1. Artemis
1 ARTEMIS
(nearly) ten years later
I’d like to punch whoever said eyes are the window to the soul.
I hate my eyes. I hate looking at myself in the mirror, especially lately.
If that saying about eyes being a window is true, my soul is tarnished.
Practically burned to ash.
My strategy lately has been ignoring the issue, which is why I’m up and out of my condo bright and early this morning.
I’m supposed to meet my twin brother in an hour, but I decided a nice, relaxing sunrise on the cliffs would do me good.
Except for the cloud cover that has ruined my view.
That seems to be on par with everything else going to shit in my life.
I’ve been occupying myself in the meantime by tossing rocks over the edge, because watching the sky go from dark gray to light gray is just depressing.
“You’re early.” Apollo approaches from Olympus, the looming building just down the sloped pathway from the cliffs.
Olympus, which I skirted around in favor of the wind lashing at me.
Olympus is a building straight out of Ancient Greece, a Pantheon-esque temple that my brother and his friends use to host masked fight nights.
Dress as your favorite character from Greek mythology.
Just don’t wear flowers, or else you’ll be marked.
Hades doesn’t take kindly to someone imitating his beloved Persephone.
I still remember the opening night, although it was years ago.
It was everything they—and I—hoped it would be.
More, even, because it turned into something that seemed to escape reality.
It was Olympus . Home of the gods.
It was luxury and grandeur, and it catered to those with a thirst for anonymous violence.
The indulgence of the place, and the brutality of fist fighting, doesn’t fail to draw a crowd.
Apollo has been my near-constant companion since before we were born.
We’re thick as thieves—sometimes to a scary level.
We know each other inside and out.
And sometimes that’s terrifying, because I feel like he can know what I’m thinking just by looking at me.
I meet him halfway, stopping just shy of hugging him.
Unlike mine, his eyes aren’t tarnished.
Even with everything he’s done and gone through, his eyes are kind.
There’s something wrong with me lately.
More than just avoiding my own gaze in the mirror.
I just can’t put my finger on what .
“How’s Saint?” he asks.
I wrinkle my nose. “He says he’s fine.”
He’s not fine.
In fact, Saint Hart is less fine than me—and that’s saying something.
The love of his life died right in front of him, and then he more or less threatened to kill himself and follow her into an early grave.
I’ve been playing babysitter at the request of Apollo’s best friend.
Although, when I agreed to this nearly twelve months ago, I never could have predicted that Saint Hart would still be living with me.
“I’ve got a project for him.” Apollo appraises me.
“Something you could help with, too, if you want.”
“No.” I scoff and face the cliffs again.
Olympus is situated on some of the highest cliffs in Sterling Falls, and the view at the edge is unbeatable…
even when it’s cloudy.
“No, I’m good. If it’ll get Saint out of my hair, he can have at it.”
“Hmm.”
My brother annoyingly tall, and while I got some height in the genetic lottery, I didn’t get six-foot-something.
For me, puberty was a bitch.
Suddenly I had to contend with breasts and hips, which further separated my brother and me in appearance.
We do look alike, though.
Dark hair, tanned, olive-toned skin.
Our dad’s grandfather was, fuck, I don’t know.
From somewhere in the Middle East. Our mother had Spanish blood.
That’s what she used to say, but it could’ve been a drop for all I know.
Our ancestry kind of got lost on us somewhere around the tender age of fifteen.
That’s when both Apollo and I were thrown to the wolves…
Different kinds of wolves, but their hunger was the same.
They tore away our innocence, and it was a miracle we both came out on the other side.
“Tem.” Apollo takes my hand.
I slip away before he can get a good grip, making a show of kicking a few loose rocks over the cliff edge.
The ocean is mighty today, far below us.
The resounding crash of waves against the rocks sends spray almost high enough to reach us.
The wind picks up the faint mist of it, giving us the smell of the sea.
We’re halfway into September, which means we’ll get our fair share of storms rolling in over the next two months, and then winter will sweep in like a freight train, bringing snow and ice and freezing blasts of wind.
It’s the best time of the year.
When he doesn’t reply, I sigh.
“I’m in no mood for it.”
