Earth Bound: A Hidden Novella Read online

  Heph forced himself to release her. "We rematerialized. I needed to get you away before he freed himself."

  Meghan nodded, looked around. For the first time ever, Heph wished he'd paid more attention to the condition of his house as Meghan took in the shabby furnishings, the dusty tables and cobwebbed ceiling.

  Heph raked his fingers through his hair. "What the hell were you thinking egging him on like that?" Heph asked, his irritation finally taking over now that he knew she was safe.

  She raised an eyebrow. "I was distracting him, obviously." She walked toward the bookshelf in the living room, where there were a few items that Heph had made recently for fun. Bookends made of iron he'd forged into the shape of two identical trees, a large silver vase that he considered giving to Shanti and Zero as a gag gift (vampires and silver, very bad combination. He figured Shanti would appreciate the humor, though.) He watched as she looked over the items. "His type are all alike," she was saying. "They only really want to talk about themselves. Easy to distract, once you know that. They can't stand the idea of someone questioning how amazing they are, and will put everything off to explain why they're the best." She turned to look at him. "And I wasn't exactly being rescued, so, you know..."

  Heph's mouth dropped open. "I couldn't...he had a blade pressed to your throat. One wrong move and—"

  She laughed then, and his heart swelled. Just as quickly, her laugh turned to a sob, and she covered her face with her hands. Heph went to her, hesitated for only a moment before pulling her into his arms. She was trembling again.

  "S-sorry. It's just hitting me. That was freaking terrifying," she said, and he held her tighter.

  "You did well. Even if I was sure you'd lost your sanity," Heph said, and she let out a small, hiccuping laugh. When she nuzzled closer to him, he nearly forgot to breathe, her clean, sweet scent surrounding him.

  They stood like that for a while. "So, those were your stepsons?" she finally asked.

  "Yes."

  "They're not happy with you," she said, and he nearly laughed at her wry tone.

  "No, they're not."

  "Why?"

  "I'm friends with the Angel, and she killed their mother and imprisoned their father."

  She was quiet for several long moments. "Their mother is another god?"

  "Aphrodite."

  "Oh." She pushed herself out of his arms then, and Heph immediately missed her warmth. "So she was your wife, then?"

  Heph nodded, watched as she gave a small nod and walked toward the window. It took everything in him not to just stare at her, let his gaze meander over the lush curve of her hip, the gentle slope of her shoulders, the creamy skin of her throat. He could see himself nuzzling that spot, breathing in her scent, feeling her silken skin under his lips...

  He tore his mind away from the direction it was heading. Too rough. Not her type at all. Right. He was going to punch Nain's lights out for making him think she liked him.

  She was watching him. "What's wrong?" she asked, and he shook his head. After a few moments, she looked away from him. "So is this where you live?" she asked.

  "Yes."

  "It's kind of—"

  "A dump. Dirty. Uninhabitable almost. I know," Heph interrupted with an irritated wave. He crossed his arms, waited for the inevitable "it just needs to be cleaned, Heph."

  "Well, I was going to say interesting, because everywhere I look there's some kind of contraption or metalwork or other, but okay," she said.

  He let out a breath. "Sorry. I'm just used to my friends getting on me about what a mess it is," he said.

  She smiled then, and his heart stopped. "My house looks like some kind of mad alchemist lives there or something. Bundles of herbs hanging from every possible spot, hunks of beeswax and bottles of oils and stuff like that everywhere. It smells really nice, though," she said.

  "I wouldn't mind seeing that," he said quietly.

  A look crossed her face. She looked irritated, glanced away.

  "Or not," he said under his breath.

  She looked up at him sharply. "That had nothing to do with you. I was just thinking that I probably won't have my house for much longer."

  "Because of that asshole in the diner," Heph said, and she nodded.

