Sirenz Back in Fashion (5 page)

“Just for a second.”

“I don't have time for you—”

“It's about Shar,” I cut her off.

She looked confused.

“Have you … heard from her?” It was a good place to start.

She shook her head and narrowed her muddy eyes at me. “Who?”

“Shar. Sharisse Johnson.”

“I don't know any Sharisse.” Alana tossed her long brown hair back.

“Look, I know things haven't been the same between you two,” I said, choosing my words carefully, “but it's really not her fault—”

“You
look,” she said, annoyed. “I don't know what you're talking about. I don't know any Sharisse Johnson. None of us knows any Sharisse Johnson.” She inclined her head toward the girls, who shook their heads and laughed. “It's bad enough to know Meg Wiley!”

It was too rude.

“Yes you do,” I insisted, stepping up to her and putting my hand on the locker next to hers. “She's your friend, my roommate, God help me. And this”—I banged on the locker door—“is her locker. She … ”

The trio had backed up a step. Alana cracked a smile and then howled with laughter, her friends quick to join her.

“OMG, you are
insane
!”
she tittered. “This”—and she banged the locker just like I did—“is Caroline's locker.” She pulled Caroline to her side, and said, “Prove it to her. Open it.” Caroline dutifully twirled the combination and the locker popped open. Pictures of Caroline, Alana, Kate, and some guys were plastered in neat rows. Nothing of Shar's resided there.

“See,” Alana went on, “I guess being in a room all by yourself for so long has affected your mind. Better go to the nurse and see if she can give you something for that.”

The three of them laughed again. Caroline slammed her locker shut and they walked off, leaving me standing there, horrified. The skin on the back of my neck prickled and stung.

He erased her! Is it permanent? Is this what'll happen to me?

I didn't want to think about anything the future might hold in store. I figured that thanks to Alana's networking, the female population of the school would soon think I was a loon and Hades' wonderful gift would have the male segment panting at my heels. Together, those things would be a lethal combination.

Eventually, I made my weary way back to my half-empty dorm room; there was nowhere else to go. Inside, I was once again confronted by Shar's complete absence.

Suddenly I heard a loud buzz coming from the direction of my desk. In the space I'd made last night by swiping my books aside rested an iPhone—the newest generation of the one Hades had given to us for our first assignment. It buzzed and buzzed, and the screen blinked with a red light. I snatched it up and a text flashed on the screen.

Margaret, I thought this would be of use. And just in case, I took the liberty of blocking some of the features so there won't be any awkward calls to anyone who shouldn't be involved in our business, like last time.
H.

My hand started to shake and the thing buzzed again. A new text popped up.

That's no way to treat the fleece! Hang it up!

“Hang it up?!” I squawked, throwing the iPhone on my bed and snatching up the fleece. “Here's what I think of your nephew
von pelt
!”
I lifted the thing above my head, not bothering to take it out of its garment bag, and hurled it toward the center of the room.

One second it was hurtling through space, the next it was … gone!

I felt … strange. Light. Not a lightening of the heart, but a physical kind of light that made me dizzy. My vision blurred and the room started to get dark. I stumbled toward the dresser, hoping to hold onto it, but I never made it. A surge, like a quick drop in an elevator, overtook me. I blinked, and the dorm room, like the fleece, was gone.

Where was I?

The first thing I became aware of was the presence of two people. I strained to hear their muffled voices. One of them, definitely a girl, was crying. Hard. I couldn't make out what she was saying. Suddenly, the dimness was swept away and I saw them.

Hades … and Shar!

Shar

You've Been Hired!

As I walked down hallways lit with torches, I discovered that Hades' palace was surprisingly light. Almost warm. The black marble was only on the outside; the inside was a pure, dazzling white. Who knew?

“And here you are,” said Ben congenially, leading me through double doors into an immense room. “Your rooms are to the left of the throne. Like I said, wander and explore to your heart's content. I highly recommend the Elysian Fields. You can either take a door right from the palace, or use the pedestrian walkway leading from the dock.”

