Feeding Frenzy (The Summoner Sisters Book 1) (17 page)

The nymph gets closer and we all lean back, as if this is a 3D movie.  She peers at us from what feels like just an arm’s length away.  I can feel her eyes boring into me like she’s looking for something just on the other side of my skin and is sure she’ll find it if she tries hard enough.

“You have purity of purpose.  Give unto me your tribute, and I will pass it along to my lady.”

I cast about me.  We didn’t really expect to have to give
more
gifts.  What do you get the goddess who has everything?

“Here,” Brittany says breathlessly.  Her hands remove the chain around her neck, to what I see are dog tags.  “This is my most valuable possession.  Will she…will Artemis like this?” she adds hesitantly.  I cringe, waiting to be told that we’ve somehow profaned the sanctity of the ritual.  I spend the time enjoying how a human heartbeat sounds—I anticipate not hearing it again for a good, long while.

Instead, the nymph suddenly comes into full relief in our world, her hand extending to take the necklace.  She inhales deeply.  “I think this will please the Silver Lady very much,” the nymph says kindly.

Lia, the succubus and I all supplicate again, and when I look up, the nymph is gone, replaced in our field of vision by a very regal dogwood tree.

The portal remains open and so, we wait.  And wait.  My knees are aching, and I am shivering from the late night cold, which creates a dull pain in my injured shoulder.  The succubus gets up and returns with a coat for Brittany.  I’m so glad that she feels comfortable enough to give our things to other people—without offering us anything, either, I might add.  Whatever.  We can’t risk breaking the ritual, so Lia and I stay seated.  Occasionally, we pour a little more goat’s blood and herbs on the chalice.  While our audience with the deity is very much dependent on her whim, the portal itself will only stay open if the fire keeps burning.

After my legs go numb, my mind starts calculating where the cops would be by now.  They’ll have gone to Brittany’s sorority house, and her parents’ house, and our motel.  I’d guess that by now they’re looking for us on traffic cameras, sending out every squad car in the county and calling any contacts that might know something.  Even as I think it, I hear sirens in the distance and fight another shiver, this time from a feeling more pervasive than the cold.

I’m just on the verge of nodding off when the sound of a small twig snapping rouses me again.  I look up at the portal, still eerily floating above us and see a woman in a leather jerkin, with a bow and arrows strung on her back.  I immediately cast my eyes downward and bow from the waist.

“My lady,” Lia and I say.  The succubus tries to make herself as invisible as possible.

“Devout, my handmaiden speaks of a girl about to bring life into the world, and a fear of retribution.  Who would hurt an innocent?”

This is where it gets tricky.  We have to paint a sob story for Artemis that portrays Zeus and Hades, her father and uncle respectively, as unreasonable murderers without insulting her family.  It’s a good thing we’ve had so much time to plan, and are in the picture of health and vigor, I think sarcastically as I stifle a yawn.

“Great lady, the beloved of the soon-mother is, as you can see, one of the creations of your uncle.”  This is a gamble, but it’s calculated to see how much sympathy we really have to work with.

“Yes, I see it; the embodiment of the impurity I would smite from this world.”

So, not a lot of sympathy, then.  Good.

“But you see, it has learnt of chaste love,” Lia adds.  “And further, is it not your teaching that new life is not guilty of parentage?  These beings, even in this deceived age, turn to your benevolence.”  I look over at my sister, impressed.  Who knew she could be so well-spoken?

This seems to intrigue the goddess.  We launch into a speech we thought up while in the car, about the chase we had to go on in order to find them, and the hardship on the mortal girl to bear a half-breed.  Artemis listens, warming to our story.  Beings that are from a time way before smart phones really enjoy the art of storytelling.  I don’t think your average boy scout would count oration as a survival skill, but believe me, it’s saved our lives way more often than the quicksand survival tips we’ve learned.

“Your tale is amusing,” Artemis says when we finish.  “But what is it you wish me to do?  They are not welcome in my hunt, you see, and my realm is sorely limited beyond that.”

