Fates' Folly (14 page)

By this time I was sitting up, hugging my
pillow tight in my lap. "What happened?"

"I was taken to the Underworld. Hades changed
from the bird into the man and granted me an immortal body, my
soul, and the title of Assassin."

I was shocked. “How? You didn't believe in
Hades. I bet you didn't even know who he was."

"True, but my beliefs were vague, and I had
agreed to Hades' bargain with my last living breath.”

"He tricked you."

"I still chose his bargain."

"What about his end of the deal, did he
explain humanity to you?"

"Every day I see humanity in action and in
the souls I send to Hades. I will witness humanity for
eternity."

Sad. I felt so sad on his behalf.

"Hades is the biggest asshole. It's not fair.
You were vulnerable, and he tricked you."

Riley sat up. I couldn't really see the
expression on his face, but his voice had become cold, sharp, like
when he was angry in Sebastian’s office.

"Myra, who says the gods have to be fair? You
should take my story as a lesson. You should never trust, never
bargain, never question, and never go against a god."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah I got it, but Hades is
still a grand and giant dick head."

Riley lay back down. "You won't hear me agree
with you. But, you won't hear me disagree, either. Goodnight,
Myra."

"Night, Riley."

I doubted I would fall asleep anytime soon,
but not because of Joshua Collins. It was Riley who was keeping me
awake now. I couldn't believe he had just accepted his fate without
putting up a fight. Surely after more than two thousand years he
was sick of it. Maybe he felt guilty for the barbarian stuff when
he was mortal, but come on, how long could he punish himself? I
needed to find a way to help him, but first, I was going to find
out more about where and when he was from.

"Monday,
Monday" the Mamas and the Papas sang through my radio as I parked
my Festiva in my assigned spot, five rows back in the student
parking lot. The crappy parking space was a lovely reminder of my
importance to the school. A reminder I received every morning, as I
was harassed by students with better parking spaces, and
apparently, better cars.

"Good morning, Ms. Collier," Andrew Morris,
captain of the varsity football team, said. "Are your feet sore
from peddling to school in your Flintstone car?"

"Good morning to you, Andrew. And no, my feet
are not sore. There was a good southwest wind this morning, so I
coasted most of the way."

Dalton Sands joined our group, walking into
the school. "If I was Coach Kelley, I'd be embarrassed to date
someone that drove a piece of crap car like yours," he said,
shaking his head.

I stopped just outside my classroom door,
turning around to face the boys. I was not going to discuss the
particulars of my nonexistent relationship with Bo Kelley, but I
loved my car, and she was not a piece of crap.

"What kind of car do you drive, Dalton?"

"A Dodge Ram, Power Wagon, Crew Cab," he
said.

"Yours is the one that has those giant tires,
right?" I asked.

"Yes ma'am! My Baby's rockin'- KMC Monster
wheels, full roll bar, kick ass stereo and party lights," he said,
with a proud grin.

"And you, Andrew?” I asked.

"A full size, fully loaded Hummer," he said,
giving Dalton a high five.

"Hmm, I see a pattern here. Do you boys know
what is said about guys who drive flashy cars?"

"No, what?" both boys said in unison.

I acted the concerned but flustered teacher.
"Unfortunately, I don't have time to explain, but Coach Kelley
could tell you, after all he owns a Shelby." I opened my classroom
door, pausing when I realized the two boys were still standing
behind me. "Oh, and Dalton, grab a dictionary and look up the word
compensating before you speak with Coach Kelley. It may help," I
said, shooing them away, my hands flapping like a deformed
bird.

***

I love art. I had even fancied myself
becoming a famous artist one day- for about three seconds, then I
had to pawn my bike to pay the electric bill. Famous artists were
starving artists before they were famous. I had starved enough
thank you very much, so art teacher was the next best thing. Or so
I thought. Teaching art to kids who have allowances bigger than my
monthly salary, are only taking my class for what they think is an
easy A, and think spin art is the same as impressionism, is not
exactly a rewarding career choice. But hey, at least my lights are
never shut off.