“It?”
“You trying to make things better.” I squint out at the horizon.
“What are you in the mood for, then?”
I don’t know .
If I could figure that out, maybe I could work out what’s been off.
But nothing I’ve tried so far has helped.
Or made me feel more like me .
“I’m going for a drink.” I meet his gaze, daring him to judge me.
But he doesn’t, he just…
nods. I can’t read his expression.
Another first. Another oddity.
I brush it off before I can get too sucked into it.
I cast one more look out at the ocean and contemplate jumping.
The waves are cracking so hard against the cliff face, a jump would probably end in broken bones.
The last thing I need is for Apollo to feel the need to save me.
We’ve done that before.
His attention stays trained on me as I hurry down the sloping lawn and climb into my car.
The engine revving is comforting, and I speed down the driveway in a shower of gravel.
It occurs to me, halfway to Bow & Arrow, that I didn’t get what I was coming for.
Which was help . With Saint.
He’s been in a fucking mood, and I can’t deal with it anymore.
Apollo’s household should be out of their honeymoon stage by now, which means they can take him.
Or, better, Saint can stay at Olympus.
There are plenty of rooms with beds.
And he wouldn’t really be alone , because someone is always coming or going at Olympus.
I hit the steering wheel.
I had a whole speech planned out, and instead, when he asked?
I said he’s fine . Or rather, that he thinks he’s fine.
Which is true enough.
I’ve been watching him spiral for a while now, and he’s done nothing to save himself.
Apollo said he had a project for Saint, though.
Maybe it’ll be a big enough distraction to get him out of this funk.
Bow & Arrow, my saving grace, comes into sight.
I bought the building a year after Olympus opened.
The fight club was so successful, and my brother insisted on paying me for every little thing I did to help, that I was able to save up for this place in North Falls.
It’s a nightclub with a rooftop restaurant, designed to attract the tourists and locals alike.
It’s a blend of luxury and mystery.
The club portion opens at nine, but the restaurant on the top level serves dinner starting at five.
On weekends, we offer brunch service, too.
In the summer, reservations are nearly impossible to get at the last minute.
During the off season, which started approximately two weeks ago when schools went back into session, we remove the reservation option.
I park in my usual spot and swipe a keycard to enter in through the back.
The entire building was brought back to the studs when I first bought it, but I still shiver passing through the heavy metal double doors.
I’m not sure I’ll ever get over it.
There’s an industrial staircase immediately to my right, and I take it all the way up to the top floor.
It deposits me into a hallway that leads straight into the kitchens.
On the left is my office, the door closed and locked, and on the right is Antonio’s office.
It’s open, the light on.
I swing in without knocking and drop into the chair across from his desk.
Antonio has been a constant in my life since I was sixteen.
Far more constant than my parents, who gave up on me when I was a teenager.
My brother tries to be there—and tried harder back then—but he was in a gang that tore him away from me in more ways than one.
It’s Antonio who put me back together after the worst few months of my life.
And the months I suffered is nothing in comparison to what others face.
He’s bent over his desk with slim, rimless glasses perched on the end of his nose.
His pencil scratches across a page in his notebook.
Until his gaze lifts, we don’t speak.
Finally, he finishes the page and sets down the writing utensil, frowning at me.
“You look like shit.”
I wrinkle my nose.
“Thanks.”
“What’s wrong?”
I shrug.
“What’re you working on?”
He slides the book to me.
I scan the page he was just working on, a smile slowly blooming across my face.
I didn’t think I’d be smiling today, but…
“Chocolate cake?”
He watches me.
“Your birthday is coming up.”
My smile slides away, and the frown I’ve been staving off comes back.
“No.”
“We’re celebrating,” he says.
“With this. The perfect chocolate cake. I’ve been working on the ingredients for months. It’s your favorite, so you can’t say no.”
I scan the pages again.
“My sixth iteration,” he adds.
Birthdays? Add it to the list of sore subjects .
And the fact that he’s been working on it long enough to ditch five probably perfectly reasonable cake recipes…
it means he cares about it.
About me. I already knew he cared about me, but I often like to ignore the fact that it’s there.
