afternoon walks that David liked to take me on.

“I don’t have to have to share you with
anyone when we’re here,” he had told me once.

The pain hit me like a fastball to the chest,
and I closed my eyes and breathed deep to keep from crumbling. I
rested my head against the window, casting a quick glance at Eros.
He was watching me through the rearview mirror. I turned the music
off and pulled out the earphones.

“How much longer?” I asked.

“Two hours.” The car slowed and Eros drove
into the only gasoline station I had seen on the road thus far.
“We’ll take our breakfast here. It’s not up to my standards for
cuisine, but it’ll have to do.”

“I’m not hungry. Let’s just keep going.”

He parked the car on the side of the small
red building and stepped out. I hadn’t even noticed that he had
dressed down for the occasion, wearing jeans and a basic cotton
t-shirt. A very tight t-shirt. The sculpted torso that had been
lying on the bed the previous night was slightly visible under the
thin fabric. The door on my side opened, and Eros offered me his
hand.

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the
day.”

I stared at his hand, then looked up at him
and shook my head. He took his sunglasses off and hooked them on
his shirt, weighing down the V on his neckline.

“You go ahead. I’m not hungry,” I said.

“The faster we do this, the faster we get to
Kyparissia.”

“Fine.” I let one leg slide out of the car
onto the gravel parking lot. “But I’m not eating.”

I swung the door a little too hard, making
the entire car wobble like Jell-O. Two lines formed in the middle
of Eros’ brows. The new strength in my arms was hard to get used
to, more so when it was unstable, coming and going like it did.

“You. Will. Eat.”

“No.”

“Listen,” Eros sighed, “I appreciate that you
want to look good for me, but anorexia is a bit dramatic.”

“It’s a medical condition.”

“Technically, it’s a psychological
condition,” he said, digging his hands into his pockets. “Nowadays,
society knows nothing about beauty. A woman’s curves are what make
her a woman.”

The sun behind Eros’ head created the
illusion of a halo. He looked—well—godly. For a second, I thought
he might have meant what he said, but then I brushed the thought
away. He was much too arrogant to think like that.

“I’m not anorexic. And I could care less what
I look like.”

I took a step toward the red building. The
window advertisements for French fries, Coca-Cola, and other junk
food made my mouth water.
I’d kill for a slice of pizza.

Eros skipped a few steps ahead and opened the
paint-chipped door.

“After you,” he said. I rolled my eyes at
him.

Inside, the building’s walls were lined with
bright yellow booths. Each booth could accommodate only two people.
Scattered between the center of the room and the register were
several tiny tables. They looked clean enough. The other half of
the place was an average gasoline convenience store, stocked with
chips, candy bars, and maps. The scent of fried food filled my
nostrils, and all of a sudden, my craving turned into nausea.

“It smells horrible in here.” I wrinkled my
nose and took the first available booth.

A young girl with short dark hair set down
menus on our table and spoke to me in Greek. My eyes shifted to
Eros.

“What would you like to drink, my sweet?”
Eros asked.

“Stop calling me that. I’ll have water.”

“You’re American?” the waitress asked.

“Yes.”

“Cool. It’s the land of the free and home of
the brave, yeah?”

“It’s what they say,” Eros said, curtly.
“We’re ready to order.”

“What would you like?” the waitress
asked.

“I’ll have coffee—black and freshly brewed.”
He looked over the menu. “And a fresh fruit bowl with granola and
honey.”

“And you, miss?”

“Nothing for me, thank you.”

“We have fresh pastries,” she offered.

“Thanks.” I shook my head. “I’m not
hungry.”

Eros raised a reprimanding eyebrow at my
answer, like my mother used to do when I was a kid.

“We’ll share the fruit,” he told the
waitress.

“Okay. I’ll bring you an extra bowl,” the
waitress said. “So I noticed your accent. My brother just moved to
France, and he’s gay, too. You would like him.” She smiled, then
turned on her heel and left with a small spring in her step.

“You really had me fooled,” I teased.

The glare that Eros gave me made me shrink in
my seat, and the silence that followed was awkward. I dedicated my
time to twirling the butter knife round and round on the table,
waiting for the waitress to return. Eros let his hand drop over
mine as I was about to begin another set of loops with the
knife.

“I’m not gay,” he said, taking the knife from
under my hand and setting it aside.

“I know that. Even if you were, there’s
nothing wrong with it.”

“I’m glad you think that way because I don’t
stand for bigotry or prejudice regarding sexual preference. In the
end, it’s love, and I speak from experience.”

I blinked at Eros, trying to make sense of
the last part of his statement. After a moment, realization dawned
over me.

“Are you bi?”

“No—it wasn’t for me.”

“Oh.”

The waitress arrived with our drinks and
Eros’ fruit. She placed the order on the table and Eros thanked her
before she turned to busy herself with another table full of
patrons.

Eros pierced a strawberry with his fork and
held it up to my mouth.

“Eat,” he said, and I pushed the fork
away.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Would you prefer a nice, raw piece of human
meat? I can arrange that.”

“That’s not funny.” I glared at him.

“I wasn’t joking.”