  "My ex-husband. It appears we have troublesome exes in common, anyway. I'm unemployed now," she continued. She took a few more steps, studied the various bits of metal he'd left on what he was using as a work table. Pieces of copper, silver, steel. She ran her fingers over them, and he could hear the sound they made, a metallic tinkle that he found comforting. "If I can't afford to keep living there, he'll swoop in and grab it. And then I'll have to find another place."

  "That's not going to happen," Heph said.

  "Yeah? Says who?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest and looking over at him.

  "Me." It was stupid. He knew it. Who the hell was he to think he had any say in this woman's life? Yet the urge to help her, to protect her, was overwhelming.

  She shook her head. "You know anyone who's hiring?"

  A thought came to Heph. Oh, yes. The demon owed him. "As a matter of fact, I do."

  "Yeah?" she asked. "Doing what?"

  "Ever done any personal assistant type work? Answering phones, running errands. That type of thing?"

  "I have," she said. "Why?"

  "Remember my demon friend from the diner? He and the Angel need the help." They just didn't know it yet, he added to himself.

  She gave a small shake of her head, her hopeful countenance fading. "Oh. I don't think that's a good idea."

  "Why not?"

  "Because your friend is an asshole," she said, and he laughed.

  "Really, you'd be working mostly for the Angel. She hates talking on the phone and she's always getting calls from people. Media, especially. And she's got enough on her mind without having to return calls and try to remember appointments and things like that." It was true. Molly had been going non-stop since publicly outing herself, between the work she was already doing and trying to keep the immortals under some kind of control now that they were trapped in the mortal realm.

  He watched as Meghan considered it. "If she wants to hire me, I'd consider it. But she won't want me to work for her."

  "Why the hell not?"

  She looked down at the floor. Her arms were still crossed over her body and she looked small. Vulnerable. "I'm the kind of thing she fights against," she said quietly.

  "No. She doesn't have a thing against witches," Heph argued.

  She shook her head. "She has a thing against those who do evil. And I have done more than my share of evil things."

  Heph prepared to argue, and she shook her head. "Have you ever heard about what happened at Sacred Heart? Or Woodlawn? Or Mt. Olivet?" she asked, still looking down.

  "No," he said, his gut twisting as he recognized the names of three old Detroit cemeteries.

  She gave a small nod. "Well. I'm sure she has. You should ask her about it."

  "Why don't you tell me?" he asked quietly, walking toward her.

  She shook her head. "Can you take me home? Or back to my truck?"

  He wanted to press her. Wanted to make her confide in him. He also could read her well enough already to know that pressing her would only make her shut down on him completely. Unable to stop himself, he reached forward and gently brushed a strand of silky mahogany hair behind her ear. She closed her eyes, and he heard her take a shaky breath. "You know that truck is a piece of shit, yeah?" he asked, and she let out a small laugh.

  She opened her eyes and looked up at him. "It is," she agreed. "But it's mine."

  "I can take a look at it, if you want."

  "Talk to the Angel first," she urged, still looking way from him. "For now, I just want to go home."

  He took her hand, tangling his fingers with hers. Her tiny, soft hand felt right in his. He could feel the callouses on her palm, he could only imagine, from years of work. Gardening, and for some reason that one tiny deta
il made him like her even more.

  "Where do you live? I don't want to take you back to the diner in case my stepsons are still there. I'll bring your truck to you as soon as I can."

  She told him where, and he knew of the general area. "We're gong to rematerialize again," he said.

  "Okay," she said, closing her eyes. He watched as her shoulders tensed, as she steeled herself for the sensation of feeling her body shredded, then coming back together. It was one of the mysteries of his kind, how they could travel that way. No one knew how or why it worked, only that it did, and that it was damned handy even it it was uncomfortable as hell. Heph let his gaze rest on her face for a moment longer, then closed his eyes and focused on a park he knew not too far from the area she'd described.

  When they reached the area, she took a few moments to get over the nauseating feeling their travel had caused, then she looked around, getting her bearings. "Okay. I live a few blocks that way. Thanks."

  She started walking away. He almost followed her. Almost.

  "I'll be back," he said to her back.

