A Girl's Guide to Guns and Monsters (13 page)

“Slow down,” Helen called after her. Leis paused, but only long enough for Helen to catch up before she took off again. Helen followed, this time keeping pace. “Leis, this is starting to get a little ridiculous. We’ve been all over Manhattan. We checked the carriage rides in Central Park. You spooked the horses. Then it was The Cloisters. You spooked the tourists. Then the skating rink at Rockerfeller Center. I’m pretty sure you spooked someone there, but it was hard to tell, given the spastic way everyone was skating.”

“Can’t blame me for that last one,” Leis said. “If you don’t like it, go back to the dorm room.”

“I am
not
sitting alone in my dorm room on today of all days,” Helen said, “and I’m sure as hell not going to any of the NYU mixers. I’m not that hardcore of a loser quite yet.”

“Give it until senior year,” Leis said.

“You’re so jaded,” Helen said. “That’s what you get for studying both cultural
and
social anthropology at the same time.”

“No,” Leis said, stopping and spinning around. “That’s what I get for giving my heart out wholly and getting it diced up and handed back to me time after time.”

“So . . . what?” Helen asked. “Because you had a few bad relationships, you’re going to take out Love?”

“Not just a few bad relationships,” Leis asked. “Try thirty-six of them in three years. That’s messed up.”

“Okay, fine, but gunning for Cupid? I think that’s going to piss a lot of people off.”

Leis eyes were dark and she gave Helen a dark, bitter smile, shaking her head. “Gotta love a cultist,” she said.

“Huh?” Helen asked. “How is Cupid a cultist?”

Leis wrinkled her nose. “Well, he had a cult, anyway. Back then, he was considered one of the most powerful gods because he held sway over everything—animals, the dead, even the gods of Olympus. A god who could control the other gods? That’s pretty powerful, if you ask me.”

Helen’s face went white as the gravity of it all hit her. “And you still think this is a good idea, trying to take him down?”

Leis nodded. “I’m not interested in humiliating my exes or arguing with any of them all over again,” she said. “They’re really just middlemen in all this. I’m cutting to the root of the problem. And for your information, it’s not Cupid that we’re after.”

“So . . . who then?” Helen asked. “Saint Valentine?”

“Not exactly,” Leis said. “Hell, they’re not even sure who Saint Valentine really was.”

“Really?” Helen asked.

“Really.” Leis nodded. “There were at least three possibilities. One was a bishop in what the Italians now call Terni, another was a Roman priest . . . hell, the last one wasn’t even in Italy. He lived somewhere in Africa. This creature that I’m looking for isn’t any of them. We’re dealing with something completely different. Something older.”

“Is this from one of your classes?” Helen asked. “I didn’t know NYU dug so deep.”

Leis shrugged. “Some of it,” she said. “The rest came from a lot of research time spent in the older parts of the main library. I spent hours looking through it all, trying to find out what I could.”

“Yeah, well, maybe
that’s
why you have so much trouble with dating. You ever think of that?”

Leis turned and glared at Helen, who threw her hands up in the air. “Just saying.”

Leis turned and started walking off again. Helen hurried after her. “Go on,” she said. “Please.”

“I was studying up on my target,” Leis said, continuing to get her nerd on. “Call him Cupid, call him Eros, but call him the god of love either way. The Greeks and the Romans have similar stories about him despite their cultural differences, but he predates those pantheons. Even the Christians sucked him into the Valentine Day’s mythos, but that’s a sham too.”

“Wait,” Helen said, confused. “Now you’re saying Valentine’s Day isn’t Valentine’s Day?”

“Far from it,” Leis said, stopping again. “The whole saint construct of the holiday was just a whitewash by the church they concocted when they wanted to convert others to their beliefs. They took the dates that were important to a culture and superimposed new traditions over them, hoping that their ways would be adopted in place of older pagan rituals. For instance, ever hear of Lupercalia?”

Helen shook her head.

Leis grabbed her face and squeezed her cheeks. “See what a good job your Catholic upbringing did at overwriting it!”

Helen brushed her hand away. “Knock it off,” she said. “What’s Lupercalia?”

