Sirenz (8 page)

“And you, Margaret,” she said, turning to me. “Please, don't bother to mince words. You won't turn into a carrion bird talking to me.”

Shar took off her glasses. “Do you know Hades?” she whispered.

Demi glared at her. “Do not speak
his
name in my presence.”

“Who are you?” I asked.

“I'm someone who doesn't like being robbed of what is most precious to me.”

“You're from the same circles as Had—I mean, our mutual acquaintance?” I asked.

She nodded.

“Who
are
you?” Shar repeated, at a loss. I was stumped too. Demi knew about us, and she knew about Hades. Apparently she didn't like him—that was something we had in common—but still, that told me nothing. Last night's flip through
The Encyclopedia of Myth
revealed that he had a long list of enemies.

Demi took a long, slow deep breath, like she was at the end of her patience.

“I don't mean to be rude,” Shar stammered. “But since you seem know about our situation, we're … a little nervous. With all these myths and ancient histories popping to life in front of us, and everything.”

“Well said,” I muttered, and nodded my head.

“I'm Demeter.” She sighed. “Think you can figure it out now?”

Demeter … I thought hard. Demeter was Hades' mother-in-law, and the goddess akin to Mother Nature. In her grief about having her daughter, Persephone, spend half the year in Tartarus, she made the earth hibernate each winter.

But what was she doing here, at the House of Romanov? Whatever the reason, it couldn't be good—for us.

“I'll make it a bit clearer for you,” Demi continued. “That repugnant pig you're working for stole my baby. I've never been able to get her back. She deserves far better than him. Oh, my poor darling Persephone, spending half the year in that horrible place … down there!”

“I'm sorry,” Shar said. “But we have nothing to do with—”

Demeter waved at hand at us. “How could I ever expect
you
to understand? You're mortals. Simple, stupid, inferior mortals.”

Pardon me?

“But maybe even you two can comprehend this: I
loathe
him. If I can throw his schemes askew, it gives a small bit of satisfaction.”

“But if we don't get Arkady, then—” Shar began.

I elbowed her in the arm to stop her. “Nondisclosure?” I mouthed, wide-eyed. We probably already said more than we should have.

Demeter stared menacingly at us, and the halogen lights over our heads flickered and buzzed. “I really don't care about your little arrangement with him. I want my Persephone back.
That
is my only concern.” She crossed her arms and turned away from us, but I could feel the anger rippling off her. The dogs whimpered.

“Soooo, you know about …” Shar started cautiously, then pointed at herself and me. “You know. Our arrangement.”

Demi's chin inched up. “I'm a goddess. There's not much I'm unaware of.”

“If you're a goddess, then you have to know a way to get Persephone back,” Shar argued.

Demeter seemed to grow even bigger, if that was possible, and together, Shar and I shrank and backed up into the wall.

“Impertinence! If there was a way, don't you think I would've done it?” she boomed. “We all have rules to follow, otherwise it would always be forever-summer because she'd be with me instead of him!”

Demeter was not to be trifled with. We seemed to be stuck in the middle, though, so we needed to make peace with her. Or at the very least, get her to see us as unwilling victims of Hades' plan.

I drew myself up to my full height—all five foot three inches—and stepped in front of Shar. Trying to appear conciliatory, I said, “I wish we could help you with that—”

“We'll try and stay out of your way,” Shar added, nodding very hard. “We don't want any trouble.”

De
meter spun around and regarded us with a specula
tive gleam in her eye that unnerved me. I felt Shar inching closer to me.

“There is … one possibility,” she murmured, moving closer to me. “I think I want to keep both of you in my sights.” She smelled like a field of flowers; if I closed my eyes, I'd swear I was standing in an open meadow in springtime. I fought the urge to relax my guard and kept my eyes on her. She reached out an elegant finger and poked at the black cat hanging on my purse handle. “Tell me, do you really think these things work?”

“Absolutely,” I answered, with as much confidence as I could muster. “I think it's more of a psychological thing. You know, it makes me think I can do what I need to do.”

Demi nodded thoughtfully. “Charms are all very well, I suppose. But you can't depend on them. You and Sharisse should concentrate on using your talents.”

“That's a little difficult,” Shar said, “considering that every time we use them, we grow feathers and claws. I don't want to add a beak to match my feet!”

Demeter waved a dismissive hand. “The power you have goes far beyond the uses he's divulged. You two haven't even begun to realize what you're capable of.”