After third period, I spent lunch in the
library searching for anything I could find about civilizations
before Christianity. I found absolutely nothing. Well, I did find
the call numbers for a book on Pagan celebrations, but I couldn't
find the book. Finally, I had to ask Mrs. Marcel, the seventy-six
year old librarian.

"Oh, that book was burned last year, dear,"
she said.

Of course it was, I thought, as I wolfed down
my peanut butter and brown sugar sandwich while walking back to
class. I was unlocking my classroom door when I heard a distinct
high pitched clearing of a throat. Shit.

"Ms. Collier, am I mistaken or did I actually
see you eating while walking down the corridor?" Dr. Covey, the
principle, asked.

With my mouth full of peanut butter and
squishy white bread, all I managed was a nod.

Being above average in height, Dr. Covey
easily looked down her long nose at me. "Ms. Collier, I find it
very disturbing that I cannot count on you, as a teacher, to follow
the schools rules. You know perfectly well we do not tolerate food
outside of the cafeteria, nor do we encourage personal phone calls
to the front office.” She handed me a square pink of paper. "I'm
not your secretary, and neither is anyone on my staff."

"I didn't-"

She stuck her index finger inches from my
nose. "Tut, tut, tut. I will have no excuses, please. Just know
that this is your last warning. The next infraction will be
recorded in your record and, I can assure you, will affect your
contract next year. That is, if one is offered," she said, turning
on her sensible heels and walking away.

I put any worry about Dr. Covey in my denial
box- a fairly easy task considering what was written on the pink
slip of paper she’d handed me.

From: Sebastian Black

Message: Needs help finding lost item-looking
forward to seeing you real soon.

I was not going to panic.

I. Was. Not. Going. To. Panic.

What I needed to do was think logically.
Sebastian knew where I worked, so what? Anybody in town could have
told him, along with my bra size and the brand of feminine products
I used. He left a message for me. Obviously, he was trying to scare
me. And it worked! But what did he want? Did he expect me to run
out of the building screaming so he could get to me more easily?
No, because- let's face it- he could pop in anytime he wanted, grab
me and pop back out again. So he was playing with me and doing his
best to terrify me… for the fun of it.

Now, I was starting to get pissed. I don't do
victim, abused or neglected anymore. I ripped the paper into tiny
pieces and watched as they floated down into the trash can.

"I don't waste my time worrying about creepy
asshole soul thieves either," I said, hoping that if I spoke the
words out loud they'd be believable.

I still had some of my planning period left,
so I stuffed the whole Sebastian-sending-me-creepy-messages
incident into my denial box, and decided I should try my hand at
being productive and organize the supply closet. I thought it was a
great idea-until I had company.

The supply closet in my classroom is not very
large- add rolls of craft paper, bags of clay and a kiln, and it
becomes almost too small to stand in. Add a big man the size of Bo
Kelley, and let's just say I'm glad I chose to not eat the Funyuns
at lunch.

Or not! What am I thinking? Funyuns breath is
just what I needed to repel someone like Bo Kelley, even if it
feels really good having him press me into the supply shelf, well
kind of.

"Um… Bo, the metal shelf doesn't feel all
that great puncturing my skin like it is. I know a lot of people
equate pain with sexual release, but apparently I'm not one of them
because all I can think of right now,” except for a tiny part of my
brain, liking his chest rubbing against my nipples, “is ouch."

Bo didn't say anything, just closed the door
with his foot and spun me around against the door.

"Better?" he asked, into my ear.

Hell yes! "No, not really. I think I've
become claustrophobic, you know, tight places and all."

Bo let out a harsh breath, resting his mouth
near my neck. He was just leaning into me, it was wonderful, I mean
weird.

"You questioned my manhood to my students.
Had them come to me asking what you meant by compensating and what
their rides, I'm quoting now, had to do with it," he said into my
neck.

"So you're mad at me?" I asked, strangely
nervous about the answer.

"No. I'm choosing to see it as a form of
flirting and am using it as an excuse to make out with you."

"But I insinuated you were inadequately built
to please a woman. Aren't you worried about what other people might
think?"