“According to legend, it was an ancient pagan ritual that focused both on purification and fertility. Its roots were in honor of the she-wolf that cared for the tossed-aside infants Romulus and Remus. As part of the celebration, they’d wheel out the Vestal Virgins and have them do a blood sacrifice of a dog and two goats. Then two young men would happily run through the city striking women along the way with strips of hide from the goat. These supposedly purified any women touched or helped barren women become fertile again.”

Helen winced at the thought of a blood sacrifice. “Sounds like a party,” she said.

“The Christians didn’t think so,” Leis said, with a dark smile. “They replaced the whole festival with one honoring one of their saints instead. Valentine, the patron saint of lovers. People would pull the names of a saint out of a box and spend the next year trying to follow it like some sort of role model.”

“So that’s why we used to build boxes for cards on Valentine’s Day in grade school?” Helen asked.

Leis nodded. “We’ve more or less put the kibosh on the whole saint emulation thing, but that’s it in a nut-shell.” She stopped and looked up at the building in front of them. “We’re here.”

Helen stopped beside her, looking up too. She knew the place well, even without its upper windows lit up red in the shape of a giant heart. Where else was one expected to go on Valentine’s Day in New York City
but
the Empire State Building?

 

Security
used
to be tight at all the landmark buildings right after 9/11
, Helen thought,
but so many years later? Not so much
. Not that Helen had been worrying about getting herself in, but she had already seen Leis’ crossbow in action. Who knew what else lay inside the folds of her cloak? Helen needn’t have worried. When the guard saw two cute twentysomething NYU students flash their IDs, he waved them toward the bank of elevators without a second glance. A rush of people crowded in after them, pushing them both up against the back wall of the tiny space.

Helen felt her stomach drop as the tremendous speed of the express elevator pulled at her.

“We going to see if Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr are up here?” Helen asked.

“I was thinking more of Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan,” Leis said with a smile. Her face grew more and more grim the higher they went, and by the time the elevator slowed to a stop and the doors opened, Leis looked dark and focused. Her expression actually frightened Helen.

After the elevator emptied, Leis rushed out of the doors, leaving Helen to jump out before the elevator doors closed. “Hey!” Helen called. “What the hell do you want me to do?”

Leis spun around, her cloak twirling around her in a perfect circle. Her alert eyes darted about as she replied, “Just act nonchalant. Enjoy the view or something.”

Before Helen could respond, Leis whirled around again and ran out onto the observation deck just on the other side of the small, enclosed art deco lobby. Not sure of what to do, Helen walked off in the opposite direction and headed through the nearest set of doors.

The wind at the top of the Empire State Building made it significantly chillier here than on the street, making her wish she had worn a heavy cloak too. Couples were packed around the entire deck arm in arm, hand in hand, almost all of them staring lovingly off at the setting sun. Helen found an open spot along the high ornate fence surrounding the deck and stared out over the city, impressed as always with the wonder that was Manhattan.

After a few moments of drinking it all in, Helen turned and leaned back against the fence, taking in the crowd. Not everyone was a couple. A few hopeful romantics, both male and female, seemed to be here by themselves. Helen watched as Leis nearly bowled one of them over in a purposeful patrol around the deck’s perimeter. The man swerved to avoid her, nearly crashing into Helen.

“Easy,” Helen said, patting him on the shoulder. “Sorry about my friend.”

The man smiled, revealing quiet confidence in what Helen discovered were a gorgeous set of deep blue eyes. “Your friend seems a little crazed there,” he said, shoving his hands back into his coat pockets.

Something in his smile felt contagious, and Helen couldn’t help but smile back at him. “Yeah, she can get a little excitable.”

“So . . .” Helen started, “are you here with someone?” She dreaded his answer, but was relieved when he shook his head.

“Actually, no. I thought I’d take my chances by chilling up here, taking in the view, see if anyone else had the same idea to come up here all alone . . .”

“I’m Helen,” she said, holding out her hand. “Helen Leda.”

The man took her hand and Helen was surprised at how warm it was, how inviting. He raised it to his lips and kissed it.
Sure,
Helen thought,
it’s a bit corny, but sweet nonetheless.

“Enchanted,” he said. “My name’s Jason. Jason Eros.”

At the mention of his name, Helen’s face fell. “Oh . . . shit . . .”

Jason cocked his head at her, still holding her hand. “What? What’s wrong?”