I didn't understand. I'd scrolled through the iPhone a few times, and the rules seemed to be in line with everything Hades told us. Our powers—the enthralling look and the compelling speech—were always in effect; they only worked on males—we'd discovered that tidbit on our own; and they were more potent when we were in close proximity to each other. Once we'd enthralled someone, we could leave them and wait for the effects to wear off naturally; the duration was determined by how intensely we'd used the gift on them. Or, we could release them immediately by saying
ase me isihi
, which Hades thoughtfully footnoted was Greek for “leave me alone.” It also reminded us that we took on more physical Siren traits every time we used the gifts. I couldn't find any mention of additional powers, which made me suspicious … of Demeter, but also of Hades and the iPhone. What was the truth?

Demi fixed her eyes on us. “Pay attention. I'm only going to say this
once
.” She leaned in confidentially. “Your wiles don't just affect mortal males, you know. Even a god would be susceptible to you if you tried hard enough. Sharisse could have
him
under that well-pedicured size-ten foot of hers.” She stroked the wolf dog. His eyes were far too intelligent and he seemed to be grinning.

“But—” Shar protested.

Demeter slapped a hand on one hip and stared at us with a bored expression.

“How do you know this?” I couldn't help asking. “What would Shar
have to do?”

Shar pinched me. I guess I deserved it, but I was curious. Why would Demeter be encouraging Shar to play the role of seductress? It didn't make sense, because wouldn't it hurt Persephone? Or did Demeter think that if Hades focused his interest on someone else …
Shar
? I shut the thought out. It was too gross to consider, not to mention impossible. Persephone was a
goddess
. Hottie though Shar was, wouldn't Hades consider going from divine to mortal as trading down?

Demeter stared at us both as if we were stupid, and I was beginning to feel that way.

“Do I need to repeat myself, Margaret?” she snapped. “There's little about the gods that I don't know. Sharisse.” She turned to my roomie. “Don't pass up an opportunity like this to use your gifts to
your
advantage. I'm practically giving you everything you want.”

“Wait a sec,” Shar interrupted, voicing what I'd just been thinking. “You want me and
Hades
—”

Demi raised an imperious hand, twisting her head away from us. After a moment, she turned back with a snarl.

“How many times do I have to tell you
not to say his name
? Think about the valuable advice I've just imparted to you.”

One of the dogs howled. “That's right, Gorby,” she said, patting its head. She turned to us. “Time to take Arkady's babies for their walkies.” She threw the leashes at us. “You two do it. You might need the practice.”

She snapped her fingers, and we were standing in the Central Park dog walk.

“What the—” I yelped, whirling around and tangling my foot in a dog leash. Shar held two leashes and I held one—the one with the wolf attached to it. How thoughtful of Demeter to pop us into our coats, and to tuck the pooper-scooper under my arm and the collection bag under Shar's.

“Maybe this isn't a good time to bring this up,” Shar said to me as Gorby and friends started to drag us along. “You know those little cat charms? They don't work! That goddess is bad luck personified!”

Somewhere in the depths of my purse, something buzzed. Keeping my arm tight to my side so I wouldn't lose the scooper, I dug with my free hand. Was it the iPhone? It wouldn't surprise me if Hades was on the line, ready to deliver an acerbic comment—but for once I actually hoped it was him. I wanted to know why he didn't warn us about Demeter or anyone else who might pop up.

My fingers finally found the buzzing thing. Not the iPhone, but my own cell. I'd gotten a text. Flipping it open, I read:

So glad u came in. Fate likes me. J.

Jeremy?!
I felt my knees get wobbly but managed to tap out a slow reply with my thumb.

Me 2 but where'd u get my #?

We hadn't traded. I hit send. About three seconds later, another text came through.

Cheated & took from ur app. U mad?

Not likely!
I looked over at Shar, being dragged by the dogs a few yards in front of me. She was scolding them to slow down. I typed back.

Nooo.

I hit send and waited. A new message popped up:

The wolf must have decided to surge ahead and catch up with his comrades, because he tugged so hard I almost lost my balance.

“Whoa!” I yelled. “Heel!” Immediately, all the dogs halted, and I felt a twinge on my thigh.

Frantically, I patted my leg. I'd sprouted another feather—or three. Crouching, I took a peek under each of the dog's legs. All boys—and dogs are mortal. Hades hadn't specified
human
.

“What the heck are you doing?” Shar asked, a wary look on her face.

“Do yourself a favor and don't look at the dogs,” I said. It took her a second, but she got it. “Next time Hades shows his face, I have a few questions. Let's start with why Demeter is our coworker. You know, you could call him—remember when he told you he was on speed-dial? He is—I checked.”

“Not listening!”

But I could tell she heard me and was thinking about it. Demeter's presence could bring our progress to a grinding halt, and that seemed awfully convenient.

“
Ase me isihi
,” I muttered, and all the dogs took off again.

