Earth Bound: A Hidden Novella Read online

  Molly reached across the table and patted his hand. "Okay. I'm sorry."

  "Don't be," Heph said with a sigh. He looked toward the kitchen, and let himself watch for a moment as Meghan interacted with another customer. He was in the perfect spot to see her face the next time the diner's door opened, the small bell jingling merrily. She had been relaxed, if a bit tired looking. Her entire face changed, hardened. Her shoulders tensed.

  "Whoa," Molly said. Then she glanced at Heph. "Sorry," she said again.

  "She's mad."

  "And a little scared, yeah. But mostly really, really pissed off."

  Heph watched as the man who entered studied the diner with a repulsed look on his face. He sat a few booths down from where Heph and Molly were.

  He was tall. Good looking. Smooth, like he had more than enough money and not a care in the world. Arrogant. Actually, the more Heph studied him, the more he reminded him of Ares.

  Heph looked toward Meghan, who was talking to the other waitress behind the counter. A moment later, the other waitress, an older lady with silver hair, walked over to the man and asked for his order.

  "I'd really prefer the other waitress, if you don't mind," the man said in a voice that said he expected to be obeyed.

  "This isn't her section, sir. It's mine," the waitress said, flipping her notepad open. "Are you ready to order?"

  "If you don't send her over here to take my order, I'll have you fired."

  The woman laughed. "Nice try. My niece owns the place."

  "Then I'll have her run out. And I can," he answered.

  The waitress faltered. Heph was ready to get up, and he noticed Molly paying close attention, too, listening and, undoubtedly reading his mind and emotions.

  "What's he thinking?" Heph asked.

  Molly grimaced in frustration. "No clue. He has a pretty good mental shield. He's annoyed, but also pretty pleased with himself. Lots of ickiness coming from him."

  "Define ickiness," Heph said, keeping his eyes on Meghan, who went to the table and patted the other waitress on the shoulder with a murmured "it's okay."

  "Possessiveness. And now that she's over there, lust. But not good lust. Twisted. It's hard to explain," Molly said.

  Heph got the idea well enough, and the way Meghan looked at the man had Heph ready to rip the stranger's head off.

  "Warlock," Heph muttered to Molly, and she nodded.

  "Want me to mess him up?" Molly asked, and Heph let out a snort of a laugh.

  "Let's just see where this goes."

  "This is the kind of asshole who keeps me out there finding my lost girls," Molly said, and when he looked at her, her eyes were blazing. "Same attitude. Same sense of ownership and entitlement."

  "If he makes a move, we put the hurt on," Heph promised, and Molly nodded again.

  Heph watched, and listened.

  "What do you want?" he heard Meghan ask the man.

  "Just came in for a bite."

  "You hate this kind of food," Meghan said. "What can I get you?"

  "Well, really I just like the scenery."

  "What can I get you?"

  "We plowed everything up today, Meg. Just wait until you see it. Nothing but bare earth everywhere except your little yard and those three other houses on your block. I could almost hear the plants screaming."

  Heph watched as Meghan took a deep breath. "Congratulations. You're a grade A prick. Now what can I get you?" Heph bit back a grin.

  "Your supervisor," the man said. Molly stood up before Heph even knew what was happening.

  "Is there a problem here?" Molly asked, bending down and getting right in the guy's face.

  "I'm having a private conversation," the guy said.

  Molly bent in closer, near enough to kiss him if she wanted to. "You know who I am?" she asked, so softly it was practically a whisper. The diner was silent. When the Angel moved, people tended to watch. Heph got up and stood beside Meghan, moved to pull her away.

  "As if I care who you are," the guy said, and then Heph did pull Meghan back a step.

  "You will care, very much, little man. I'm waiting for my order, and you're annoying me. But please continue pissing me off. It's been about twenty minutes since I last hurt a fucker, and I'm about due."

  Heph noticed a middle aged woman come from the back office of the diner. "What's going on here?" she asked.

  "I was merely trying to order, and your waitress and this... woman are causing trouble."

  "He was harassing your waitress," Molly said, still staring at the warlock in a way that, delusional though he obviously was, made him cringe a little into the booth.

