Chapter 1 #2
Calliope chewed her lips in annoyance, and that was the moment Chuck met her gaze.
He smiled his perfect toothpaste commercial smile and waved at her.
She gave him a smile that was not quite genuine, clearly annoyed that she couldn’t even come to the DeLux Cafe without running into someone she knew, apparently.
Is the world really that small?
She looked away dismissively, returning her attention to her friend who was tsking her.
“I mean, you gotta give the guy credit for trying, you know. On his own. Without his wingman.”
“Chuck is not looking for a soul mate, Hattie. He’s looking for a body to warm his bed, nothing else.”
Hattie sighed in exasperation.
“People change, you know.” Her voice was strangely soft to Calliope’s ears.
Calliope tensed, for she knew what her friend was going to say, and she could not stop her. But that did not mean Calliope wanted to hear it.
“All I’m saying, is you can’t be a hermit forever, Callie. What happened with David—”
“Hattie, please...” She groaned. “Don’t...”
Just the mention of the man who’d gotten into her heart... who’d held it in his hands and crushed her dreams along with it... it was enough to make Calliope scream.
Like so many of the men she’d encountered in her long life, she’d thought she was providing David Green a sound service—inspiring him to be the great writer he was meant to be.
He was charismatic, bright, and his talent was severely malnourished and she knew with the right hand to guide him he could be an absolute star.
And when she’d offered him the same deal that she offered all her patrons, their dreams on a silver platter in exchange for the love and devotion she craved, she rationed David Green was worth it. His words, his art... it was all too important to not oversee.
And at first, the bond of praise and submission, the give and take, was heavily weighted.
Calliope gave and gave all she could to feed into David’s lofty ideals and dreams of grandeur.
She had given him everything she could, including herself.
Her heart. Her body. Until she had nothing left, no sparks left to give.
And he’d taken it all in greedily, spitting it back out in the form of a book—a book about Life and Death, as an entangled star-crossed lovers’ tale.
It was a lovely tale of fiction, but he would never see its success. Not now, not ever again...
Calliope could feel the tears festering behind her eyes.
She did not want to think about David and his NYT bestselling book, A Tangled Web, which was apparently being made into a movie.
She did not want to think about his dark laugh, or his nights of madness, hunched over his computer.
And she certainly didn’t want to think about his poetic, gifted words born from her spark and his madness, or the fact she’d been too late to save him.
It seemed, in the end, his darkness, his void—had too strong of a hold on the man, and no amount of inspiration could have enforced a will for him to live.
It had been nearly six months since he’d taken his own life, since Calliope felt the void form in her heart.
And though she wanted more than anything to paint, to process the grief and pain, the guilt, she could not find it within herself to do so, and that fact, above all else, spoke to the depth of which David had altered the muse’s very being.
She had loved him the same as she had those before him, but his words, his promises, were far too tempting to believe. He was a devil with his words, more so than Plato or Lord Byron or Poe. And so, Calliope fell down into David Green’s dark void, making the gravest mistake of all.
She believed that he loved her. That he was her soul’s mate.
But David Green was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He did not love anyone. He did not even love himself.
And Calliope could not find it within herself to take a patron or inspire anyone, since. And when the painting stopped, when the writing stopped, Calliope told herself it would pass. Every artist experienced a block in one way or another, and it always passed...
“I know that,” she said carefully. “But you can not blame me for being cautious with my gifts when my gifts are a curse, clearly.”
“Callie...”
Calliope drained the rest of her drink as the lights turned down low, the room shifting to a darkened ambience with the sudden influx of light illuminating candles all throughout the room.
“All right, my darlings, take your places!” Aphrodite called out. “Our Masquerade of Mystery starts in just five minutes!”
“Good luck, Hattie.” Calliope shoved the empty martini glass across the bar and slid off her stool, relishing in the faint dizziness as her feet touched the ground.
She blinked a few times, trying to filter in the sight of everything amidst the swaths of neon and candlelight.
The room was full of life as everyone took their places and Calliope’s heart pounded in her chest with anxiety and trepidation, and something else.
Something she did not want to pay as much attention to for fear it would be damaging to her as well as her passions in life.