Please, please PLEASE help me get through this, kitty,
I chanted silently.
I have to stay focused
.
I have to …
I groped along the handle of my purse with my free hand, but it clasped on air. Kitty's empty chain swung from the strap.

The cat was out of the bag.

Here's
In Your Face

Muscles bulged underneath Gustav's bright white tee, and his Lycra pants were so form-fitting I expected to see each hair follicle. And he wasn't the first masseuse or medical person to strut through here. Yesterday, dog walking for Demeter; today, watching a parade of health technicians. I counted two personal trainers, a yoga guru, an aroma therapist, and three herbalists marching through the office before ten a.m. Was this a house of fashion or a wellness center?

I lingered outside Jeremy's office hoping for a chance to chat him up. He was alone now, but continually on the phone booking medical appointments for Arkady. Some of the treatments he mentioned were downright creepy and weird, even for the Hollywood crowd. Sleeping in oxygen tanks? Too much like a coffin. Eating nothing but raw veggies? Too depriving.

What some people will do to look good.

“Hi!” I waved at him when he hung up the phone. He looked up and smiled.

“How are your eyes?” he asked.

“A little better.” I tilted my head to the side. Now what to say? “Getting ready for this show is a lot of work.”

Well duh! Won't he think you're clever!

He nodded. “Tell me about it.” He sounded annoyed.

I frowned. “Don't you like it here?”

He leaned back in his chair. “It's okay. I guess.”

“You guess? You're working at one of the most exclusive houses in the city and it's only
okay
?”

“Jeremy!” A deep, gravelly and sharp voice echoed from the intercom.

“There's that,” he said, pointing at the phone with a grimace, “and the fact that fashion isn't exactly my thing. But it pays the bills. Keeps me in music. Hey.” His eyes lit up. Was I making some progress with him? I smiled, but looked at the wall just in case my glasses weren't dark enough. “Is Meg okay?” he asked.

“Meg?” She wasn't part of this conversation!

“Yeah. She's been really quiet. I saw her in the copy room and she just waved and went right back to work. Like she didn't want to talk.”

Opportunity!

“Oh, uh, I think she might be a little nervous about being here. Fashion isn't really her thing either.”

No no no! Don't say that!

“Really?” He perked up. “I thought she really wanted those shoes you two were arguing over.”

“Jeremy!” Arkady's scream saved me from having to respond about our shoe confrontation. He pushed his chair back and got up.

“I'd better go. You guys are doing great. Tell Meg not to be nervous, okay?” He patted me on the shoulder like I was his bud.

Grrr!
I watched him zip into Arkady's office. When I turned around, I found myself face to face with Gustav, who gave me a toothy Colgate grin as he lumbered down the hall.

Reynaldo, the sweaty but perfectly styled man we'd seen that first day, hustled closely behind him, but then stopped in front of me. I'd just learned that Reynaldo supervised the runway shows. I squinted at him through my shades. He wore tight black pants and an unbuttoned, flowing pirate-type shirt showing off his anorexic chest. The diamonds in his ear lobe winked at me.

“Nice glasses, chica. Go and get your friend and clean up the Gold Salon. A verrry important client is coming in. Hurry.” He flicked a pinkie to dismiss me.

“Who is it?” I asked, smoothing down my hair.

“No one that concerns you,” he huffed in a falsetto. My voice hadn't been that girly since sixth grade. “Just get down there, clean up, and leave as quickly as possible. Try not to be seen!”

I hurried down the hall. “Meg!” She was still stuck in the copy room. It was a good place for her. In the offices, we had no excuse for her to wear headphones, but in here, everyone just dumped their copy jobs in a bin and left without expecting any response. She'd managed to stay out of trouble all day. Her head snapped up when I came in and I caught a scared look in her eye. Must be hard for her to play the strong silent type. Never talk? I sure couldn't do it.

“We've got to clean up the Gold Salon for some client.” My voice sounded sharper than I wanted, but who could blame me?
I'm talking to him and he's talking about
her
. And now I'm a maid!

She sighed in relief, not seeming to notice. “I'll go any place where I can move my tongue. I think the muscles are atrophying.”

Of course the room was a mess. Clothes, fabric scraps, paper, boxes, and so much other junk cluttered the room.

“We don't have a lot of time,” I said.

“Big surprise,” Meg replied tersely as she started collecting the trash. I pushed the racks of designer clothes against a wall and snatched up an upright vacuum. It took less time than I'd expected.

Meg exhaled sharply, blowing aside her spiky bangs. “What slice of serfdom will Reynaldo be serving up next?”

I couldn't stop myself from giggling. We were given all the crappy jobs. Who knew that fashion was an ugly, degrading business? What would the cruel powers on high think of next? But before I could answer, I heard a velvety male voice above me say “Yo.”