“Only your patronage,” I answer.  “We will invoke the god Hades, and ask only that you support their return to the Unseen One.”  She reflects on this.

“It has been a long time since I called upon my uncle,” she says.  “I have sent many gifts to him in the time between; perhaps he will grant his brother’s daughter a small favor.”

This is going so much better than I’d hoped.  She’s amenable to our plan
and
no one is transmogrified into any sort of mammal.  If we walk away from this, we should hit Vegas.

Artemis looks at the necklace she is carrying in her hand.  The dog tags glint silver in the bright moonlight of the other realm.  “One who has been so true should not be forsaken,” she says at last.  “I will call unto Hades, and we will hear his will.”

We bow again as the goddess stands up.  She’s athletic, and well armored, and
tall
.  Most of the creatures we deal with may have been towering monstrosities in the times they were first born, but humans have grown significantly in the interceding three or more thousand years.  A demon that was tall for a Mesopotamian would therefore be mistaken for a very strange-looking tweeny in our modern era.  The gods, it seems, do not suffer the same deficiency.  From our angle, it appears that she’s looking off into the distance.  She’s speaking, and pausing as if in conversation, but we can’t hear anything she’s saying—I think she may have put us on mute.

“Is this going well or
too
well?” Lia asks me softly.

“Too soon to tell,” I reply.  I’m not used to things going this smoothly, which makes me nervous.  I expect the next shoe to drop any minute now.

We watch Artemis talking to someone beyond our view for some time.  I’m shivering uncontrollably now in the predawn air—even the armor isn’t doing enough to keep me warm.  And then the view in the portal begins to shift.  Without a word, Artemis looks down and raises a hand in farewell.

“I think she’s transferring our call,” Lia whispers.

“Where to?  We asked
her
to help us,” I moan.

“At least we don’t have to sacrifice another goat,” Lia supplies helpfully.

Artemis fades out of the scene and our vista rematerializes in a very dark, very large hall.  It is almost disgustingly lavish, covered in precious metals and lit by the eerie blue light of burning sulfur.  As I realize what it is we must be looking at, my heart starts beating faster than the drum we’d used to appeal to Artemis.

Neither I, nor Gregor’s memories, are at all pleased to see the Court of the Unseen King.  This is a five bell catastrophe, and every fiber of my being wants to turn tail and run.  Even with Artemis putting in a good word for us, Hades now has us in his personal residence, which means that no one can gainsay him on his side of the curtain.  If this goes as badly as it almost has to at this point, we’ll have to try to close the portal and book it before he has time to drag us to hell.  The bad news is that I’m not feeling particularly confident in my ability to win any races right now.

We zoom into two thrones at the far side of the chamber.  Only one of the thrones is occupied, but not by Hades.  Persephone, queen of the underworld, sits regally on her throne, emitting a soft golden glow.  It radiates from her long, flaxen locks and the almost translucent skin visible beneath her fringed flapper dress.  And here I thought
Ophelia
was pale.

Once more we bow low.  Persephone, so we’ve been told, is hard to read.  Though I know it’s sort of the understatement of the millennium, she’s had a
messed up
home life.  From what we’ve heard of her, she tends to vacillate between the quintessential tyrant and a sweet, young girl.  Our news is third hand though, because most of our colleagues are smart enough
not
to end up talking to her once she returns to her court for the winter.

“Honored Persephone,” I begin.

“Oh, save it.”

I blink.  What did she just say?  “I…am sorry to offend, my lady…”  I try again.

“Gee whiz, do I look like my mom?” she asks, rolling her eyes.  “’Honored blah, lady queen of who cares, fix my problems, here have a goat.’  That’s what you sound like.”

“Um…”

“That’s the most honest thing you’ve said so far!  We’re getting there.”

I’m gonna get whiplash.  What the hell is happening?  I look over at my sister, whose face mirrors my surprise.  Brittany bursts into nervous laughter.

Persephone smiles.  “See?  This is much more comfortable.  So!”  She rises from her seat and saunters over to the portal, bending down to look at Brittany.  “This is the knocked up girl.  Honey, been there.  Fall in love, tricked by your
paramour
, and suddenly there’s no place in the world for you?  I
wrote
that story.”

