Chapter 4
God Is A Bullet
1
The flickering lights of the Tube had a soothing effect on Ares. He took long rides on it to help him think. His motorcycle jacket wrapped tight about his frame, he resembled nothing more than an enormous sleeping bat.
Only a small handful of passengers were riding tonight. An elderly lady with tired hair sat on her seat's edge by the door, her purse folded tightly into her chest. In the front, a black man slept with a red hood pulled over his head, and a couple of teenage girls sat in the back passing a bagged bottle between each other, whispering and giggling.
At the Piccadilly stop they picked up a poser punk, wearing plaid pants and a Circle Jerks T-shirt with the sleeves ripped off. Ares glared at the poser and smiled, trying to goad him into a fight. When he decided the punk wasn't going to bite, he took to studying the graffiti across from him, too disinterested to decipher it.
An older gentleman in a gray flannel suit got on at Knightsbridge and took the seat next to him. A silver-handled mahogany walking stick and a medium-sized Harrods' bag were fixed between his legs. A thin strap of leather held his long, white hair in a tight ponytail. His tanned skin was a stark contrast against his white goatee and he smelled like crisp linen. He settled next to Ares and waited.
Ares huffed, puffed, and pouted like a caught child, refusing to look at the suited man, hoping he'd get off. With a flourish, he produced a black plastic comb from his back pocket and smoothed his unruly pompadour, his arms jerking with each pass of the Ace.
The gentleman did not look at him, but waited patiently. After about fifteen minutes, the two men were alone. The car's passengers finally grew wary enough to want off at the next stop.
“What do you want, old man?” Ares spoke with a British accent not his own, an affectation he had picked up many years ago.
“Ah, my boy, I'm glad to see you haven't changed,” the man said. “Although I had thought your style would've changed in the last fifty years.” His gaze, a shade of lightning, drifted to Ares' attire.
“Not surprised to see you, if that was what you was hopin',” he said with great disdain. “Knew you was comin', Zeus.”
“I'm sure you did, Ares and you also probably know what I'm here for, don't you?” The old man held the walking stick between his feet and waggled it as he spoke.
“Oh, I'm sure this has something to do with that li'l bitch poet. Gone and got herself in a right bollixed up mess, she did.” The hard lines of his face broke into a deep scowl and he lit a cigarette that had materialized from the recesses of his jacket.
Zeus looked at Ares for a long, measured time. “If you don't feel you have the stomach for it, Ares, I'm sure your dear sister or those boys of yours would be more than happy to go after them.”
Ares rolled his eyes and exhaled smoke into the older man's face. “Right. That lot.”
Refusing to bite, Zeus reached into his shopping bag and pulled out a CD.
Ares cocked an eyebrow at it and finally snatched it out of the older man's hand. “Music tastes changed, haven't they, 'Dad'?”
Zeus only looked at him and pointed to the back of the CD case. They were quiet for a few minutes.
“You want me to drag 'em home?” Ares finally said, drawing thoughtfully on his cigarette.
“Well, yes, that was the idea, but I don't think they'll be too happy to see you. Nobody ever seems to be happy to see you, son. I don't think Calliope is ready to come home yet.” He considered something for a moment. “Give them a scare while you're at it, teach them a lesson about carelessness.”
“What's in it for me?”
Great gusts of ribald laughter sprang forth from Zeus. “I was waiting for you to ask that,” he finally managed. “You have been exiled long enough, clean this mess up for me and you can stay when you bring them home.”
“I can come home?” His mouth curled up at the ends as he grinned at his father's offer, “that's it?”
“You were the Exiled One, I thought coming home would mean a lot to you,” he replied, genuine disappointment peppering his tone.
Ares stared at his hand as he plucked a bit of tobacco off his tongue and rubbed his nose with his thumb in contemplation. “I'll tell you what I want, old man, I want a full pardon, no less. I'll clean up this little
Zeus raised his eyebrows and chuckled at the ridiculous suggestion. “Impossible, you can't be pardoned for something that happened over a thousand years ago.”
“But I can still be exiled? Forget it, I want an apology and exoneration or you can get my sister or sons to do your dirty work, see if I care. It's not like I care what goes on with your bloody Muses.”
"You're stubborn," he said. “Just like your mother.”
Ares only shrugged and looked adamant.
Zeus sighed. “Fine, agreed. Get this mess cleaned up.”
