Chapter 20 Orfeo
Orfeo
Leo comes to the first-floor bar sometime after three in the morning. He looks like he has aged a thousand years in the last six hours.
“Vodka with a twist,” he demands in a haggard voice.
“Drinking on the job, are we?”
“Your boss is fucking prick,” he spits. “Did you know there’s an investigation into us currently open with the Echidna PD?”
I want to grab him by the collar of his crisp, white shirt and throw him into the fucking wall.
Had I not warned them this would happen?
Instead, I fill my shaker with ice and slam it in a glass.
“Your brother has always been a piece of shit. How many human women did you think could go missing before someone got curious?”
He props his elbows on the bar, dropping his voice to a whisper. “We need to move fast. Way faster than I thought.”
“Did you contact my coterie?”
“Is that a joke? I haven’t had a single second to do anything other than mitigate disaster. You think I’ve had time to spend with a goddamned Italian phone book?”
“They will come, I know it.” I set his drink down between us. “But until then, we cannot do anything without an army.”
“Fuck. I hate when you’re right.” He flicks me a fifty-dollar bill across the sticky wood surface, then lifts the cloudy glass to his lips and clears it in three swigs. “Another.”
I oblige, treating my shaker with more care this time. “Months ago, my brother called Alfo to inform him of a death. If one of the girls can lure him out of his office, you will find my brother’s number saved on one of his devices.”
“Who the hell am I supposed to trust?”
I cut my eyes to Kat at the other end of the bar. She’s laughing, head thrown back in a big performative laugh while a vampire in a three-piece suit gives her world-class bedroom eyes. “If she knows it’s for her freedom, she will do it.”
“Shit,” Leo curses, slamming a fist down onto the bar. “Make it a fucking double.”
In the early steel-gray moments of dawn, after we’ve mopped up the last splatters of blood from the walls of Hades House, I slip out of the club and make my way to Diantha’s apartment.
It is so horribly easy to gain access to her home, I feel ill at the idea that she’s been staying here, unguarded for as long as she has.
With a cigarette in one hand and a screwdriver in the other, I jimmy her balcony doors open.
I locate the items on her list and stuff them into a duffle bag I find stored at the bottom of her closet.
And while she didn’t specifically ask for the stuffed dog sitting atop her pillow, I find the beast’s button eyes baring into me quite moving.
I snatch him off the pillow, careful not to drop ash on her duvet.
“You’re well-loved, aren’t you?” I ask the dog. His white patches have gone gray with time, his yarn nose is frayed.
The dog says nothing.
I shove him into the bag.
As the sun crests the hills around Echidna, I use my waning energy to arrive back at the carriage house. Everything’s just as I left it, our wineglasses and bowls still sitting in the sink, her muddy winter boots beside the door.
How long has it been since there was proof of the outside world in my home?
There’s a tightening in my chest when I remember she’s upstairs, that we are no longer trapped by the oppressive paradigms set up by those more powerful than us. At least now I can speak to her. Hold her. Feel her. If only for one more day.
I refuse to allow myself to get invested in this idea—that Diantha will always be here, waiting for me when I return home.
There are too many uncertainties. Even if we swap blood, fortify this attraction, and enshrine it, we are still on the brink of war.
But there she is. Tangled in bed sheets, her leg hiked up to reveal a round, tanned butt cheek, my pajama top slipping off one of her shoulders. Black curls like the swirl of an ocean wave across the pillows.
Of course she is a goddess. I’ve only ever met one other god, years ago while living under Paolo. He was a descendant of Poseidon and just as cruel. Diantha seems to possess the best of both realms.
“Diantha?”
She doesn’t move a muscle.
I clear my throat and tap the top of her foot. “Diantha?” I try again, repeating myself a little bit louder.
Finally, she cracks her eyes open. Her gaze slides over me, hazy and unfocused. “You’re back.”
“I am.” I slide out of my jacket and drape it over a chair, shucking off my belt and jeans as well. “I wanted to let you know so I didn’t frighten you. I’m, uh, going to sleep downstairs.”
“Are we in the library?” she asks in a sleep-soaked voice.
My heart hiccups in my chest. “The library?”
Her eyes drift shut. She nods. “Where you always find me.”
Was it all real then?
Had we somehow managed to travel realms, to find each other in our sleep?
I cough into my fist, then say, “No, we’re at the carriage house.”
She rolls over, snuggling deeper into the sheets. “Will you stay with me?”
I swallow against the swell in my throat. Up here, the sweet, lily-like smell of her calm chokes me. I want to slide into bed beside her and taste every inch of her flesh. “I can, if that’s what you want.”
She makes another small noise, nods, and then goes still. Back to sleep.
I shower quickly and drink a can of synthetic blood, hopeful the alternative will keep my hunger at bay for a little while longer.
I’m never at risk of losing control of myself like a strigoi or sith, but there’s no doubt in my mind that being so close to her body and surrounded by her scent will be a challenge.
This is no longer a matter of what I want versus what I am allowed to do.
One day, Diantha will be my leader. My freedom will sit in her hands.
I won’t risk my reputation in her eyes. Even though it has never been more obvious to me as it is in this moment that I would change every element of my life to fit perfectly around her, if it meant I never had to see another night without her.
I am weak for her. But it is in this weakness that I find real strength.
I am not just an animal, driven by instinct.
I am not just a brutal beast. There is still something divine in me, fragments of my soul clinging to my bones after all these years.
And they call out to her, they reach toward her goodness.
The sun breaks through the trees in a cascade of soft orange light. It falls over the forest floor, catching on the last remnants of ice and snow, and I draw the curtains nearly completely shut, allowing them to let in just enough sunlight so that we can cohabitate despite our differences.
Then, I make my way up to the loft, slide into the pajama pants she discarded, and slip between the sheets.