“Oh, umm, I guess,” Brittany stammers.

“And
you
, my adoring minion, what in h-e-double hockey sticks did you go and do?”  The succubus sidles into the circle sheepishly.

“Sorry, mistress.  I didn’t mean to cause trouble.  It was unintentional.”

“You’re too old for that to work on me,” the goddess chides.  She accepts a glass of amber liquid from someone off-screen and arranges herself on a divan close to the portal.  “You knew exactly what you were doing.  What do you think Hades would say to that?”

“That there is only one path for all creatures, and that I should follow it.”

“You got it, bub.”

The succubus pouts at the deity.

“I can’t stay mad at you,” Persephone relents, sipping her drink.  “If he killed you, who would be my fashion magazine?”

My confounded lack of poker face must be showing again, because the goddess looks at me knowingly.

“Oh yes, you silly goose, I know all about fashion magazines.  It’s murder to get one—everyone’s so intent on offering me bloody
wheat
and what all.  So every now and then when my crony here goes to visit the mortal realms, she comes back and shows me what mortals look like these days.  It’s a big hit at my soirees.”

Soirees?  Silly goose?  Am I being punked?  I think I need a translator.  Artemis was how I expected a goddess to be—superior, aloof, and a little cruel.  Persephone is puzzling.

“Um, pardon me, please, but is there a way you would prefer us to address you?” Lia asks hesitantly.

“Ugh, you’ve obviously only ever spoken with my clique on the mountain. 
So
pretentious.”  She smiles expansively, obviously used to being found witty.

We laugh sickly little laughs, and she beams at us.

She motions for her empty glass to be refilled.  “
Some
of us think we need to stay current.  During the season, I try to invite interesting heroes to amuse us, and inform us of the cute, little squabbles humans keep dreaming up.  As I am hoping to have an edge on the rest of our circle this year, please keep things tubular.”

“Oh.  Of course, we can do that,” Lia says.  I personally think that I am more confused now than I was previously.  I am only just old enough to know that “tubular” was slang for “cool” sometime in the end of the last century—I’m not even sure Lia knows what it means at all.

“So, what are you skirts doing here?” Persephone asks us critically.  She checks out our outfits.  “Are skirts out?  Is this what everyone’s wearing now?”

“Oh—no, miss.  No, this is uh—a sport now.”

“Are you athletes?”

“We are…sort of emissaries, I suppose,” I start.

“We help find beings that belong to other realms and to return them,” Lia finishes.

“Oh…dog catchers….”  The queen says, suddenly less interested in us.  She puts her hand delicately under her nose, as if dabbing away an unpleasant smell.  “Well, I only just got to Elysium, and the season won’t pick up for a few weeks still, so I might as well use this moment.  Nothing better to do until my old man gets back.”

“Oh…Hades isn’t in?  We were sort of hoping that there might be room for your…radical friends,” I say slowly.

“No, I’m afraid he’s busy,” she says absently, taking a drink.  “I am fond of Hades, of course, but he’s very much a public figure…we mostly keep to our own schedules except for business events and family gatherings.  He has a hard time disengaging from his work—I think it stems from his unhealthy relationship with his daddy-o,” she explains.  Apparently Persephone is the goddess of oversharing.

“Sure, sure,” Lia replies sympathetically.

“Well, is there some way we can leave a message or something?  See, Brittany and her mate here are in trouble and need a place to stay, and we were really hoping that there might be some room somewhere on
that
side of the world,” I explain, gesturing to the portal.

“What do I get?”

Man, these people just keep taking.  So much for her being so different from the “clique on the mountain.”  “Well, we’re out of goats…”

“And fashion magazines.”  Lia adds.

“Well, teach me some jargon, then.  The last person who would talk to me about culture in the far west was Kurt Cobain, and he said that his vernacular was probably a little outmoded by this point.”

“You’ve met Kurt Cobain?” Lia asks excitedly.

“Mm, quite.”