“The fields are kind of like heaven, right?” I asked.

He nodded with a beaming smile. “Yes! I'm often found there. That's where the most fascinating people are.”

“Like who?” This was getting interesting.

He clapped his hands. “Let's see. So many I can't name them all. Marilyn Monroe is appearing on the stage, Caruso is, of course, at the opera house, Van Gogh won't talk to anyone, so forget him.” A soft chiming sound escaped from his pocket. He withdrew a pocket watch that sparked a painful reminder of Meg.

“Dear me! Would you look at the time? I'm supposed to be teaching Miss Cleopatra chess. I've got to run!” He tucked the watch into its pocket. I grabbed his arm before he could run off.

“The
Cleopatra?” I choked. Talk about an original fashion icon.

“Yes, yes, I mustn't tarry. She gets ever so temperamental when I'm late. I shall see you later, my dear.”

“Wait! One last question!” I pressed. “If you're dead, how come you're not … you know, a pile of bones or a shade?”

Ben paused and took off his glasses. Withdrawing a snowy hankie, he cleaned them while he spoke. “I guess it can't hurt to tell you how things work down here, as long as I don't go into any personal details. Tartarus is the land of the dead. If a soul does not possess the requisite coin to cross the river, it is doomed to remain on the far side, away from the Elysian Fields. Its mortal coil slowly rots until it becomes a shade. Hence the bones.”

He straightened his waistcoat with its shiny brass buttons. “Once a soul crosses, it is rewarded by retaining its vessel. You might say I've been preserved, like strawberry jam.” His eyes twinkled. “Still as sweet—at least for a time. Those still living, like you, can only cross with a branch from the Tree of Life, which protects your body. An added bonus is that time has no meaning here, so you won't age.”

Time might not pass here, but my life on the mortal plane was still ticking away—without me!

“And now I must go.” Ben gallantly raised my hand in his. His skin held no warmth nor pulsing blue veins. It was a bit on the creepy side, but I smiled as he left a chaste, dry kiss on the back of my hand. The doors closed behind him and I was alone.

The room was humongous. Large fireplaces threw off gaily dancing flames but somehow the temperature was perfect—no hot or cold spots. At the far end was a huge white marble throne, just like you'd see in a Hollywood movie version of a Greek god's temple. Hades was a god, so I guess a throne wasn't out of character. But it wasn't solid gold, or the black marble he seemed to favor for everything else; it was so
typical
.
I thought he'd be more original.

Then my eye caught sight of a young man lounging on the throne. He sat crossways, as if he couldn't be bothered to sit up straight in this seat of power. I cautiously moved closer.

“Hades isn't here right now.” He barely glanced at me.

“I can see that.” The words almost stuck in my throat. This guy was a breath-stealer. Whoever he was, he could be the poster boy for sex and sin with that bod. Low-slung jeans, bare chest, messy blond hair. He looked up and I almost expired. His gray eyes were magical. I stepped closer.

Ooooh.

With a raised eyebrow, he gave my outfit a critical look. If there were curtains or drapes, I would have torn them down and wrapped them around myself. Feeling uncomfortable reminded me of another pressing problem.

“Um, I'll be right back.” I scuttled off to the left of the throne, as Ben had instructed, and through the doors. I couldn't have skidded to a stop any harder if I'd been wearing Goodyears on my feet: a sumptuous suite in a rainbow of pink—yeah, yeah—and all
my stuff
artfully arranged around the room. The photo of Meg and me when we'd gotten out of the apartment Hades set us up in. The crystal dragon my dad bought for me when I was ten. Everything.

First things first. I flung off the heels and ran to a door. Bathroom. Good.