“You never cease to amaze me. And that’s not
a compliment.”

Eros bit off a piece of the strawberry on his
fork as he looked at me. Damn those pink, full lips of his. I
couldn’t stand for him to do that with the rest of the fruit
without staring.

“I have to use the bathroom,” I said.

Using his fork, Eros pointed to a hall at the
far corner. I slid out of the booth and headed toward it.

A smoke cloud greeted me as I stepped into
the restroom. I coughed.

“Hey, American girl,” the waitress said. “You
want a cig?”

“No thanks.”

“You don’t smoke?”

I shook my head.

“Hmm…” She sized me up, blowing a thin line
of smoke from the corner of her mouth. “You party?”

“No, not really.”

“America must be boring. Is that why you and
your gay friend are traveling together—to have fun?”

“No, and he’s not really my friend. He’s
helping me find someone.”

“Oh, yeah? Who are you looking for?”

“My dad.”

“Is he missing?”

“I wouldn’t call it missing. More like
hiding. It’s a long story.”

“And you trust that guy you’re with to find
him even though he’s not your friend?” she asked, and I shrugged.
“You shouldn’t trust a guy that can manipulate you, you know?
Especially,
that
asshole.” She flicked what was left of the
cigarette into the sink. “He’ll make you go crazy, and you won’t
even know it.”

I cocked my head. How did she know that? She
was offering too many facts to write it off as a coincidence.

“So are you going to pee, or what?” she
asked.

“No. I don’t have…” I shook my head. “Why did
you say that just now?”

“Just my opinion. Does it bother you? I’ll
take it back, if it does, but I won’t mean it. And if you want to
ditch that guy, I’ll take you where you need to go.”

Like I would take a ride from a stranger?

“Um… Thanks, but even if I wanted to, all of
my stuff is in his car.”

She popped a stick of gum in her mouth and
offered me one. I took it out of courtesy and stuck it in my
pocket.

“Listen,” she said, “I don’t know how to tell
you this, but… well… I stole your stuff.”

“
What?”

“It’s in my car. I’ll give it back.”

“Are you serious?”

She pursed her lips and nodded.

“You’re a thief?”

“Eh. Sometimes.”

“Give me my things back.”

“Okay, but I don’t see what good that’ll do.
You won’t be going anywhere. Your car has two flat tires.” She gave
me an apologetic look. “I did that, too.”

I let out a short huff of air. I couldn’t
believe this girl!

“There was no other way,” she said, as if her
reason held a lot of weight to it.

“No other way to what? Piss me off?”

“What are you talking about? I did it to piss
off that guy you’re with, not you. He deserves it.”

“Let me get this straight.” I put my hand on
my hip. “You stole my things and flattened the car tires to piss
him off?”

“You’re not understanding. I slashed the
tires to piss
him
off. I stole your things because I knew
you wouldn’t come with me, unless you had no excuses.”

“Are you crazy? You stole from me, and I
don’t know you. Why the hell would I even think about going
anywhere with you?”

“Because all those people in the diner—except
for the asshole—aren’t people. They’re demons, and they’re here for
you
.”

I felt a
rush of adrenaline throw my pulse into overdrive.

“Who are you?”

“Galilea.”

“Galen’s girlfriend? He sent you?”

“No. Look, I don’t have time to explain. We
need to leave. I can only keep the block up for so long, before the
demons see you.”

“We can’t just leave Eros here.”

“They’re not after him. He’s in no danger.
Come on,” she said, walking out of the restroom, and handing me a
pair of sunglasses. “And put these on. Your eyes, they’re all kinds
of freaky. I don’t want to look at them.”

I slipped the sunglasses on and followed her
into the diner.

“I don’t see demons,” I said. “I see
people.”

“Look closer.”

My vision blurred for an instant, making me
blink. My eyes regained focus, and then I saw them. There were nine
hominoid beings that looked like they had been charred until their
skin was brown-red and glossy. They were spread across the room at
different tables. Their backs were slightly hunched and both their
hands and feet were lined with yellow claws. Wings made of skin
stuck out from their shoulders. The part of them that slightly
resembled a human was their eyes, except for the blood red irises.
What I noticed next made my knees weak. The Turpis had black, long
pupils, like mine.

“Their eyes are—”

“Like yours. I know.” Galilea nodded. “Let’s
get out of here.”

“What, through the front door? But Eros will
see me.”

“He can’t see you. None of them can,” she
said, pulling on my arm. “I’m already having trouble keeping up the
block that’s hiding us. Hurry up.”

“But—”

“Isis, in three minutes, the demons will see
you. I’m too drained from holding this block up to fight them. Eros
will be caught by surprise, and I doubt he’ll be able to take them
all down on his own.”

“You know Eros?”

“How do you think I know he’s an
asshole?”

“But he doesn’t seem to know you.”

“I made him forget. We can chat about it
later, okay? Now, come on!”

Galilea and I strode through the building. A
burning stench of sulfur and ammonia that hadn’t been there before
burned deep inside my nostrils, making my eyes water. I used my arm
to cover my nose and mouth. I stopped for a second as we passed
next to Eros who looked right past me and in the direction of the
bathrooms.