Bo chuckled. "I don't care what other people
think. I only have to worry about satisfying you and what you
think. Plus, no matter what you say to Dalton and Andrew, they are
convinced the vehicles they drive are ‘cool and help them get all
the hotties.’”

"Exactly, it's like driving a big penis
around yelling, hey look mine is better. Sheesh, I can understand
liking a fast car, one that has power and handles well, but-"

"So you like fast cars? Ones that have a
powerful engine and handle well," he whispered.

"Well, yeah, my mama had almost as many
muscle cars as she had men. I can appreciate a powerful engine and
the thrill of driving fast. Who doesn't like a stick shift?"

Bo smiled. "Even if my Shelby was a symbol
for my penis, you just admitted you'd like it," he said, kissing my
neck and making his way to my ear.

"Holy Hades, I can't think when you do that.
Stop," he stopped, leaned back a little and looked at me. "You've
missed the point," I said. "Men drive the hot rods because their
own sexual prowess is more like a Pinto than a Mustang, but they
want everyone to think they're like the Mustang because- let's be
honest- there was nothing good about Pintos."

Bo smiled again. "My Shelby's not flashy,
just good, strong and powerful."

Damn, his words were making me tingle.

"My mama always said Mustangs were too much
work. They looked pretty, even sounded good, but they ate up a lot
of gas and had to constantly be maintained, making them costly and
tedious."

"Sounds like your mama never invested her
time in much for very long. I can guarantee that if she had, she'd
have found the Mustang worth it."

My mind had gone blank. I just didn't know
what to say. Bo was triggering some very uncomfortable feelings in
me as of late. I could handle the sexual stuff, but this, this was
different. Between Riley and Bo I might actually get kicked out of
the Man Hater's Club.

Bo started kissing my neck again.

"I do believe this is the first time I've
seen you speechless," he whispered. "I think I deserve a reward,"
and he kissed me on the mouth.

All the sensations of his body against mine,
all the nerves that were smoldering at his touch, caught fire with
his kiss.

He left my mouth to nibble my neck again.
"How do you feel about Funyuns?" I asked, desperate.

"Love them," he said.

"Ah hell," I said, before I pulled his mouth
back to mine, and- because I really wanted to, because my body was
humming a happy, happy tune and because of everything I'd
experienced the past few days that I had no control over, that
weren't my choice- I kissed him back, giving Bo Kelley all of Myra
Jane Collier.

For a moment.

The bell rang. I vaguely heard students
filing into my room and Tabitha, my fourth period student aid,
tried to get into the closet.

Bo stepped away from me, the look of
intensity on his face thrilling, I mean, scaring me a little. "I
have what you need, Ms. Collier," he said, stepping onto the step
stool and picking up a box of glazes, like he was just getting the
box off a top shelf, at the same moment Tabitha opened the door and
peered inside.

"Yes…um…thank you, Coach Kelley," I said,
following his lead, a fact that was almost as disturbing as the
melting heat I was still feeling from our kiss.

Bo smiled, handing me the box.

"Always," he said, so softly it was almost a
whisper.

"Okay, well see you later. Thanks for your
help, bye, bye," I said, not gaining even a little control of the
situation.

Bo nodded his head and left, grinning, while
I leaned against the metal shelf, trying not to collapse into a
pile of wanton school teacher.

Tabitha looked at me. "Ms. Collier, is
everything alright?" she asked.

"No," I said, digging a five out of my pocket
and handing it to her. "Go to the teachers' lounge and get all the
chocolate you can buy. I don't care what it is, just make sure it's
chocolate."

The rest of my Monday, at school at least,
went without incident. I hid in my classroom, avoiding Bo, Dr.
Covey and hopefully, Sebastian. When the afternoon bell rang, I
left, hiding in the crowd of students walking to their cars.

On the way home, I stopped at the discount
bread store to restock my pantry. Martha Garrett managed the little
store. She was downright rude and apparently had never been taught
the finer points of retail-like don't scowl at the customers, and
spitting tobacco into a plastic cup might not be considered
sanitary, let alone pleasant to watch. But she stocked every
possible Little Debbie cake, cookie, muffin, etc… ever made, and
she didn't expect any phony southern chit chat so, as far as I was
concerned, she was good people.