Business taken care of—
where did he get towels that thick and fluffy?—
I yanked open another door. Closet. Filled with all my shoes, purses, scarves, and belts, but
no clothes
.
At least, none that were mine. Instead there were bikinis, Grecian gowns with one naked shoulder, and other filmy, flimsy things I doubted I'd ever have the courage—or, when it came to Hades, the desire—to wear.

The pig!

I pulled out the most discreet gown I could find—white with gold trim, just above the knee, one-shouldered—and donned it. I looked like a virginal sacrifice. Huh. I guess if Persephone was always in black, he'd want to look at something different. I slid open a drawer.

My underwear???
Now I was going to hurt him.
NO ONE
touched my underwear. It was sacrosanct, it was personal, it was
MINE
! I threw on the most conservative pair, plain white bikinis, and stormed into the throne room where Mr. Yummy was eating grapes,
à
la a mythology scene from a Renaissance painting.

“Like your little love nest?” he asked sardonically.

“Excuse me?” I fisted my hands. “Where is that soul-sucking, sleazy, conniving snake?” Whipping my head around, I hollered, “Oh, just you wait, Hades! No one touches my underwear! And where are my clothes?!” I stomped and growled at the empty room. Mr. Yummy sat up straight.

“You're not Hades' new girlfriend?” he asked, both eyebrows raised.

“Does it
sound
like I'm his girlfriend?”

He shrugged. “Down here, anything's possible.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Never.”

His smile was stunning. “Great! Hi, I'm Cas—”

“Hi Caz. I'm Shar. When does the despot return? It's time for a take-down.”

Caz laughed. “I think maybe you could do it, too.” His face sobered. “I don't know when he's coming—”

“I'm already back,” purred Hades, gliding into the room. “Oh,
mon amour
, my love slave. I see you found your room. Do you like it?”

I took a deep breath to tell him exactly what I thought about the situation, but he held up a finger and I was frozen. He turned to Caz.

“Leave. And do not let me hear that you are filling my little sunshine's ears with nonsense.”

Caz rose leisurely and strolled his gorgeous, half-naked self out the doors, which boomed shut behind him.

“Now you may continue.” Hades took his throne and smiled down like some beneficent prince.

“You slug!”

“I thought you called me a snake.” His eyes danced.

Now I was really mad.
You touch my personal things, eavesdrop on conversations, and make me shut up?
How did Persephone put up with him, six-pack abs and drop-dead looks notwithstanding?

Frigid antipathy settled in. “I've changed my mind. I don't want to insult the snake, and I can't think of anything lower than a slug at the moment.”

So there.

His response? A deep, throaty laugh that echoed off the walls. “
Mi amore
, I am going to enjoy your visit tremendously. You are such a spitfire.”

I'd like to burn your a—

“I just finished up with Margaret. Let's talk about your part of the assignment. You will be my companion for however long you are here.”

“Companion?” I gasped. “How will you explain that to Persephone when she returns? And what do you mean, assignment?”

He sighed dramatically and made little circles with his hand. “Mere formalities.” He rose from his throne and moved closer, circling around me. I stepped away, not trusting him. He only chuckled. “Don't worry about Margaret. She knows what she has to do. Allowances have been made for your absence. You”—he returned to his throne—“will act as my hostess, and be pleasant and courteous to my guests. I'll let you know when you are expected to be available. And since I'm blessed with your feminine company, I think a party is in order. This will be more fun than that juvenile affair at your school. Now, we need a theme. Any thoughts?”

The Spring Fling is not juvenile! It's the last dance before the prom!

I snorted. “Call it the W'Underworld Ball and make people dress up in funny costumes.”

“A masquerade. Ah, yes!” A slow, devious smile spread across his smooth golden skin.

That doesn't bode well.

“Forget I said anything,” I mumbled.

“
Ch
é
rie
! You're not getting into the spirit of the thing!” Hades spread his arms. “Think of the fun we'll have, picking out our costumes. Who would you like to be? Marie Antoinette? Anne Boleyn? Mata Hari? Hmm, I see you as the Scarlett O'Hara type.”

