Chapter 10
“ Y ou just had to sass Hera back in DC. Now who in the Hell knows when she will remove the bond?”
Demeter huffed out a breath and looked away from Erato, seated as far from her on the plane as the golden thread allowed.
“Did I upset you?” Even to her own ears, her voice sounded small, tentative and rather pitiful, all things considered.
But Demeter merely shrugged and turned back to her laptop.
A few seconds later, the familiar clacking of fingertips on the keyboard resumed.
Somewhere in the world, some land was fitted for an irrigation system or something, courtesy of this particular set of rapid keystrokes.
As for the freeze radiating from the Goddess of Harvest? Erato’s guess was as good as anyone’s.
Their morning after what had been the most amazing night in Erato’s life was subdued.
Well, it was almost non-existent as those very mornings went, if she was perfectly truthful.
She had not slept, opting to watch the exhausted Demeter slumber and then once the Goddess woke up, Erato was so embarrassed at getting caught acting like a total creep and by the fact that she really couldn’t tear her eyes away from the gorgeous perfect breasts fully on display in front of her…
It was only logical that she hurried out of bed, into the shower, almost dragging Demeter down the hallways only to lock the door in her face and then proceeded to hide there for thirty minutes.
When she emerged, Demeter was seething… Somber.
Monosyllabic. Now the clipped words told Erato she’d probably made some mistake in the process of trying to hide how deeply in trouble she was, and how completely fucked—and not just literally.
Something had happened during the night, something that had never happened in her entire history of prowling the Earth as the Lothario-in-Chief.
Erato had fallen in love. Erato, the Muse of Erotic Poetry, or Smut, as it was generously called, the most skillful lover of all times, the one who had women begging for her touch and the one who never refused a single one of them… was in love.
And if that wasn’t a career-ending situation, which was heartbreaking in itself… Because how could she… You know… Complete her “skillful lover” duty to the world if all she wanted was to look at this one goddess who was resolutely not looking at her?
And there lay the bigger issue. Though she should’ve perhaps figured out that she was in much deeper trouble, since Demeter not looking at her was a bigger issue than her losing her job, her calling. Her purpose.
The problem with wanting nothing but to be under the light of those golden eyes was that Erato had zero right to do so.
To want. To be. Demeter was off limits. And not just because Hera and Hades and every other Olympian thought so.
Screw the Olympians. No, Erato wasn’t worthy of her.
The Muse of Smut was not deserving of the Goddess whom everyone used and dismissed despite her being the most important Olympian, who tried her best to keep the world fed, against the contrary efforts of pretty much every other asshole god.
And so all Erato could do was to go about this business of theirs, to visit the spring festivals and hope Hera’s bond would end soon, because she was certain a few more days of this and she’d be on her knees begging to be released, to be spared the torment of being so close to someone she could never have.
When she finally lifted her eyes from her own laptop, the pages were full of words and she was surprised how perfectly her thoughts translated to prose. She could use this?—
“I still don’t understand where we are going. And almost on Beltane.”
Erato sighed. Then sighed some more. Demeter drummed her fingers on the armrest, waiting by all accounts not very patiently.
“I have an engagement, a professional one.” Erato hurried to add. “And we will make it to Edinburgh in time for Beltane. It’s something I’ve made a previous commitment to and couldn’t get out of on short notice.”
Demeter gave her a curious look before reaching out for her laptop and cursing. Then cursing some more. It was Erato’s turn to wait for answers.
“Floods off the coast of Australia. I guess your little display did anger Poseidon, after all.”
When Demeter finally lifted her eyes, Erato simply raised an eyebrow. Demeter held her gaze for a second, then gave in and tsked.
“Fine, our little display. Not that it mattered to you.”
Erato’s jaw dropped. Not that it mattered? Of course it did?—
“Well, you really could have fooled me this morning, Muse.”
Erato watched her, thoughts chasing each other in her tired, sleepless brain.
What did she mean? This morning? All Erato had done was try to get out of the situation with her heart more or less intact and before Demeter realized that she had been slumming it with the Muse of Smut, as Nemesis put it.
And that said Muse was head over heels in love with her.
Demeter would probably have been nice about it.
Kind. Let her down gently… Erato closed her eyes, staving away the pain.
Before she could open her mouth to say exactly that—although how was she to word it in such a way as to not point out that Demeter would surely be ridiculed by everyone on Olympus and regret the public humiliation and the fact that to have bestowed her time and her body on someone as lowly as Erato—the pilot announced their descent into New York.
“A romance convention?”
Demeter’s eyes were huge as they made their way down the labyrinth of hallways and rooms full of women of all ages.
Cute dresses and colorful shirts, heavy boots, armfuls of books.
Erato knew the sights, the scents and the sounds, and she loved all of them.
These were her people, her crowd. A community she rarely indulged or truly reveled in. Readers.
As they finally turned the corner towards the main ballroom where, according to the schedule, the majority of the action was to take place, including Erato’s own speaking engagement, she quickly realized that she should’ve prepared Demeter better for what was to come.
Because there were many things. To come.
First, there was the billboard. You couldn’t even claim it was a poster. It was an immense movie style billboard occupying an entire wall with Erato’s face and her latest book plastered all over it.
Demeter’s step faltered and then she stopped all together, her mouth open, eyes taking in every inch of the image in front of her.
“The book…” Her voice came out strained.
Oh, yeah. There was that second. The book.
Erato loved the cover. She had worked very hard with her publisher to ensure it fit the novel, and she thought it was one of her best yet.
Cover and book, that was. Clearly the labels of “Instant New York Times Bestseller” along with all the other lists it topped upon release agreed.