Leis was standing right behind him. A loop of ornate chain was stretched between her two hands and she threw it over Jason until it came down across his arms and she pulled it tight. “Gotcha!” she cried.

Jason’s arm fell to his sides. Leis lashed her foot out behind one of his knees and dropped him to the observation deck tiles.

“Leis,” Helen called, “don’t! He’s a nice guy.”

Leis glanced up at her and shook her head, an amused look on her face. “Sure he is,” Leis said. “Let me guess. Came off as rather sweet, rather charming, felt yourself warming to him quickly . . . ?”

Helen nodded.

Leis pushed Jason over, planting him face first onto the observation deck before rolling him over on his back again. She bent over and looked him in the eye. “Not a sincere moment to all of it,” she said. “Calling yourself Jason Eros now, are you? Aren’t you just a clever little creature of habit?”

The chain wrapped around the man couldn’t have been thicker than a necklace, yet Jason seemed totally immobilized. “What the hell is that?” Helen asked.

“It’s amazing what the university has in its archeological archives,” Leis said. “This is made from the same material as the crossbow bolt tips. It’s all Hephaestian steel.”

“I know this one,” Helen said. “Hephaestus. Mythical Roman blacksmith, right?”

“So close,” Leis said. “Greek. Roman version of him is named Vulcan.”

The observation deck crowd around them had all backed off considerably. Leis grabbed Jason’s face and turned it toward Helen as well.

“I knew you’d take my bait,” she said.

“Excuse me?” Helen asked. “I’m your
bait
?”

“Yep,” Leis continued without any real reaction. “See, I knew I’d have trouble identifying him. Wasn’t sure what form he’d be in, but he can be oh- so-predictable when it comes to a pretty lady.”

Helen couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “So you brought me along as bait?”

“Don’t get your panties twisted,” Leis said. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Helen felt the rage rising in her. She hated being used. It was one thing when Leis drank the last of Helen’s
clearly
marked orange juice in the fridge, but putting her in harm’s way on purpose? It was beyond the beyond. Before she could stop herself, Helen stalked over to Leis, reached down with both hands, and shoved her hard. Leis stumbled backward, rising to her feet to keep her balance.

“Hey!” Leis shouted. “What the hell?”

“What are you going to do?” Helen asked. “Stake me through the heart with one of your Hephaestian bolts?”

“Keep pushing me around,” Leis said, “and it just might be an option.”

Leis’ eyes flared with rage, but Helen didn’t back down. She was too pissed at being dangled like a worm on a hook. Leis threw open her cloak, her arms shooting out to shove Helen. It stung, but Helen pushed back, grabbing Leis’s cloak and trying to pull it closed in the hopes of containing her. The wind whipped against them as they struggled, the cloak enveloping them, blinding Helen as she held on to it for dear life.

When the wind dropped back to normal, Helen bat-ted away the end of the cloak covering her face, but almost wished she hadn’t. Leis had pulled her crossbow free and was aiming at her. Helen let go of the cloak, backing away as fast as she could and raising her arms in hopeless defense. Leis fired and Helen closed her eyes, bracing for the impact.

The crossbow’s string twanged. The thrum of it firing hummed in the air, but although Helen waited for its impact, she didn’t feel a thing. She opened her eyes and looked around. Jason stood behind her, the almost-removed chain draped across one of his shoulders. The crossbow bolt protruded from his shoulder, a look of pain spreading across his face.

Helen felt Leis push her out of the way, sending her stumbling. By the time she righted herself, Leis had the chain in one hand and pulled it tight, cinching it around Jason’s neck and under his shoulder. With her free hand she grabbed the bolt and twisted.

Jason let out an inhuman scream, and Helen was surprised to see that he no longer looked like Jason. His body had morphed. In seconds he was flipping from form to form, becoming a whole string of people Helen had seen Leis date over the past few years—the drummer who had stolen her Bose system, the lighting tech who’d squatted in the room for three months, then the barista from down the corner on West 3
^rd
Street. Dozens of faces flashed by, but they were moving so fast Helen couldn’t follow them all. Eventually, the scream turned into a far more feral sound, almost a howl of pain and as if to match it, Jason’s form shifted to that of a man with a wolf’s head. Its tongue lolled out of the side of its mouth through its sharp teeth, but with the chain of Hephaestus wrapped around him, he seemed powerless to do anything.