Sirenz Back in Fashion (18 page)

Anchorwoman was interviewing someone.

“I love Window Girl! I want to thank her personally for saving my business,” said a man with a neatly trimmed, waxed, and twisted white mustache. He spoke with a friendly English lilt.

Anchorwoman eyed him shrewdly. “Mr. Coleman, some people say that this is a publicity stunt. Did you pay this mysterious Window Girl to come to your store? Rumor has it you did quite well last week, even though she didn't come. And, tonight you're running a 7:00 p.m. special—just the time that Window Girl stops talking to your displays.”

“Absolutely not!” he huffed. “I don't know what possessed this young lady to come to Pandora's Box. I have no idea who she is. No one does. I don't know what she's talking about, or if the candy talks back! Chocolate does sometimes repeat on me.”

He chuckled and laughter rippled through the crowd.

“Whoever she is, or whatever her reasons are, I call it divine intervention!” He grabbed the microphone and waved it at the camera. “Thank you, Window Girl! Thank you!”

“Window Girl! Window Girl!” the crowd chanted, and then started to back up, making a space in anticipation of my arrival. It was 6:54.

Did I really want to do this in front of all these people? I'd done it before, but not like this, not knowing there were cameras and news crews … but what if I missed Shar again? She'd never forgive me. Yet what if she didn't show, like Hades suggested? Although it was entirely plausible that he wanted to bait
me
into not showing, so fueling Shar's mistrust; he'd love to keep us both. I peered around the people, at the window. The wide empty space waited for Window Girl, for me. A hush fell over the crowd.

“Where is she?” I heard someone whisper, and immediately they were shushed. I had to try. Slowly I stepped forward, and the group parted like the Biblical Red Sea to let me pass. Once through, they closed in behind me. I felt trapped and embarrassed, but I couldn't fail Shar again.

The window display had changed yet again. A dark and white chocolate roulette wheel turned lazily around and around. A deck of chocolate cards sat next to stacks and stacks of chocolate poker chips.
Bet she's there, bet she's not.
It was a game of chance and I had no choice but to make a wager.

I stood in front of the window and waited … but nothing happened.

“Window Girl, what do you see?” someone shouted behind me.

“Stop! You'll wreck her concentration!” another hissed.

Suddenly, there was a bright light in the window. That had never happened before … my heart leapt up with hope. Then Anchorwoman started talking.

“This is Joy Evans, coming to you live from Pandora's Box on 57th Street. For a month now, the mysterious
Window Girl has come to this spot at five minutes to seven to talk to the displays.”

There were a few moments of silence and the flash of cell phone cameras. I didn't take my eyes off the window, but I could smell the stench of Camera Guy's cigarette breath as he edged closer to me. Instantly the light was off me and Joy Evans was reporting again.

“Four minutes into today's visit and Window Girl has said nothing!”

Only one minute left? Where was Shar?

No one moved, breathed, or made a sound.

“And, seven o'clock,” she announced.

There was a collected and disappointed sigh. Shar hadn't come. I felt tears welling up and slid my glasses on with shaking hands.

“It was that newswoman,” someone muttered disgustedly. “She ruined the mood.”

Joy Evans hustled up to me, microphone in hand and camera in tow. “Window Girl, who are you? Why do you come here?”

I looked around helplessly. Just about everyone who had been standing around had jostled close to get a view of me or hear something prophetic from me. I wanted to scream,
I'm just a girl! A scared, lonely, abandoned, duped girl. I can't help myself and I can't help Shar and I can't help you!

“Leave her alone! Leave her alone! Can't you see she's upset?” I looked up to see Mr. Coleman, the owner, muscling in between Joy Evans and me. He was glaring at her. Then he looked down kindly at me. “Go on,” he whispered.

I pushed through the group to the sounds of him arguing with Joy Evans. Shar hadn't shown; obviously she thought I abandoned her, and in a way, I did—but did I also drive her into Hades' waiting arms? Hermes reported that she wasn't going to come, and that she asked Hades to help her get a costume for that ball; she'd never asked him for anything before. Was he on the brink of getting her to give in? If Shar felt she had nothing to return to, and Hades offered her everything she could ever want …

I couldn't let that happen. But I couldn't give Paulina to him.

Then a light dawned.

You have to stick by Shar. Put on the fleece yourself, go to Tartarus. Whatever happens next, you'll figure it out—together.

My step felt lighter, quicker; I would have skipped back to the dorm if it wasn't for the knowledge of where I'd be spending the night.

When I got to the room, Paulina was there, lounging on her bed.

“Wanna get something to eat?” she asked. She was always hungry!