  "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave," the woman said, and he heard Meghan let out a low sound of dismay.

  The warlock laughed. "Seriously? Do you know who I am?"

  "I really don't care," the woman said.

  "My name is Bryant Turow. You may be familiar with it," Bryant said. Heph couldn't help laughing. What a self-absorbed asshat, he thought to himself. He sobered when he noticed the look on Meghan's supervisor's face.

  "Turow?" she asked.

  "Yes. Also known as your new landlord, Miss Keane, I presume?" he asked with a smirk.

  "Y-yes. I'm Renee Keane."

  "Pleasure. I'm not thrilled by the service I'm receiving here Ms. Keane. As you know, your lease situation is... tenuous at best," Bryant continued.

  "What can I do for you, Mr. Turow?" Renee asked.

  The warlock smiled, a smile that spoke of victory and smugness and made Heph want to hurt him worse than he'd hurt anyone in a long time. The way Meghan's entire body went tense beside him, the way her shoulders slumped in defeat made it clear this wasn't something new to her.

  "I'd like you to let her go," he said, gesturing toward Meghan.

  Meghan's boss stared at the warlock, then at Meghan in confusion, just as Molly reached forward to grab the man by the front of his shirt.

  "You are going to forget all about this place," Molly said, low and quiet, her eyes boring into Bryant's. "You are going to forget about the lease, the waitress, the landlord. You are going to leave, now, and not come back here again."

  The amount of power surrounding Molly and the man made Heph's stomach turn. When his friend was good and pissed, she wasn't subtle about it. It was working. The man had that glazed, confused look that was common among those Molly worked her powers on. "You're lucky I'm letting you off this easy, you sick bastard," Molly muttered. "It will be done."

  Her power snapped, took hold, and Heph noticed Meghan hold her stomach. If it made him feel sick, he could only imagine what it was doing to Meghan.

  Bryant stood up, left the restaurant without another word. A few moments later, a white Jaguar pulled out of the lot. Heph glanced at Meghan, met her eyes for an instant. When he looked at Molly, her fists were clenched.

  Oh, yeah. She'd worked up a a good head of steam. The next asshole to cross her path was going to get it, he thought.

  Then he looked at Meghan's boss, who was staring at Meghan, a look of horror and disgust on her face. "Out," she said quietly.

  "What?" Meghan asked.

  "I want you to leave. I'll mail your final check to you, but I want you gone."

  "Hey, hey," Molly said, stepping in front of the woman. "One, none of this is her fault He's a stalkery asshole. And two, he's not coming back here, and he's not going to toss you out. Really."

  The woman looked at Molly as if she was staring at a pile of mouldering trash. "I don't care. I don't like your kind, and she obviously brings those like you around here. I want you all gone, or I swear to god I am calling the media and telling them that their precious Angel was causing trouble in my diner."

  "Ms. Keane, look—" Heph began, and Meghan cut him off.

  "Their kind?"

  "Supernatural freaks," her boss said.

  He saw a moment of indecision in Meghan's eyes. Then he watched as she raised her hand, made a kind of beckoning motion at one of the African viol
ets on a nearby windowsill. Her eyes were on her boss, but as she moved her hand, the plants started to bloom in a riot of purple and pink.

  It was one of the most enthralling things Heph had ever seen; Meghan standing there, steely gaze on her boss, fingers beckoning, power swirling around her. The ferns hanging in baskets in front of the four front windows leafed out, as if trying their damnedest to be free of the pots that held them aloft. A cactus bloomed on the counter. The violets flowered as if their lives depended on it, doubling, tripling in size, overflowing from their pots before Meghan made it stop.

  He heard Renee gasp, along with a few other diners.

  "Out," she managed, pointing a shaky finger toward the door.

  "My pleasure," Meghan said. She took off her apron, tossed it onto the table where Bryant had been sitting, and walked to the door. Molly followed, then Heph, after giving Meghan's former boss a glare. As angry as he was, he was heartened to see several other customers leave right behind them, a few of them shooting disapproving glares at the diner's owner as they walked past her.

  When he got out into the parking lot, Meghan was standing near an old beat up Ford and Molly was talking to her. He loped across the parking lot toward them, and Meghan glanced at him.