“Yeah, and what if I can't even find the li'l beasties?” Ares knew the answer, but liked to see that little vein in his father’s forehead pop out.
Zeus slammed the walking stick down. “I don't care how you find them, you just do it. Nobody goes on a gods-be-damned publicity photo shoot like that. They are endangering us all. She is reckless, utterly reckless. Find those brats and drag them home kicking and screaming if you have to.”
At Earl's Court, the subway came to a stop, and Zeus got up. “If I don't see those girls in one week, exiled or not, I'll feed you to Cerberus myself.” He stormed off the subway and was gone.
Ares had been itching for something to do, but was under the distinct impression he would be better off staying in
A photograph of Calliope's face in a nun's wimple decorated the back cover. She was all trussed up in beautiful bondage ropework with a ballgag. Ares snorted a small laugh and shook his head. His only consolation was the train was going in the right direction for the airport, but he was sure Zeus had planned that.
“Whatever you say, Big Zed, whatever you say.” He sighed heavily to the empty car and kicked the pole in front of him, causing it to bend some. His cigarette was tossed on the train's littered floor and squashed with the heel of his steel-toed boot.
He sneered at his watch. One week. A week was hardly enough to catch up with Cory, and he knew where that sorry excuse for a muse was. He raised a thin hand to his handsome, gaunt face and ran it through his bleached pomp.
The train ground to a stop at Heathrow and Ares stepped off. He threw an unsuspecting passenger a punch to the gut. The man doubled over and Ares felt better. He pulled up his collar and smiled. He'd scare those bloody muses all right and he'd scare them just for making him go all the way to
Still, he could tell this would be a long week.
2
The Villa
Calliope woke to a ringing that never stopped for the rest of the day. She drank a gallon of water before giving up and giving in to her punishment. Cold tile beneath her feet in the kitchen made her want to press her face against it and after awhile, she did.
Lying there in her terra cotta sea, she contemplated the harpsichord, her harpsichord. Her beautiful pale yellow harpsichord with the tiny blue cornflowers painted on it. She didn't want to upset her sister, but if Miranda had given up that harpsichord, she was probably dead.
Clio had dumped a sickening amount of money into a bank account for Miranda some time ago, so Calliope knew Miranda would have had no reason to sell the harpsichord. Miranda should have been set for several lifetimes on the vast fortune Clio had left for her.
The last time Clio had checked in on Miranda was in the late sixties. Calliope tried hard to remember what they had discovered about Clio's daughter. From the floor in the kitchen, the tile dug into the muse's cheek and pulled her through a haze of memories.
Calliope had two great loves in the sixties and hardly paid Clio any mind when it came to Miranda. Both of her lovers occupied a good deal of Calli's heart and they both cut her in half with their deaths. Jim, who was her pensive poet, and the other – it hurt too much to think of the other. Pain closed a tight fist over her heart when she thought of her.
She closed her eyes and tasted the sweet smoke on her tongue.
I can make you a star. Those words resounded in her mind as though she was there to hear them fall from her lips in a tiny coffee bar on the
Calliope dreamt of
She had made Pearl a star.
God, how I worshipped her. Bit-by-bit, pieces of
The tile was damp beneath Calliope's cheek.
“Calli, are you okay?” Her sister was kneeling beside her and shaking her. “Sweetie? Do you have a hangover?”
“Leave me alone.”
“You shouldn't drink so much. It makes you cranky. I don't want to be around you when you're like this.” Clio said as she rummaged through the refrigerator. “Do you want me to make something that will help?”
“God, you talk a lot.” Calliope peeled her face off the tile. “What are you doing?”
“Making Crow breakfast. Do you want something?” She was now at the island cracking some eggs in a bowl and tearing pieces of bread up.
“What are you making? Crow spent the night? What happened? Did you find out about my harpsichord?” She was up now and staring into Clio's bowl of whipped ingredients.
“I'm making bread pudding. Yes, Crow slept over. Nothing happened. We're going to see your harpsichord during the concert tonight.” Clio whipped around, pulled two bottles out of a cabinet, poured her sister a Bloody Mary, cracked an egg into it, and handed her the drink and a bottle of Advil. “Here.”
Calliope screwed her face up at the concoction. “Are you nuts?” She downed it anyway with four of the Advil. “Guess I need to be on my best behavior tonight?”