I ignored her and went right to the closet and took out the garment bag. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her get up in a quick movement that was all long, black-clad legs and limbs. Shaking off my jacket, I realized that I was doing this right in front of her, and for a fraction of a second I wondered if it was the right thing to do. I decided that if she had a deal with Hades, me suddenly vanishing wouldn't surprise her, and if she didn't, then once I was down in Tartarus all memories of me would probably be erased. That's how I figured things worked—it would be too messy for Hades to leave memories of people who disappeared under mysterious circumstances.

I pulled the fleece out, shook it, and swung it around my shoulders, only to have it pulled from my hands. I whirled around; Paulina held the fleece at arm's length from herself, barely pinching it with two fingers.

“What are you doing?” she cried, gaping at me incredulously.

“I'm putting on my coat—what does it look like?”

“It's too warm. All you need is a sweater,” she said. “And it's too ugly. I can't let you be seen in it.” She sounded like Shar, only more gruff.

I held out my hand and wiggled my fingers, demanding its return.

Paulina eyed me cautiously, hesitating. “It makes you look fat,” she mumbled, as if she didn't want to say it. As if she was desperate for …
what?
She turned around and marched over to her bed with it, and I followed on her heels.

“I'm serious, Paulina! Give—”

“You know,” she interrupted, turning around, “that dance is on Saturday, right? And we're going?”

I nodded, slowly.
I won't be here, so it doesn't matter.

She looked sad. “Can I … borrow it?”

Huh?
“I … you just said it was ugly.”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “But looking at it again … ” She turned it around, this time holding it in her whole hand. “It's not so bad. But it was definitely meant for a taller person. What're you wearing?”

I looked at the closet; the tight-fitting Edwardian dress I bought with Shar before Hades took her would never work now, with my scales. But did that matter? I turned back to Paulina, confused and with no energy left to argue. “Uh, I haven't really figured that out yet … ”

“Me neither. We can figure it out over dinner.”

I managed to nod as Paulina dropped the fleece on the chair by her bed, grabbed her keys, and hustled me out the door.

Shar

Shall We Dance?

“That, that
insect
!”
I screeched. My dress had arrived from Arachne, delivered by some dead-a-long-time servant. As soon as I opened the box, I knew she'd either ratted me out to Hades or taken it upon herself to gift wrap me for him.

I'd told her I wanted to go dressed as my great-grandmother: dowdy, neutral-colored house dress; sensible, orthopedically correct shoes; and garish, flowered apron; maybe even a wooden spoon clutched in my hand. I thought I was safe.

But noooooo!

Pushing aside the silver tissue paper, I found a pearly pink high-Hollywood-glam dress suitable for the Academy Awards, something the biggest stars would wear. A diamond necklace,
à
la Harry Winston and most likely dripping with over ten glistening carats of stones, was cradled in a sapphire blue cushioned box. Slinky silver heels by Ferragamo—I was willing to bet handmade by Mr. Salvatore Ferragamo over in Hades' Italy of the '70s—lay waiting to be introduced to my feet
.

There was nothing for it; I had to wear it. It was either that or more Grecian goddess garb, and that had gotten old fast.

Once I was dressed, I swept out and made my way through the throne room. As hostess, it was my duty to greet the guests. My heels clip-clapped on the marble floor.

“I'm speechless. What can I say,
bella
.”

I stiffened, waiting for the breathing down my neck. True to form, his breath was warm as it tickled my spine, sending chills down my back.

Next come the hands. Wait for it …

His palms glided up my arms. Enough! I lifted the hem of my dress and moved away, giving him
that look.

“I don't think I could have chosen better. You must tell me more about this Estelle. How she could go unnoticed by me is a mystery.”

This outfit was sooo not Grandma! Arachne was dressing me for a sacrifice. I tapped my foot and crossed my arms over my chest to stop his rude gaping. There were a lot of bare spots; arms, back, shoulders, neck, and quite a bit of the front.

“She is my great
grandmother,
and this was NOT what I ordered from Arachne. I think you should fire her. The client is not pleased.”

His tongue wet his upper lip in a way that was enticing, really, but I wasn't feeling it. “But Arachne is my employee, and I am
most
thrilled. I had to give her a bonus. A set of real legs for a while.” He took a step closer and I hopped back.

“And why aren't you dressed in a costume? Just a tux?”

He shrugged. “I've decided to pass on the costume this time. Lucky for you. Can you imagine if I'd dressed as Don Juan or Romeo? This way we look breathtaking together.”

Yep, Arachne ratted. He planned his wardrobe around mine. I should have worn the shower curtain—wait! Shower equals naked! Scratch that!

With a last seething look I told him, “I have duties to perform. The guests should be arriving.”

“By all means, let us greet our guests.” Instantly one arm snaked around my waist while the other claimed a hand, holding me prisoner. He guided me toward the front doors of the palace; at a flick of his pinky, they opened without so much as a whisper.