He looked like someone famous, but I couldn't think of a name. Extensive grillwork on his teeth,
with
diamonds, a ton of heavy gold jewelry, pants almost falling off what was probably a buff butt—he was some hip-hop dude, but which one?

He smiled at me and I saw my surprised reflection in his Gucci sunglasses; not the ones they sold to the overpaying public, but the private, one-of-a-kind custom-made line.

“Yeah, I'm QT
. Here's an autographed pic for you, shuga booty.” He snapped his fingers and another similarly dressed but less bejeweled guy rushed forward, shoving a glossy 8×10 in my face. “And one for your friend.” He snapped another photo at me. I took them both, then turned to roll my eyes at Meg as I handed them to her. The third person in the mini entourage, a woman whose angular face should have been on the cover of
Vogue
, minus the sneering lip, strutted up to QT. She was cradling one of those yippy teacup breeds of dog. It was wearing more diamonds on its collar than an Oscar-nominated actress. The gems spelled out “Shakur.”

“Get Shakur's outfits.
Now
!”

She gave an imperious wave in our direction. I could feel how brittle my smile was. My tinted glasses were in place and hadn't failed me all day, so I wasn't worried about vamping the party boys. Thankfully, Meg was keeping her cool.

“Um, dog clothes?” I asked.

Ms. Vogue looked down the length of her long patrician nose at us. “Arkady created an exclusive line just for Shakur and named it after QT
.” She smiled lovingly at the flea bag, scratching it under the chin.

“It's called ‘I Love Pi,'” he said, showing us a sparkly smile.

Was I supposed to think that was clever?
Fail.

“And he's making matching outfits for me, so that Shakur and I can be coordinated. I want the leather jackets first. You!” she snapped at Meg. “Move your fat ass and find them. Then call Arkady down here.”

“Were you speaking to me?” Meg inquired, overly polite.

No! Not now!

“Meg! Shhh!”

Vogue glared at Meg. “Yeah, you shush, and get moving!”

I wanted to march up to Vogue and scratch her eyes out—see what she'd think of that. Instead, I said, “I'll get Jeremy to assist you.” I didn't bother with a smile.

Vogue's eyes glittered dangerously. “Get ARKADY. I don't deal with little people.”

Oh, Vogue, you've gone too far.

“Don't speak to us like that!” Meg snarled.

I slapped my forehead with my hand.
I wonder how often Cerberus poops. Could I convince Hades to get a kitty cat?

“Yeah, you heard the pretty lady. Don't talk to them like that,” said QT, turning on Vogue with a sharp voice and grim set to his jaw. Her mouth dropped open in shock.

I looked at Meg, trying to give her a subtle
Shut up!
gesture, but she was too busy being pissed off and didn't see it.

“We demand … ouch! Respect! Ouch!” Meg quickly put her hands behind her back.

Uh oh. She's sprouting feathers! If she doesn't shut up soon, she's going to be wearing an emu skirt.
I sneezed several times.

But Meg still couldn't let it go.

“Keep a leash on her! Ouch! Damn it!”

“She's right,” said QT, wagging a finger at Vogue. “You a mean woman. You need to be leashed.”

“I'll get Jeremy, he'll speak to Mr. Romanov, and this will all be settled,” I said, trying to shoo Meg out of the salon.

No one was listening to me. I felt another sneeze building.

“QT, don't you listen to her! You can't treat me like that!” Vogue did that hand-on-hips, head-weaving move that made her look like an angry Egyptian dancer.

“Baby, if she say you need a leash, then you need one—bad!”

A really nasty fight was imminent. I grabbed Meg's wrist and pulled her out of the room as fast as I could, but not before she turned to the shove-a-picture-in-your-face guy. She crumpled the photo into a ball and tossed it back at him. “Take your self-serving pictures back! We're not impressed!” He scrambled to catch them. She gave him her snottiest, most condescending look.

I rushed her into the nearest office, where Reynaldo sat at a glass and chrome desk. I whipped off my glasses and ogled him.

“Out. Now.”

“Ever hear the word ‘please'? You two sort things out. I'll be back in five,” he murmured, then glided away. He gave a little two-finger wave as he stepped out and closed the door. It clicked softly.

“Are you … Ah-choo! Effin crazy … Ah-choo! Meg?”

She growled, pointing toward the hall. “Everyone has their limit. They breached mine!”

“Yeah, but now you're paying the price,” I snapped angrily. “You realize we might get fired, then we'd have to use our powers more just to get close to Arkady, which means more feathers and talons for us! We could be running from animal control before tomorrow's out!”