  "Can this day get any worse? Seriously?" she asked, exasperated.

  And of course, that was the moment when Aphrodite's sons chose to appear, landing in the parking lot a few feet away from them, each holding a long, razor-edged sword.

  "Hello, stepfather," Deimos snarled, his black leather jacket creaking as he moved.

  "I will never ever ask that question again," Meghan said, looking around nervously.

  "Welcome to the freak show, Meghan," Molly said, eyes on the pair of immortals.

  Chapter Five

  Meghan and Molly were standing near an old, beat-up Ford pickup. One glance at it had Heph itching to open the hood and fix everything wrong with it. Especially if it was hers.

  Speaking of her, Meghan turned to look at him, exasperation on her features, an undercurrent of anger from her experience with her (now former) boss. "Can this day get any worse? Seriously?" she asked.

  And of course, that was the moment when Aphrodite's sons chose to appear, landing in the parking lot a few feet away from them, each holding a long, razor-edged sword.

  "Hello, stepfather," Deimos snarled, his black leather jacket creaking as he moved.

  "I will never ever ask that question again," Meghan said, looking around nervously. Hephaestus resisted the urge to pull her behind him, to shield her from what was about to happen. Doing that would only draw attention to her, and he wanted Deimos and Phobos looking anywhere but at her.

  "Welcome to the freak show, Meghan," Molly said quietly, eyes on the pair of immortals.

  Hephaestus stepped forward. He was aware of everything around him: the way Deimos's gaze took the scene in, Phobos's ghoulish smile, the power swirling around Molly as she prepared herself to face whatever his former wife's two sons were going to do. He was aware, more aware than he wanted to be, of Meghan standing behind him. He could feel her power ratcheting up as well, and the last thing he wanted was for her to get involved in this particular little family feud.

  "What can I do for you, boys?" Heph asked.

  "Oh, I don't know. Die a painful, torturous death?" Phobos said, following it up with a manic giggle. Heph didn't miss the way Deimos's shoulders tensed at his brother's response. Not at the idea of Heph dying, of course, but at the tone, the glee. Deimos had always been the more serious of the twins, his life an endless succession of "shoulds." Unfortunately for everyone, he put that seriousness into following in his father's footsteps. It was like looking at a carbon copy of Ares, seeing Deimos standing before him.

  "I don't think today will do. We'll have to reschedule," Heph said.

  And that was when Phobos let out a loud, screeching shout and launched himself at Molly. "Murderer!" he bellowed. Molly raised her flamesword just in time to block the attack. That seemed to be all the invitation Deimos needed to launch an attack at Hephaestus, a flurry of sword swipes that Heph had to duck away from.

  "Little help, queenie," Heph called, cursing himself for leaving his ax at home.

  He saw a ball of flame form in Molly's free hand. "Here," she called, launching it toward him. He grinned, focused while ducking away from Deimos again. He concentrated on the fireball molly had made, let himself feel its energy. It slowed as it reached Deimos, and Heph ducked again, eyes on the flames. He made a small, twirling gesture with his index finger, and the ball of fire seemed to unwind, the way a ball of wool yarn would, becoming a long rope of flame. He ducked again.

  "Not a chance in Nether, traitor," Deimos growled, disappearing for just a moment, then rematerializing behind Meghan. "Who is this, by the way? Another sorry replacement for mother?"

  Heph kept the flames at the ready, but his chances of using them now, with Deimos so close to Meghan, was nearly impossible.

  "She's a waitress here, you jackass," Heph said, hoping the desperation he was feeling didn't come across.

  Deimos made a disapproving tut-tut sound. "Shagging waitresses now, stepfather? How low we've fallen."

  "Oh my god what the hell is with you people and your obsession with sex?" Meghan muttered. Molly laughed even as she and Phobos continued their own little battle off to the right. A crowd had begun to form, and Heph knew that Molly's main concern was keeping the insane immortal away from the humans. So she parried, and she slowly but surely maneuvered Phobos toward the alley behind the diner.

  "So he's not shagging you?" Deimos asked.

  "I don't even know him," Meghan said. "And he doesn't appear to be my type. Way too rough around the edges."