She took a deep breath and turned towards her companion, her smile sheepish, ready to finally bite the bullet and confess?—
“The woman of the hour! No, scratch that! The woman of the year! Maybe even of the decade! The romance novelist who conquered the world!”
A waif of a creature wrapped herself around Erato and, despite her slight frame, gave her a powerful hug. Said hug lingered and pink lips slanted over hers in a kiss Erato had no interest in participating in.
Demeter’s cough and a sharp pull on the bond liberated her from the willowy clutches.
“Clio.” Erato tried to inconspicuously wipe her mouth. She was a lady. Occasionally. Plus, she liked Clio and embarrassing a fellow muse was not in her habit.
The Muse of History smirked, clearly not the least bit embarrassed, then nodded towards the thread now strung tautly between Erato and Demeter.
“I heard about this. What a delightful occurrence.”
“Only you would consider being tied up to be delightful.” Before Erato could realize what she had said, Clio’s smirk widened.
“See, it is even more delightful that you of all immortals would say this, Erato, and after only a few days of being in this predicament.”
Erato bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from saying something that would surely play into the hands of the wily muse.
Demeter was the one to break the silence.
“This is quite a list of accomplishments.” She clearly chose to ignore the muses’ bickering and homed in on the more pressing matters, matters Erato really should’ve done a better job at preparing her for.
“This is just the latest of her many books. You should read her reviews. See her awards. Where do you even keep all those, Erato?”
Clio, whose smile looked increasingly like the cat who got the canary, clearly knew what she was doing. Erato gulped and felt the dread rise up her spine.
Demeter’s face was pale now and her eyes sought Erato’s.
“Why did you not tell me? This is such an amazing achievement.”
The Muse of History was hitting her stride with the commentary and continued relentlessly.
“Erato tends to minimize her accomplishments, unless they are of the bedroom variety.”
Clio looked at Erato fondly. Demeter’s brow furrowed.
“I can see that.”
“It’s a feature and not a bug with this one.” Clio whispered conspiratorially and Erato bristled.
“I’m standing right here. I can hear everything you’re saying about me.”
Demeter gave her another long look.
“Except you might as well not even be, since so much of you is never acknowledged. Chiefly, by yourself. All of this and more, accomplishments so many, you’d need Hermes to keep a tally.
And yet you worry about what someone might say?
About what Hera might think? Hades? Zeus?
What do you think of yourself is the question that is much more important to me.
But I guess this morning has been answer enough. And then there is all this…”
Demeter gestured around to the billboard and the immense ballroom. She didn’t even touch her, but Erato felt the blow to her solar plexus, the words hard as a fist.
Clio, oblivious to the storm hitting the maximum hurricane category, chatted on.
“She is rather prolific and at one point had five of the ten top books on the Fiction chart. It was quite spectacular.”
Demeter finally looked away from Erato and met Clio’s eyes with a smile that held no joy, the corners lifting momentarily before drooping.
“Yes, I can only imagine. Well, I guess I will have to pick up a copy and find out for myself.”
Was it disappointment in the amber depths?
Or was it aching that flashed for a brief moment and then disappeared?
Erato couldn’t fathom why Demeter would be hurt by her keeping something like this a secret.
After all, Demeter didn’t care all that much about her.
Well, she cared about what Erato did to her, but she was a Goddess, one of the most important ones, and Erato was just a muse…
Still, Demeter’s words about asking herself the question of ‘what did she think of herself’ echoed some things Aphrodite had been right about.
She both detested her reputation as the slutty muse and chose so often to hide behind it.
Why had she told Demeter nothing about her writing career?
She was proud of it. So why show only her bedroom persona?
Perhaps therapy was something she should look into?
But then she could only imagine how that would go.
‘Hi, I am an immortal being who for centuries put forward her Sluts’R’Us persona because I’m not good enough for either my former lover or my current one, who is also the love of my immortal life, but is too amazing for me. ’
The therapist would probably call the cops on her.
Erato shook her head and started speaking, desperate for words to come, except none did, and she closed it again, looking pitifully around herself for help.
It came swiftly in the form of a large crowd of giggling and shouting women, who surrounded her and their voices were a cacophony of sound, of compliments, of gushing and of requests of selfies and signatures.
Erato grinned, in her element now, relaxed a bit, and reached for the first book being shoved into her face.
The process was familiar, safe, comforting and she let time pass, allowing herself to enjoy her fans and her readers, their questions and their attention.
And somewhere amidst autographs and selfies, amidst compliments and platitudes, she felt it…
A small tug on her wrist and then nothing.
An emptiness she had not sensed for days, Hades, for the entire week.
She looked down on her arm and saw the golden thread dangling off of it, its corresponding loop empty, the cord undone and on the floor, where boots and heels and sandals trampled on it in their rush to reach Erato.
Demeter was gone, undoing the bond and abandoning Erato alone in the crowd. How long ago had she left? How could she have gotten out of the binding? Did this mean she’d always had the ability to set them free of each other all along?
Erato couldn’t keep up with her own thoughts.
She turned in circles, desperate to catch a glimpse of Demeter, only to be met with the steel gaze of a pair of steely cold pair of eyes belonging to the goddess who perhaps was responsible for all this.
Hera clapped her hands, and the crowds parted like the Red Sea.
Before Erato knew what was happening, she was being led by the golden bond still around her wrist down the hallway towards the convention center’s exit, Clio’s face now showing none of her earlier merriment.
Whatever she saw on Hera’s face clearly wiped even the memory of smirking off of her features.
As if confirming Erato’s suspicions, as they rounded the corner and found themselves alone, Hera whirled on her with the determination of a shark sensing blood in the water.
“What have you done to my little sister, Muse?”
Erato gulped and let herself sink against the wall. Her empty wrist felt like an open wound. One that was perhaps self-inflicted.