  "No you won't," she called as she kept walking.

  It grated on him, the fact that she assumed he'd hate her once he did some checking around. Really, how bad could it be? "I don't scare so easy, love."

  Her steps halted for just a moment, then she continued, not bothering to respond. He knew she'd heard him, though, and that was enough for now. He watched her form recede into the distance, and then he focused. He had some family shit to deal with, and then, he'd talk to Molly.

  Chapter Six

  Meghan was sitting on the ugly-as-sin, yet comfortable chair she loved, by the living room window that looked out over the side garden. The exposed ceiling beams above her chair were hung with bundles of lavender she'd just harvested from the back garden, and the smell was almost comforting enough to help her relax.

  Not quite, but it was close.

  That, her chair, the sight of climbing roses scrambling over the arbor outside her window, the cup of chamomile tea on the old wooden table beside her chair... none of it really managed to soothe her. Her laptop was open on her lap, open to the jobs website she'd been scrolling through. She'd marked a few listings to look at later. No matter what Hephaestus said, she highly doubted the Angel and the demon would want her anywhere around their team of real-life superheroes.

  Hephaestus.

  Even with all the insanity, the mere thought of him warmed her, comforted her much more than it should have. It also scared her, because based on past experience, her ability to see people for what they were was seriously lacking. And yet, her thoughts kept turning to those moments spent in his strong arms the day before. The agitation she seemed to bring about in him. She hated that she'd said he was too rough-looking for her when confronted with his crazy stepson. The fact was that every time she thought of the dark-eyed god of fire (oh, the things he'd done with the flames for those few moments during the face-off with his stepsons. Beautiful, magical.) her entire body warmed and her emotions were a potpourri of desire, need, affection, and downright fear. Not of him. She trusted him without even knowing why. And that was maybe the biggest reason to fear him of all.

  Yet every time she tried to focus on something; every time she closed her eyes, he was there. A couple of times the previous day, she'd sworn she'd seen hurt in his eyes, and she wanted to make it go away. She wanted to run her fingers through his unruly mane, massage that leg that never seemed to give him a respite from discomfort.

  She wondered what kind of wife Aphrodite had been. Had the sons come before she and Hephaestus were together? She'd read the myths, of course, that Aphrodite and Ares were lovers, and Hephaestus had been angry and jealous, and that they'd continued their affair anyway. Also, of course, that Aphrodite was the most beautiful being in existence. Meghan looked down at her calloused hands, her dirty fingernails from the morning she'd spent weeding the front garden. Nope, nothing glamorous here, she thought to herself.

  She wondered what he saw when he looked at her. How she stacked up to the goddess he'd been married to. Not very well, she guessed.

  "You're moping. Stop moping," she told herself aloud, mainly to break the silence that was starting to get to her. It's not like it mattered anyway, how she compared to Aphrodite. Once he heard about the things she'd done, he'd look at her the same way he'd looked at her boss the day before, but with even more disgust in his eyes.

  She got up and headed out the front door. The zinnias and sunflowers were blooming like mad to the left, in the sunniest part of the yard. On the other side of the walk, purple coneflower, morning glories, and daylilies shared space with many of the herbs she used in her teas and soaps: sage, thyme, lemon balm. Giant fuzzy bumblebees flew through the air all around, near-drunk on the bounty near her house. She bent, started weeding along the edges of the cobblestone walk.

  "Hey there," a friendly voice called out, and Meghan straightened to see her neighbor, Carol, walking through her front gate. Carol was married to the pastor from the little stone church, and Meghan had been partnering with them for years to find families in need. Carol was a compact, immensely efficient woman, with a cute raven bob and bright eyes that practically glowed yellowish-green against her nearly-ebony complexion. She moved in a way that often made Meghan wonder if she'd once been a dancer or gymnast.

  "Hey, yourself," Meghan said, standing up and brushing her hands on her jeans. "What's up?"