  Heph kept his face composed. It hurt, more than he'd thought it would, to hear her say it like that. It was what he'd heard his whole life, that he was wrong, too rough. That he didn't live up to the gods' ideas of beauty and perfection with his heavy brow and bullish build.

  Heph forced it away. He'd deal with that shit another time.

  "Well, he seems to like you," Deimos was taunting. "Though he's also had a thing for that monster over there, so that's not saying much," he finished. "He has terrible taste in women."

  Heph was about to say something when Deimos' sword arm came up, around Meghan, and his blade rested just under her chin. Heph heard the "crack" sound that indicated Molly had blinked out, taking Phobos with her. She'd deal with him, or he'd run away but either way at least that was one less pissed-off family member Heph had to deal with.

  "All right, Deimos. Let her go. She has nothing to do with this. You want to fight me? Fight. Let's go," Heph said, kicking himself for ignoring his instinct to protect Meghan. One small move from Deimos, and she was gone. He forced himself not to look at her, focusing instead on Aphrodite's son. "There is no honor in killing someone who can't fight back," he told Deimos.

  "What do I care? An insignificant human? Look around. There are a couple billion just like her," Deimos sneered.

  Heph didn't answer. Maybe he'd missed—

  "Oh. Except that this one isn't a mere human at all, is she?" Deimos said, a tight smile stretching his mouth. "A witch. How quaint of you, stepfather." Then he brought his blade closer to Meghan's throat. "I can feel your power growing, witch. Draw it down. You don't stand a chance against the son of Ares."

  "Who?" Meghan asked.

  "Ares."

  "Who's that?" she asked, and Heph was tempted to beg her to stop talking before she pissed Deimos off even more.

  "Ares. The god of war. My father," Deimos said with pride.

  Meghan shrugged, a tiny movement, avoiding the blade at her neck. "Never heard of him." Her voice was much louder than usual, kind of ditzy-sounding.

  Heph opened his mouth to suggest that Meghan stop talking, but Deimos was already going off.

  "The great Ares, god of war. You're seriously suggesting that you, a worthless mortal, have never heard of him?" Deimos aske
d, reaching out and giving Meghan's arm a small shake.

  "Nope. Was he on TV or something?" Meghan asked in that same ditzy tone, and Heph stared at her. She'd clearly lost her damn mind somewhere in all the stress.

  "TV... no! He's the god of war. A supreme being, the inspiration for untold legions of warriors, he who they prayed to upon bloody battlefields and—"

  "Oh, god he sounds boring," Meghan said, accentuating her statement with a yawn.

  Heph readied himself to try to launch himself at Deimos without hurting Meghan. The woman had no idea what she was doing. He could feel her power continuing to grow, even as she spurred on the obviously angry, blood-thirsty immortal holding a blade millimeters from her throat.

  "Boring?" Deimos repeated in disbelief. "My father was one of the greatest—"

  "Was?" Meghan asked, and Heph silently begged her to shut up.

  "What?" Deimos responded.

  "You said 'was.' Is he dead?"

  "As good as dead, yes," Deimos seethed.

  "Well. He wan't a very good god of war then, was he?" Meghan asked, turning to look at Deimos with a wide-eyed, innocent look.

  And, as he knew, that set Deimos off. He spread his arms wide and started ranting about abominations and murderers and worthless stepfathers, and as soon as his hands were away from Meghan, the ground seemed to open up beneath him and swallow him whole. Meghan leapt away from him, toward Heph.

  "Can you get us out of here? I don't think that'll hold him for long, will it?" she asked him. He put his arm around her waist, pulled her toward him, and focused on his house. Within moments, they were standing in his living room. Meghan gasped, started to fall over. Hephaestus held her closer to him. To steady her, of course. Not for any other reason, he told himself. The agony of falling apart and coming back together that way was nearly unbearable, whether you'd done it once or a thousand times

  He held her warm, soft body against his, listened as her breathing got back to normal, as the trembling in her body began to subside.

  "What the hell just happened? How did we get here?" Meghan asked in the voice he'd come to associate with her; the soft, sweet, lilting voice that warmed something deep inside him.