And there stood Caz, in a sharp blue suit and large tortoiseshell glasses.

With a date.

A stunning redhead—slim, graceful, petite, and looking sexy smart in a tweedy suit that complimented his outfit. In her hand she held a pencil and a small pad.

“Ah, nephew, good of you to come. Who are you supposed to be?” Hades' stare lingered on the girl. Should I be jealous that both Hades and Caz could easily replace me with the various flavors of the Underworld?

Get your head in the game, Sharisse.

Without even looking at me, Caz said, “Uncle, Sharisse. May I present Lois Lane, the love of Clark Kent's life.” He glanced around as if he was watching for eavesdroppers. Then he pulled open his shirt to reveal a bright tight red, yellow, and blue tee. “This is just my alter ego.” He winked at Lois conspiratorially. “I'm really Superman.”

Lois giggled and hung on his arm. I wanted to kick them both, but instead I stepped forward, the most perfect smile on my face.
Two can play this game.

“Welcome, Miss Lane. Please come in and enjoy yourself. Should you require anything, you have only to ask.” I turned to Caz. With the same gracious tone, I said, “What a pleasure to see you again,
Castor
.
I hope you two have a wonderful time.” I stepped back, next to Hades, who smiled smugly. His fingers brushed against my derrière. I refused to rise to the bait.

“Have fun,” said Hades, humor dancing in his eyes. Not looking back at Caz, now known as the blond snake, I turned to greet the long line of guests.

Geez, I hope he didn't invite every single dead person in history. This ball will last an eternity.

He didn't. It seemed that Hades only invited those he called the
interesting
people: upper echelon royalty like Queen Elizabeth I—scary; twisted royalty like Vlad Dracul —mega scary; and nouveau royalty like the self-proclaimed African king with so many names I couldn't remember the first one he rattled off, but who really was a brutal dictator—scummy. There were also the typical Greek full and demi-gods, some Egyptian ones, no Romans of course, and some I'd never heard of. It was almost time to begin, judging by Hades' growing impatience, when I spied a couple chatting amiably as they neared the doors.

“Ben and Arachne! Interesting pairing,” I said, and noted that Hades had been serious about giving her human legs. She was dressed as a cheerleader to show them off. Ben came as a Redcoat.

I heard Hades' indrawn breath.

“Hello Ben, Arachne. Thank you for coming.”

“Miss Sharisse, Lord Hades,” Ben replied formally. “I'm so looking forward to this evening. The British have arrived! Miss Arachne has been kind enough to promise me the first dance.”

“How wonderful!” I gushed. “Do enjoy yourselves.”

“We do not invite the help!” Hades hissed in an aside, after they'd passed.

I feigned a shocked look. “All men are created equal and are endowed—”

“Spare me,” he grumbled. “Next you'll be thinking that you're equal to us.”

“Better,” I replied softly.

“Hmph,” he grunted as another guest came up to us. A man with long dreadlocks and dressed in a black leather jacket, jeans, and a crisp white button-down strolled up to the doors. His shirt was open, revealing amber skin and a well-developed chest.

Who was this?

“Dionysus,” Hades said, tipping his head the smallest fraction of an inch.

Ah, another god.

Dionysus smiled warmly, then raised a hand to Hades and did one of those handshake-slash-back-pat combo things that guys do with other guys.

Struggling not to laugh at Hades' almost imperceptible cringe, I put out my hand. “Welcome, Dionysus.”

“I'm the god of drunkenness, dirty dancing, and debauchery.” A smile spread over his lips. “No party is complete without me, but please, call me D'On.” He took my hand and, quickly flipping my palm up, pressed a licky kiss dead center.

I gasped at his boldness in front of Hades. How wonderful it was that not only was I good gawking material for juvenile-acting males, but I was prime bait. And a good hostess. And a husband stealer, failed beauty queen, unmissed roomie, and pathetic mortal. Mother would be proud. So far I'd felt like a mannequin on display for everyone who knew what Hades wanted. Worse was wondering if they thought
I
was giving it. Still, a binding, lethal, unfair contract is a
binding, lethal, unfair
contract. I kept playing my part to story­book perfection.

“And who are you, looking so … ambrosial?” D'On's violet eyes were bright with mischief.

Hades stepped forward, partially blocking my sight of D'On and his of me, which forced him to let go of my hand. My palm was still wet from his kiss.

“This is Sharisse. Now that you're here, the festivities can begin.”

With a devilish chuckle and a sly wink, D'On whispered in my ear, “I claim one dance.” Without waiting for an answer, he strutted off toward the ballroom.

Hades turned and offered me his arm. “No one will dance until after we have, then he'll liven things up. Shall we go in?”