And just as Eve rang the bell and called out the start of the evening, Calliope felt the strangest force around her; like a vibration, an echo.
It was warm and solid, and it felt somehow strange and familiar all at once.
She opened her eyes as the buzzer sounded, laying her gaze on the man across from her, dressed in what looked like a blue button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a black, plastic mask that reminded her of Zorro.
But it wasn’t the sharp-dressed attire or the stocky build of the man that intrigued her. It was his eyes. Deep like phthalo green, bleeding into canvas, staining every untouched surface.
Calliope had never seen such eyes before and she couldn’t help but think the darkness, the shadows of mystery surrounding them, added to the man’s allure.
“So, do you like Pina Coladas?” he asked, his voice oddly awkward but with an overstated cockiness that mimicked humor, which told her he was not as confident on the inside as he was attempting to appear on the outside.
Interesting.
“That depends. Do you plan on buying me a Pina Colada, Zorro?” she coyly responded.
The man chuckled, his lips turning up into the corner into a sly grin. “Maybe.”
She shook her head. “What ever happened to getting to know a woman first before you buy her a drink?”
“I mean... you can tell a lot about a woman by the type of drink she orders,” he said, crossing his arms. His performative cockiness irritated her, but she also found it strangely refreshing.
Because they were all here, pretending to be someone else, were they not?
Hiding behind ornate masks and alluring costumes, hoping to feed into some sort of fantasy?
“I doubt that.” She scoffed.
The man in front of her licked his lips, nodding to the table beside them where Hattie and a lithe man with a slender, gold venetian mask sat. Zorro nodded to Hattie’s drink.
“Pomegranate martini. Equal parts bitter and sweet, which tells me she has two sides, and one of them is a side you don’t want to be on. Red is usually symbolic of love and sex, which makes it a pretty bold statement in a place like this.”
Calliope smirked. “And power. Fortune, too.”
“Huh?”
“You said red is symbolic of love and sex, but anyone with a smartphone can Google that.” She tutted. His mouth fell open and she let out a chuckle.
“You’re lying,” he said, with a scoff.
“I’m not. Red is also a symbol of victory and rebellion. And depending on the shade, it can also be toxic.” She licked her lips proudly.
“It’s also a color that symbolizes desire. Heat. Anger. Aggression.” He shifted in his seat, but his smirk was enticing. His eyes lit up with excitement. He was enjoying this banter, this flirtation. And Calliope couldn’t say she disliked it, either.
“That it is.” She shifted in her seat, the motion making some dark hair spill out of her updo messily. “And what about you, Zorro? What do you prefer?”
The intriguing man shrugged. “Pina Coladas are my favorite. Especially the ones when they put those little cherries on top...” He puckered his lips, pretending to give a bon appétit gesture, as if the little candy cherries were truly a delicacy.
Callie shook her head but couldn’t help the smile forming on her lips. “And what does your drink choice say about you?”
He leaned closer, across the table, his green eyes flashing up at her. “I like sweet things,” he whispered.
“Is that so?”
He nodded, licking his lips. “Life’s too short to be bitter, right?”
Calliope’s gaze drifted to his pouty lips, parted just so.
She was acutely aware of how close he was, close enough she could have easily closed the gap between them.
The scent of his earthy cologne hit her like a stone, but it wasn’t a terrible smell.
In fact, she sucked in a small breath, letting the spicy notes fill her lungs as she met his verdant gaze.
Just as she considered the thought of speaking, of leaning in to respond, the startling buzzer sounded, nearly making her jump. Zorro pulled back, and the spell between them had been broken. It was time to move.
Already?
Calliope did not want Zorro to move.
But regardless of her wants, he stood carefully, sliding his hands in his pockets as he sauntered past her, capturing her gaze as he leaned into her space, whispering in her ear, “Was nice to meet you, Princess.”
“Where are you going?” she breathed, acutely aware of the man taking a seat across from her.
Zorro smirked at her once more. His green eyes lit up behind his mask, full of mischief. “To get something sweet,” he murmured.
And just as Zorro disappeared into the crowd, the buzzer sounded, pulling Calliope back to her present date as the room fell into chaos once more.