Clio threw the mixed up mess she had been working on into a pan and right into the oven. She spun around and faced her sister. “I'm serious, be nice tonight, Crow is a nice guy, don't embarrass him in front of his grandmother, and don't embarrass me right now, please.”
“Aw!” Crow groaned from the hall, “Not 'nice', I hate being the 'nice guy'.”
Clio gave Calliope a glance she reserved for times when she wanted her to make a promise. Calliope shrugged a response and nodded her head. Clio seemed satisfied and turned her attention to the cappuccino machine.
Clio called him down. “Hey, how do you take your coffee?”
“Do you have any espresso?”
She handed him a tiny cup. “How'd you sleep, 'nice guy'?”
“That bed is a lot more comfortable than it looks. I was lonely when I woke up.” He tried to make eye contact with her, but she avoided his gaze.
Minutes ticked by in the quiet
“Umm... sure?” He narrowed his gaze over her shoulder at it.
“You don't have to have any if you don't want to.” Clio spooned him a bowlful as she said this and dumped a great dollop of whipped cream on top. She handed him the bowl.
“Where's mine?” Calliope complained.
“You know where the bowls are, you're not a guest, and I'm not your maid.” Clio made a bowl and showed Crow out to the atrium where they flopped down on a huge, round futon piled high with pillows.
3
Downtown
Sunlight streamed into the downtown apartment because somebody had forgotten to close the blinds the night before. The penthouse bedroom was enormous and furnished with only the basics. A low king bed, long dresser, wardrobe, and couple of end tables all added weight to the room's view of downtown. An ornate mirror impended over the dresser and the walls wore a couple of Olivia deBerardinis originals. Two walls were picture windows overlooking the
The bed was covered in a heavy, cream-colored duvet painted with Chinese characters in colors of rust and bronze. A great expanse of cream carpeting met the teak furniture and poured into the adjoining bath. A large clay pot laden with bamboo hunkered in one corner and the other corner held an X-shaped cross with manacles on all four points. Next to the cross, a teak umbrella stand held a collection of dressage whips, riding crops, canes, switches, and a multitude of differently sized dowels for caning.
Annie awoke with a start, remembering the night before. He looked at the copper head on the pillow next to his. Bliss's tan skin was covered with red welts from the caning he had given her last night. He smiled at the erection she gave him. The phone rang.
Annie sighed and disentangled his nude frame from bronze sheets. He ran his fingers through his tangled hair.
“Speak,” he said into the receiver.
“Don’t be rude until you know who it is,” said a distinctly feminine voice.
Annie smiled. “Aunt Meg,” he greeted.
“Please, don’t ‘Aunt Meg’ me,” she said. “What happened with the sample you sent the doctor?”
“I sent it last night.”
“You were supposed to send it three weeks ago.” She sounded unhappy. “You are running out of time. What the hell happened?”
“We weren’t in a situation that I could get a sample of Calliope’s blood to the Kraken while we were on the road, and we got back last night.”
“Excuses will be the death of you,” Meg paused. “I want you to call him right now.”
“But…”
“Christ,
“I don’t get it,” he said.
“You’re not meant to get it, you’re meant to do as you’re told by the people who love you. Have I steered you wrong yet?”
“No, Aunt Meg.” He rolled his eyes and searched the room for his cigarettes.
“I will pluck those eyes out and eat them if you roll them at me one more time. Your stepmother and I are only interested in your survival, as you should be.”
“How can I believe anything when you enigmatically call me with bizarre instructions every few months and refuse to explain anything to me?” Annie snatched the pack off the dresser and tamped the tobacco against his right palm. He felt his patience slipping.
“Everything will be explained in time. You need to work on your patience.”
He didn’t have a reply.
“I’ll come see you soon. Call me back after you talk to Vandenheuval.”
“Fine.”
“
“What?”
“Don’t worry, we’ll take care of this.”
“Fine,” he grumbled and hung up. He wiped the back of his hand across his full, dry mouth and dialed the Kraken.
“Dr. Fredrik Vandenheuval, please. Tell him Chad Swann is on the phone.” He stuck a cigarette between his full lips and looked around for a lighter. He looked on the dresser, he looked on the floor, he looked under the dresser, he looked in the dresser, he stalked over to the nightstand, he looked on the nightstand, he looked on the floor, he looked under the nightstand, he looked in the nightstand, he stalked over to the bed and so it went. Annie still had the unlit cigarette dangling from his lips and his bare ass in the air as he checked under the bed when Vandenheuval came on the line.