  Carol smiled, watching her. "Nothing but the price of gas," she said, and Meghan grinned, enjoying hearing the same joke Carol made at least once a week. "Just thought I'd check in on you," she continued.

  "I'm fine," Meghan said.

  "Sure you are," Carol answered, crossing her arms. "It's always just dandy when someone comes and grabs our life out from under us." She paused. "It's okay to admit you are not fine."

  "Whining isn't going to help anything," Meghan said, and Carol gave her a look.

  "Is it whining when people come to us for help, then?" Carol asked, and Meghan shook her head.

  "No. That's asking for help."

  "What is the difference?"

  "I..." Meghan started. "It's just different, that's all."

  "Because you are not worthy of help, maybe. Is that it?" Carol asked, still watching her with those unnerving green eyes.

  "Maybe," Meghan said softly. She studied her forthright neighbor. She'd married the pastor a little over a year ago, and had quickly made herself part of both the church and neighborhood community. She wasn't warm, exactly. But she was efficient and generous, and that mattered a lot. "I'm sorry I can't help anymore right now. I'm going to try to figure something else out. He can't buy up every lot in the city."

  "Perhaps this is a blessing, as my husband would say," Carol said.

  Meghan let out an unladylike snort. "Yeah? Because it really doesn't feel like it."

  Carol shrugged. She looked around the small garden, up into the branches of the oak trees nearby. "You ever play Dungeons and Dragons?"

  "Uh. No," Meghan said, wondering at the turn in their conversation.

  "It's all about the quest. The journey. And you decide along the way whether, for example, you're going to fight the monsters or try to sneak by. And each decision builds upon the last. And you end up either dead or successful."

  "Okay," Meghan said slowly.

  "And the first thing you do, the very first thing, is decide what type of character you're going to play. What your alignment is. Are you the good, stalwart, lawful hero? Are you the nefarious chaotic evil? Are you neutral? You choose, and that dictates how you play the rest of the game. For what it's worth, I believe you to be lawful good. You will take the right path, and you'll find a way out of this like the quiet hero you are."

  "I think you've got the wrong girl," Meghan said, shaking her head.

  Carol shrugged. "Well. That's for you to decide, isn't it?" She smiled and started walking away.

  "Hey, Carol," Meghan said as she reached the
street.

  Carol turned. "Yes?"

  "What's your alignment, then?"

  Carol grinned. "I've always liked to consider myself 'chaotic neutral.' Keeps everyone guessing." Then she winked and continued on toward the church. Meghan shook her head and watched her go, then headed into the house.

  "I did not know pastors' wives played Dungeons and Dragons," she said to the empty kitchen as she made a fresh cup of tea. She sat down, and sipped her tea, and tried to doze for a while.

  Before long, she heard a car door slam in her driveway. She got up and started walking toward the front door. A car that quiet, it had to be her insufferable ex-husband. That was the last thing she wanted to deal with at the moment. Or, ever, really.

  As she got ready to open the door, she felt that insane swirl of power that signified an immortal (as if she was some kind of expert after a day spent around them, but whatever). She paused with her hand on the doorknob. Hoping and not hoping that it was Hephaestus.

  She took a deep breath and opened the door. Hephaestus was in her driveway, with her truck's hood popped open. She took a second to admire the view. He was wearing a black t-shirt and jeans, and all she could do was stare at his back as he did whatever he was doing to the truck. His muscles bunched and rippled under the thin fabric of the t-shirt and his ass was infinitely grabbable. His hair was on the longish side, and unlike before, he'd gathered at the back of his head. She found herself envisioning freeing it so she could run her fingers through it.

  She shook her head a little, then made herself walk toward him, prepared herself to see the judgment in his dark eyes.

  He turned to look at her as he slammed the hood shut. There was no hatred stamped on his chiseled features. "This truck is a piece of shit, love," he said, and her entire body warmed at the endearment.

  I'm sure he calls everyone that, she told herself.

  "So you've said. Did you do that fancy teleporting thing to get it here?" she asked, stopping a few feet away from him.