Crazy in the Blood (Latter-Day Olympians) (17 page)

If the name meant anything to Dionysus, it was covered up by his “Ah ha!” of understanding at Apollo’s none-too-subtle implication that “good friend” was a euphemism for “bed bunny”.

I seethed, even though it was in my best interests to be dismissed.

“Well,” Dionysus took my hand and kissed it, even though he’d already gotten both of my cheeks, “it is a pleasure to meet you, Mizz Karacis. Come, both of you, there is a beautiful spot where we can talk business and you can see the fruits of my labors.”
Oh yeah,
his
labors
. “So much better than standing around in the heat.”

He tucked my hand into his arm without asking permission and escorted us inside. We barely had time to appreciate the rustic lodge feel of the place—plank floors with colorful area rugs covering them, what looked like handmade wooden furniture arranged group-therapy-session style around a huge fireplace above which was a tapestry of winemaking. Then we were out again onto a lovely terra cotta patio overlooking the terraced vineyards. An overhang prevented direct sunlight, cutting down on the heat to which Dionysus had referred.

“Wow,” Apollo said, eyeing the land. “You’ve done well for yourself.”

“As have you, my friend,” he said, giving my hand a squeeze.
Smarmy
didn’t begin to cover Dionysus. Neither did the shirt straining across his midsection. “Sit,” he ordered, leading us to a table and chairs that were absolutely gorgeous, made of rough cut, gnarled wood that had been sanded and polished until it was smooth and glowing but still retained its unique shape and character. There were no cushions, but when I slid into my seat, it seemed to fit just fine. The table looked to have been carved out of a single monstrous tree. I mourned that it had been turned into even such a lovely set.

“A lightning-struck oak,” Dionysus said, as if reading my mind. “This set works in harmony because it was carved from a single tree that lightning destroyed last year. So devastating. The tree had to have been over two hundred years old. But nothing is ever lost, eh?” he asked, finally surrendering my hand to take his own seat. “That’s our entire philosophy here—reduce, reuse, renew, recycle. We compost everything. The take-out containers in our restaurants are biodegradable. We plant even as we reap.”

Oh, he had the patter down.

“It’s impressive,” Apollo said so that I didn’t have to. He gave me an amused look, in fact, as if Dionysus wasn’t the only one reading minds. I forced myself to relax my face and even let myself ease back into my seat as if the peace of the place was working its magic. “But you didn’t bring me here just to impress me. I believe we have business to discuss?”

Dionysus looked at the two women who’d accompanied us. “Gracelyn, will you bring us the marketing plan? Pansy, would you send Narcissa to serve us? Then you can get on with what we’ve discussed.”

That made me sit up and take notice. I hoped it didn’t show. Narcissa…I’d heard that before. I also noted that though Dionysus called his acolytes by name, he’d never introduced them. Clearly, we were to address ourselves to him and him alone. What was odd was that the women didn’t seem to mind. If I weren’t here strictly on a fact-finding mission (for the moment, anyway), I’d have been organizing a revolt. Smiling back at the women as they smiled at us to take their leave nearly did me in.

I focused on not reacting when “Narcissa” came out with a huge tray laden with a bottle of wine, three glasses, grapes, crackers and assorted cheeses.
Casey Olivieri
, in the flesh. The very person I wanted to find. She looked good. Sun-kissed. Her tanned skin a nice contrast with her lighter-colored threads. What she didn’t look was approachable. Casey’s smile was just for Dionysus, though to be polite she swept her gaze over us to imply inclusion.

I hoped at some point I could find a way to isolate her and get her to talk. But not here and now, as Dionysus watched me watch her set down the tray and pour the wine.
 

He knows
, I thought. He’d chosen Casey to serve us specifically to see my reaction. I was certain of it. I kept my poker face in place.