“Mr. Swann?”
Annie shot up as though the doctor could see him. “You got your sample last night?” He was flushed and he wanted a goddamned cigarette.
“Of course, Mr. Swann, of course. And – as you said, it has intriguing properties. Where on earth did you get this sample?” He asked.
Like Annie was going to tell him.
“Your job is not to concern yourself where I get my shit from. Your job is to see if you can actually do anything with it. I'm the one paying for all of this. Can you do anything with it, Vandenheuval?”
“Well, it's an interesting sample indeed, I, of course, need to test it before I can draw any conclusions. There is the issue of finding a volunteer to test it on.” The scientist coughed.
Annie's gaze shifted to the sleeping figure on the bed. “Would you like her this afternoon?”
“That would be fine. I'll look forward to it.”
“We'll talk more tomorrow, Vandenheuval.” Annie hung up. He pulled the covers off the bed and Bliss growled her discomfort. She rolled over and he found his lighter.
4
The Villa
The room was a riotous mess. The closet had vertically stacked cedar cubicles for clothes, an entire wall of drawers, half of another one of shoetrees, and the other walls were crammed full of clothes halfway off their hangers. Bureau drawers spilled lacy underthings and hatboxes overflowed with trinkets. Shoes missing mates were stacked high in piles.
Calliope sat on the small easy chair atop a heap of clothes. Clio stood in the middle of Calliope's closet looking for something her sister could wear to Crow's grandmother's house. Calliope's taste was far too “rock star” for Clio, and she was trying to find something more conservative for her sister to wear. She finally settled on some black clamdiggers and a white blouse. Leopard-printed mules were Calli's idea.
“What do we do if she knows?” Clio asked.
“Make her feel senile, of course. It'll be fine, you worry too much.”
“Speaking of worrying, what do you know about this Kraken place?” Clio said.
“What are you talking about?”
Clio described the Crow’s errand to her sister.
Calliope tapped her chin in thought and said, “I don’t think he’s mentioned it to me. What do you think he’s up to?”
Clio shrugged. “Drugs?”
“Maybe.” Calliope scrutinized Crow through the fireplace where he reclined on Clio's bed. “How was last night with him?”
“Weird.” Clio's answer only piqued her sister farther.
“What do you mean 'weird'? Don't you like him? Or is he kinky or something?” She narrowed her eyes at him and wondered if there was more to the boy than she thought.
Clio looked at him in the other room, and distantly said, “Something is strange about him.”
“I think you're making excuses again. You haven't been in a relationship since... I can't even remember when.” She made her sister look at her, she remembered damned well when Clio's last real relationship was. “Don't you need somebody like the rest of us?”
“I had somebody.” Clio said. She turned stiffly and left her sister to the closet.
Calliope watched her leave and shook her head.
5
The Villa
Crow lay on Clio's bed staring at the canopy and the chains. He loved the sugar cookie smell she wore and how it permeated her entire room, especially her pillows. Lost in thought, he could hear her and her sister chatting in the distance. He wasn't sure how many times his cellular had been ringing when he finally noticed.
“What's up?” Crow answered.
“Got a job for you to do,” Annie said.
Crow blanched and looked at his watch. “Right now? I'm in the middle of something.” He knew the answer, of course.
“Does a wooden horse have a hickory dick? Get your ass over here, what the fuck am I paying you for?” Annie hung up.
Crow stared at his cell-phone for a few seconds and hung up. He rolled off the suspended bed as Clio came in. Sunlight played hide-and-seek in her loose curls and he reached out to touch her hair.
She smiled. “What's up?”
“We're going to have to go to my grandma's later, Annie's got something important for me to do.”
“That's fine, will Homer be okay?”
“He'll be fine, he's in the big guest bathroom. She put the cat's bed in there for him. I'll be back later to pick you guys up for the show.”
Her gaze flitted to Calliope in the other room. “We'll drive ourselves, it'll be fine.”
He put his arms around her waist and his forehead to hers. “I'm sorry.”
“Don't be.”
She gave him that little smile he hoped she might reserve solely for him. He swept in and kissed her, savoring her tongue with his.
“I'll see you tonight,” he whispered and left.
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