There was no refusing him so I linked my arm through his, gathered my train, and let him guide me to the ballroom.

Glittering chandeliers gave off soft light, illuminating guests dressed in every conceivable costume: royalty, animal, monster, TV, movie, and historical. The crowd quieted and parted as Hades led me to the center of the room. He stared only at my eyes and pulled me so close I felt like I was sharing his pants. I tried to squirm away but he held me too tight. We stood there, staring at each other, waiting for the music to start. Mesmerized by his dark aura, I couldn't look away.

The waltz started. I knew it wasn't the dance lessons my mother forced upon me that enabled me to glide effortlessly around the floor; Hades swept me along in a whirling, almost dervish motion until my eyes couldn't make out anything around me but him. Heat rushed to my face and a small smile pulled at his lips, as if he knew that I was fighting an attraction to him.

“Why do you resist?” His voice was velvet. “I know you think of me, even just a little, though I suspect it's much more than that. Just admit it.” His lips brushed my hair as he twirled me again.

“We both know that if I give in, you'll gloat and then I won't be anything but a joke. For you, the excitement is in the chase, not in catching the prey. And besides all that”—I paused as he twirled me around—“I don't date married men.”

A laugh rumbled deep in his chest and his gaze traveled down to my lips. I tried to keep my breath even, my demeanor relaxed, but I couldn't.

“I already told you, mine and Persephone's is an open relationship. But there is some truth to your other observation. You have led me on the longest chase, and it excites me. The harder I try, the more you fight. If I should act like a gentleman, like Castor, would you give in?”

Jealous?

“No,” I answered honestly. “That's not who you are—you won't change for anything or, I suspect, anyone. And as long as we're discussing this, I think the reason you're like this is because no one refuses you. Persephone wanted you to catch her.” His eyes flared dangerously for a moment, but he never lost a step. “I think you're bored. It happens to married couples.”

Because I know so much about that subject; me without a date for the Spring Fling, which I'm missing anyway. At least this dance will be memorable.

“
Ch
é
rie
, have you considered that maybe you like the fact that
I
chase
you
?”

I gave his words thoughtful consideration. “Possibly. It's that whole dark knight taunting the heroine. Little girls eat that up as soon as they learn about handsome, ‘maybe I can save him' bad boys. But I don't think that's the case with us.”

He cocked a brow. “Enlighten me.”

“You have too many points against you. You're married so securely I doubt even Zeus could stop the war that would erupt if you suddenly decided you wanted out. Your wife is a powerful, immortal goddess with a possessive streak who could vaporize me and upset the entire pantheon. You live in the Underworld, and while it's amazing and spectacular, it's not my home. Eventually I might end up here, but I have my life on the mortal plane that I want to return to.” I paused, trying to frame out my next thought before I said something rash.

“Go on,” he urged. “Say what's on your mind. Very few get the privilege.”

I turned my head, watching the crowd spin by. How long had we been dancing?

“You're gorgeous. I have never met anyone as beautiful as you and I doubt I ever will. I admit it's hard to resist you, but I can, because it's wrong and because I don't like the insecurity I feel around you.” I refused to meet his stare. “With you there's chaos and infidelity and guilt and lust. There's no love. I want that. And that's the one thing you can't give me.”

The music ended abruptly. Hades, his eyes smoldering with some emotion, gently lifted my hand and kissed it chastely.

“I could give love. If someone ever wanted it from me.” He spun swiftly and scooped up one of Henry VIII's wives. In a moment he was the charming rogue once more.

Standing there like an abandoned kitten, I held my head high. I would not slink off.

A muscular arm slipped around me and I twirled into the midst of the crowd. “Finally, it's my turn.” D'On's laughing dimples greeted me. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Hades watching us. I ignored them. And Caz, as he whispered with his comic-book candy bar on the other side of the dance floor.

“Waltzing is kind of reserved for you, isn't it, D'On?” I asked.

“Oh, things will pick up soon. I wanted a few moments with you first.”

“Me?” I puzzled. “Why?”

He leaned closer. “I've seen Meg. She's fine, but she has no idea what she's really dealing with. She worries about you.”

He'd seen Meg!
Well, that was nice to hear, but if she'd shown up to talk, she could've told me in person. A small part of me was still miffed she blew me off for a concert, but now that I knew, or thought I knew, the truth about her roommate, I felt there had to be more to it. I opened my mouth to say something; D'On seemed to know what was happening up there—or did he?
Greek god equals untrustworthy.
I decided to keep my mouth shut, and simply nodded and said nothing. D'On narrowed his eyes at me shrewdly and smiled. The music ended and he kissed my hand. “Now the fun starts. Don't drink the wine.”