It’s easier when we’re just existing as…
business partners.
“Well.” A lump forms in my throat.
“That’s… Okay. Fine.”
He grins, then takes the pages back.
He glances at the digital clock on his desk.
“Kitchen should be ready to go. Time to put on my chef hat.”
I stand.
“Let me know if there are any issues.”
“Always.”
I head across the hall into my office.
Owning your own business comes with its fair share of paperwork.
Antonio takes care of the restaurant, our club manager basically runs the nightclub aspect, which leaves me to pay the bills.
Which is what I end up doing for over an hour.
My eyes are tired and my hand cramped when one of the club hosts knocks at my office door.
I lean back in my chair and smile at her.
“Everything okay?”
“Sam called out sick.”
Sam is the nightclub manager.
She isn’t usually known for calling out…
ever . And with only two hours until the club opens, she’s cutting it a little close.
The woman is seriously like a superhero.
She probably had awards from school for perfect attendance.
“How about Jackie?” I ask.
The girl in front of me, Mel, shakes her head.
“She’s in Emerald Cove for the week. Doing that training thing and visiting her sister.”
Right.
“Sorry.” I pinch the bridge of my nose.
“I knew that.”
“I didn’t know who else to ask…”
“No, it’s not your fault. I’ll finish up here and be down in a few moments.”
She hesitates.
“What else?”
“Paul has a scheduled day off, and Barry isn’t here yet.”
Fires, fires everywhere.
Paul is one of our security guys.
He basically wanders around and makes sure people aren’t causing trouble in the club.
Barry is the club’s door bouncer.
To have them both out?
Not good.
I wave off Mel, assure her I’ll be downstairs soon, and reach for the phone.
What feels like fifteen thousand phone calls later, I’ve got everything sorted.
Barry has been located, plus another on the security team will be coming in to assist. Mel will have help on the floor, and I will be behind the bar.
Which just leaves one missing piece.
I head out to find Antonio and give him my best, award-winning smile.
Well. I don’t know if it would win anything, but I’d like to think so.
“You have a scheming face,” he calls across the counter.
He’s got little slips of paper in his hands, pausing in his orders only to spare me those words and a quick glance.
“How do you feel about managing the nightclub tonight?” I force a bigger smile.
“I’ve volunteered to be behind the main bar, so you can give me shit for moving too slow.”
He rolls his eyes.
“Done.”
I pump my fist.
“But only if you call the missus and tell her why I won’t be home until dawn.”
Fuck.
I head back to my office to tell Vittoria, Antonio’s wife.
She’s strong as nails and twice as scary, but their relationship is pure gold.
They have three children, only one of whom is still living with them.
But not for long.
Soon enough, she’ll be heading to college, and they’ll be empty nesters.
“Tony?” she answers when I call.
“Better,” I greet her.
“Tem! To what do I owe this surprise?” She pauses.
“You’re keeping him late again.”
I wince.
“Is that okay?”
“I suppose it will have to be. We’ll be seeing you by the house this week, right? I have some new plants to show you, plus some nodes for you to take home. They’re rooting already.”
“Yes, of course. Thank you.”
She makes no mention of any birthdays, for which I am relieved.
“I’ll be over soon,” I promise.
“The club is closed Mondays…”
“Excellent. Talk soon, dear. And keep my husband safe while you work together.”
I tilt my head.
The tone of her voice makes me think…
Nah .
“Bye, Vittoria.” I hang up and stare at the phone for a long moment.
The weird feeling is creeping back, and I stand abruptly.
This is the last place I want to get caught up in that.
I lock my office door and head for the stairs.
I have an apartment downstairs for emergencies.
My brother’s used it before to hide from his enemies, but now I mostly use it to stash extra clothes.
And sometimes I sleep there when the condo feels too cold.
The apartment is empty.
I change into a slinky gold dress and release my thick hair from the clip it had made its way into, then slick on even more makeup.
I trade my tennis shoes for heeled boots that grip at my calves, plus necklaces, earrings, bracelets, rings.
Full-body transformation.
I meet my gaze in the mirror and try not to cringe.
Just get through tonight , I tell myself.
That’s all I need to do.