He was being playful, and while he was devastatingly luscious, I was neither stupid nor gullible. I picked at a rough nail, showing my disinterest, although I imagined any f
ê
te thrown by Hades was bound to be on the monumental scale even for an Olympian god.

“I need a manicure,” I said to myself.

Instantly a nail technician pulled my cold hand into her warm ones.

What?

There stood Hades, elegant in a turquoise Lagerfeld silk shirt, dark chocolate-brown pants, and black Manolos with no socks. We were in the most posh salon I'd ever seen, even more so than the one Arkady sent Meg and me to when we were getting ready for his designer show at the Met. Everything was a mélange of cool blues and clean whites. Very Pacific California. A quick glance down relieved my panic; I was dressed in a coral linen sheath by Chloe that I'd seen in Saks only days before. A little wiggle on the seat—yes! Thong included.

“Oh, what have you done to your beautiful hands? It's a good thing you came right in,” cooed the woman. She was petite and dark-haired, reminding me of Meg. “I am Mala.” She smiled briefly and went to work on my wretched nails.

“I'm Tiffany,” said the young woman I'd just noticed pampering my feet.

“When you're finished with your manicure and pedicure, we'll take a stroll down Rodeo Drive while we discuss your costume. I have a personal couturier who'll make whatever you desire.” His smile was warm, inviting, and oh so lustful. All the females, and a number of males, eyed him hungrily. If only …
don't go there!

But Rodeo Drive! A custom-made outfit for a fantasy costume ball! It was more temptation than a girl should have to bear.

Think about Meg. Think about starving children. Think about vicious goddesses threatening your life.

“I never agreed to go to a ball.” I had some fortitude left.
Oh Mala, your hands are bliss!
She was rubbing my hands with a soothing cucumber and melon moisturizer.

“Remember, it's not just your pretty, delectable little neck, it's Margaret's too.” Hades' look darkened. “You both have obligations to fulfill, and this is yours.”

When I opened my mouth to argue, he leaned over me, placing a finger over my lips.

“Enjoy the moment. It harms no one to be pampered.”

“Won't Persephone get mad when you throw a party and she isn't invited?” I persisted.

He scowled and pulled back to resume his seat on an overstuffed chair.

“You can be so provincial sometimes, Sharisse. You need to loosen up.”

All I could do at first was sputter.
Loosen up?
“I'm parading around the Underworld in skimpy clothes, talking to people who've been dead hundreds of years, having strangers touch my intimate apparel, and being made a hostage hostess! Is there anything else? Oh yes, you forgot to bring on the hell hounds!” I shrieked. He might have winced. Every dog for ten blocks might have cringed.

“My little drama queen,” he teased.

I glared. “You still haven't answered my question. What about Persephone? First thing she'll do as soon as she can is come after me. Somehow, I think she'll find a way to blame me for the party, for her not being invited, and for who knows what else.” I could feel my control starting to slip away. If not for the nail technician, my hands would have been balled into fists.
Meltdown imminent.

Hades rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “If I'm lucky enough to still be enjoying the bounty of your presence when Persephone rejoins me, I'll make other arrangements for you. How you comport yourself determines whether I send you to the Pit”—he made a worried face—“which I emphatically encourage you to avoid, or to a pleasant, tropical island until Margaret either finishes or fails at her task. If the second option is what comes to pass, Margaret will join you and I will find a suitable job for her.
N'est-ce pas
?”

I seethed. “Oh, so it's into the golden cage for us until you can play?”

His eyes gleamed with dark delight and he slowly licked his top lip. With a panther's lethal grace, he rose and glided over to me. Not a good sign. And I was trapped in the pedicure chair.

“It's your duty to make me happy.” He was a breath away and leaned in for the kiss.

The weight of being alone in Tartarus, not knowing what was happening with Meg, having no control even over my wardrobe, was too much. I cracked under the strain.