Gracelyn reappeared with the portfolio Dionysus had requested and gracefully, like her name, took the fourth and final chair around the table. A dragonfly flitted casually over the table before zipping off toward the fields, and Dionysus ruined the idyll by sending Casey back for another glass. Only three because I’d been unexpected? If so, he could have had “Pansy” tell “Narcissa” to set another before she came out with the tray rather than send her back. Was it some kind of petty power play?
 

“Excuse me,” I said as Casey disappeared inside. “I need to use the facilities.” I didn’t wait to actually be excused before rising.

“Certainly,” Dionysus said magnanimously, his teeth stained eerily red from his first deep sip of the wine. “Gracelyn will show you.”

Gracelyn…who’d only just sat down.
 

“If you’ll point the way,” I said, delegating the task back to him, “I’m sure I can find it on my own.”

“Oh, but there are instructions that come with the facilities. As I’ve said, we recycle everything here.”

I didn’t even want to
think
about that.

“Oh, okay.” I looked to Gracelyn. “Sorry about that.”

She smiled beatifically, as if she couldn’t think of anything she’d rather do than escort me to the crapper. “I’m happy to help. This way.”

I followed the glint of her coppery mane of hair, a little jealous at how glossy and smooth it lay while mine was a rat’s nest of curls seldom tamed and then only with care and lots and lots of product that was likely frowned upon here.

She didn’t lead me into any of the buildings, as I’d expected and hoped. Oh no, that might have given me the chance to snoop. I feared I knew exactly where we were going as we approached a very small shack that looked like an old-fashioned outhouse. I could hardly hear her lecture about fertilizer and decomp over my mental cry of “Oh HELL no.” I could smell it already, and my ambrosia-heightened senses were in full rebellion. I wondered how any of Dionysus’s acolytes tolerated the stench, which begged the question—does a god shit in the woods? Or did Dionysus have his own private potty stashed somewhere?

“Um, seriously?” I asked, trying not to sound all citified and stuck up. “There’s no other option?”

“Oh, you get used to it” She gave me the special instructions. “I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

For what
? I wondered but didn’t ask.

The smell inside was everything I feared it would be and more. The unseasonable heat didn’t help. If I’d actually been planning to
use
the facilities… Well, let’s just way it was a good thing I wasn’t. Instead, I was going to be hunting hot spots of the non-meteorological kind.

Outside of probably half the teens and amateur ghost hunters in the world, not many people realized that android phones could be used as portable EMP meters. Oh yeah, there was an app for that. Maybe it even came in handy if you were searching for the ghost of your dear old Aunt Gertrude on a deserted island, but for the most part, those apps were only useful for impressing the impressionable, who’d get positive readings all over the place from technology here, there and everywhere. The readings were enough to convince some that they were looking at future careers with Mystery, Inc.

I’d found the app useful only a time or two myself, but I was ready to make it three. If Back to Earth was a dedicated as they said to a simple way of life and a small carbon footprint, any tech at all should stand out like a virtual sore thumb.

I already had my phone set to silent, but the red and green lights of my app told me everything I needed to know about the hot spot. Not the building we’d been led through, but somewhere off to my right. I couldn’t tell how far, just that it was nearly due south of my current location. It gave me a place to start if I was able to sneak back. It was impossible to run a modern business without a communications network, and that meant files, records, a trace. It seemed likely they’d keep all their secrets in one place, rather than scattered about. There had to be some sign of Uncle Christos. Maybe even the man himself. I had a sudden image of a conservationist’s version of Tartarus, with Christos facing something like Sisyphus, only instead of constantly pushing a boulder uphill, he was trapped in a giant hamster wheel generating the power to run all of Back to Earth’s electronics.

Maybe the outhouse fumes were getting to me.

Before I left, I dashed Christie a quick text so she wouldn’t call out the cavalry for me. There was one already awaiting from her.

Made contact. Off to a rally or seminar or something. Yippee? More soon
.

I didn’t feel the least bit bad for her. She’d had the chance to be on a plane back to La La Land. She’d given it up for the glitz and glamour of undercover work. As evidenced by my current surroundings. I used the hand sanitizer attached to the wall before letting myself out. I hadn’t actually touched anything but the door, but it was enough to make me feel unclean. Or maybe that had been Dionysus’s touch.