“Do all musicians go to Elysium?”

“Oh, gracious, no.  No, he was on tour.”

From her tone I can tell that she’s done answering questions now, but I have
so many
.  Where do people go?  How do they move between wherever it is they go and Elysium?  Did Kurt play
Nevermind
?  Acoustic or electric?

“Well…there’s ‘I can’t even,’” Brittany starts.

“And what does it signify?” the goddess asks curiously.

“It’s when you’re so overwrought that you can’t even begin to explain how you’re feeling about it, but you find it amusing,” I say.

“This party is so tubular, I can’t even.”  Persephone tries it.

“Yeah, you got it,” Lia says, trying not to laugh, but the pure glee on her face says that she is absolutely delighted with how this summoning is going thus far.

“Tell me more.”

“Well there’s the whole ‘abbreviation’ movement,” I provide after a moment’s consideration.

“Oh, there’s a movement?  I have always enjoyed dances.”  My nostrils flare as I try to suppress a laugh myself.

“No, my lady, not a physical movement, more a shift in cultural norms, is what I was intending to say.”

“Oh!  Tell me about that.”  She takes another gulp of her drink.

“Like ‘totes,’ instead of totally…”

This conversation lasts several minutes, during which time, our hostess polishes off another glass and receives a new one.

“That is so groovy!  Or should I say ‘so groove’,” Persephone jokes with us conspiratorially.

“You are the bomb dot com,” Lia informs her admiringly.  Persephone laughs and salutes us with the newly filled contents of her glass.  She drinks deeply.

“Now, about taking in these two poor lovers,” I start again.

“Ugh,
lovers
,” she moans.  “Everyone’s so involved in romantic love.  Well, you know what?  Nothing lasts forever, let me just tell you that.”  She goes to take another swig of what I believe must be mead.  The queen finds her glass empty, and she holds it out to the side for a refill.

“Err…” Lia says uncomfortably.  “It’s late.  Perhaps we should leave you alone.”

“No!  Not yet, we’re having such fun!  What else is new in the far west?” Persephone exclaims, new points of pink on her cheeks.

Lia and I exchange looks.  Apparently this is going to take longer than we’d anticipated.  How many slang words equal one goat sacrifice?  More importantly, how much more of the required reagents do we have to keep the portal open?  We’re very nearly out of goat’s blood.

“The problem is, lady, that we’re sort of hunted ourselves.  We’ve found a safe place to commune with you, but it won’t stay safe long.”

“Oh, thank you for the thought.  If I feel unsafe, I shall leave immeds,” she says, shortening the word “immediately.”  “Very thoughtful of you to bring it to my notice.”

I bite my lip and nod.  Of course.  Of
course
we won’t be able to convey mortal urgency to an immortal being.  What do time and danger mean to someone who cannot die—in fact, who essentially gets to pick and choose who
will
die?

“Queen Persephone, we may not be able to keep the portal open much longer, as much as we would like to.  We are out of goat blood.”

“That’s all right.  It’s a little primitive, perhaps, but I’ll accept some of yours in lieu of goat’s blood.  We’re already breaking my social protocol as is—a little more won’t kill me.”  She laughs tipsily.

Lia and I exchange dark looks.  Going against the goddess’ wishes is ill-advised, but so is using our own blood to perform a ritual.  I’m already dangerously low on fuel and ideally, if I’m circling the drain, I need Lia at full capacity.  Persephone notices our hesitation.

“Is there a problem?  I really don’t think it is too much to ask that you converse with me for a moment.  Were we not enjoying ourselves?” Persephone asks archly.

“Of course we are!” Lia assures her.  We just didn’t want to waste your time, is all.”

She relaxes again deep into the divan.  “Not at all, child, not at all.  I’m mellow.  Now, what’s something else you would say?”  The flames in our chalice flicker treacherously.

I try to tell her no, but Lia moves too quickly.  With a determined air, she grabs the ritual knife, making a small cut on her wrist and allowing her blood to fall into the fire.

“We also say ‘brosef…’”  Brittany adds uncomfortably.