Gracelyn was waiting for me when I got out, smile still in place.

“All set?” she asked.

“Yes, thanks. Do you suppose we’ll be getting a tour later? I’d love to see the grounds. It’s so peaceful here.”

“Isn’t it?” She took a deep breath of air and managed not to gag. It had the effect of inflating some rather prodigious…lungs. I wondered if Apollo had noticed, then reminded myself I didn’t care.

The two men were bent over the table as we approached, going over promotional plans, I guessed.

“We’d really like your guy Randy Vargas to direct,” Dionysus was saying as we reseated ourselves.

“I thought we were here to discuss on-screen talent.”

“Well, for that we have one of our own in mind. We want someone truly committed to the Back to Earth lifestyle, a spokesperson with no skeletons in her closet—no drugs, affairs, cosmetic surgery, clothing lines sewn in sweatshops…”

“Vargas is very particular about who he works with, and he doesn’t like amateurs,” Apollo said apologetically. “He likes to deal with a certain stable of his own. Plus, he doesn’t do commercial.”

“We have a budget in mind,” Dionysus said, flipping a page of the portfolio.

Apollo’s eyes nearly telescoped right out of his head like an old Tex Avery cartoon wolf at the sight of a foxy lady. I wondered what it took to so impress a god. I wondered if he’d tell me. “He might consider it,” Apollo said, face back under control. “And the talent?”

“Come, I’ll introduce you.” Dionysus grabbed the bottle of wine from the table and waited pointedly while the rest of us picked up our glasses. “We can’t let such a wonderful vintage go to waste,” he said as a prompt. His eyes fell to my untouched glass. “You don’t drink?” There was unfeigned horror in the question.

“Acid reflux,” I lied.

“Ah, you want
white
.” He snapped his fingers, and Gracelyn flitted from his side, presumably to find me another varietal. Dionysus waved away my protest as though it were a polite fiction. I wondered if he viewed the word “no” the same way.

I took Apollo’s arm before Dionysus could claim me again. In contrast, Apollo’s arms were rock hard and invited caress…not that I took them up on their invitation. I thought about Armani and
his
nicely muscled arms. And blue eyes that went dark and depthless when his interest…intensified.

“What are you thinking about?” Apollo bent to whisper in my ear, no doubt believing it was him.

“Nick,” I answered.

“Liar.”

I let it stand. It was much safer that way. Historically, women who thwarted Apollo’s will didn’t fare so well. Like Cassandra, the prophetess of Troy, who’d been given the power to see the future but not to change it. It always came back to Cassandra. It was better than a cold shower, at least my hair didn’t frizz. As long as Apollo felt he still had a shot with me, I was probably safe from his wrath.

And doesn’t he have a chance?
my inner minx asked, dying to rub up against him.

I told her to go play in the street. I was not going to be one of those battered women, attracted to danger thinking it would never turn on me.

People change
, my minxy-me purred.

Gods don’t
, my sane-brain responded.

As evidenced by Dionysus, back in the minions and massacres game after all these years. He was going on about fields and yields, fertilizer and other loads of crap, but I only paid a cursory amount of attention. After all, I was only along as Apollo’s “good friend”. I wasn’t expected to buy what he was selling. Anyway, I had way more important things to do, like mentally mapping the complex, trying to identify the various buildings based on what I saw going in or out and trying to get a sense of the number of residents.

The mapping was easy. As I looked back over my shoulder, the buildings appeared to be arranged in a rough semi-circle like the talk-therapy grouping around the fireplace at the first building we’d visited, only here the centerpiece of the complex was the circular drive we’d driven up. Patterns. People had preferences—circular, square, oblong, symmetrical or asymmetrical. Often people weren’t even aware of their predispositions.

The purpose of each of the buildings was a lot murkier. From where I was I couldn’t see a lot of the movement between the structures. Hard to determine functions.