Rise of the Blood

friend.”

There were no testosterone-fueled protestations that he should be the one to confront the creep, which was one of the many reasons I adored him.

“But no trouble,” he warned. “I shudder to think what your yiayia would do to me if you were arrested on my watch.”

I smiled at the very thought, almost tempted to find out. But not quite.

“I’ll be good,” I promised, giving him a quick kiss as I jumped off the curb.

I sauntered into the shop the man in black had disappeared into. I didn’t bother pretending interest in anything. I’d seen it all before—the embroidered linens, the baubles, the bangles, bottle openers in the shape of satyrs or nymphs, pottery, soaps and oils. I was shopping for a man in a black robe. The shop, as jam-packed with touristy trinkets as it was, wasn’t very big. I could almost see the whole place at a glance, and the only person in it was the proprietress, who bustled up to me, her reproduction coin earrings jingling, and asked what she could help me with.

Short of tearing apart her shop, all I could do was ask, “A man just came in here. I was hoping to talk with him.”

She glanced around the small shop and back at me. “There’s no one else here.” She looked me right in the eyes as she said it, a little too purposefully, and I knew she was lying. I couldn’t blame the man on my ambrosia withdrawal, not if Nick had seen him and this woman was covering for him. I wished, not for the first time, that my powers ran to compelling the truth out of people, but all I could do was stop her in her tracks.

“Freeze,” I said, putting everything I had into it.

She froze, mouth half open, as if it had been on the tip of her tongue to say more. But she was going to have to hold that thought.

I stalked to the checkout counter, where three postcards lay abandoned, and peered over it. There was no black-robed man crouching behind it. Just to be doubly sure, I rounded the counter for a closer look. Nothing. It took no time at all to survey the rest of the shop. There weren’t any other places to hide. There was a door at the back, covered over by a tapestry. I might have missed it if the pots in front of it hadn’t been slid away to allow access, disturbing the dirt on the shop floor. I dashed to the tapestry, pulled it aside to reveal the hidden door. I yanked on the handle, but it wouldn’t budge. Locked. And me without my lock picks. I thought about kicking it in, but given the disturbance in the dirt, the door opened toward and not away from me, and regardless of the way they made it look in movies, I’d break my leg before I’d break most doors. Oh yeah, and there was that whole not-getting-arrested thing. I’d promised.

Regretfully, I admitted temporary defeat and slunk back outside.

“Gone,” I said to Nick and Jesus as I approached.

“His friend too,” Nick said, nodding to where the other man in black had been.

“Skata. I’ve had enough of this cloak and dagger crap already. Why can’t we just have a nice, straightforward wedding?”

“Speaking of which, we’d probably better get back. Production meeting in T-minus twenty.”

“What’re you, an astronaut?” I asked, suddenly irritable. Another thing, maybe, to blame on ambrosia withdrawal.

“Am I the only one excited about this?” Jesus asked. “Come.” He linked an arm through each of ours, and I grabbed up his ouzo bottle from the curb so it wouldn’t be left behind.

We let Jesus drag us off. I continued to look into storefront windows to see if I could spot our sneaky surveillance, but there was no further sign of them.

We met Mom, Dad, Uncle Christos and his girlfriend—which seemed so weird to say at their age, since she was hardly a girl—coming through the door of the hotel, just back from a sightseeing trip of their own.

“Tori!” Mom gasped, throwing her arms around me and waving Dad in for a group hug. He grumbled, as always, but complied. I didn’t take it personally. Dad was the least touchy-feely guy I knew. Pretty ironic for someone whose livelihood and welfare depended on making contact—catching and being caught during the family acrobatic act. Maybe that was it. With life and death on the line there, maybe all other contact felt gratuitous. But Mom sure didn’t feel that way. She more than made up for him. And gods knew Spiro was touchy-feely enough for them both.

I hugged her back hard. It was so good seeing her again. It’d been hard when circumstances forced me to leave the Rialto Bros. Circus behind. I could have fought for my place, but…I think we’d all known I never really belonged.

When Dad dropped out of the hug and Mom finally let me go, I found I had tears in my eyes. I wiped them quickly away and introduced Nick, who was treated to a handshake from my father—two pumps and done—and a warm embrace from my mother.

“We were so glad when Tori found someone to keep her out of trouble,” Mom said, looking earnestly into Nick’s eyes. Mom was a petite woman, weighing in at maybe a hundred pounds—less after sweating some off in a performance. She had mounds of dark hair, brown eyes, long lashes and a heart-shaped face. People wanted to protect her. Me, that was a whole ’nother matter.

I shot Nick an amused glance, which he mirrored back to me. “Well, I try, ma’am, but it isn’t easy.”

“And who is this?” Dad barked, jutting a chin at Jesus, who smiled, bowed deeply and introduced himself.

“I’m Jesus, Christos and Tori’s executive assistant at the agency. When trouble calls, I’m the one who takes the message.”

I didn’t think that came out quite the way he’d intended, since it didn’t puff up his importance the way he liked. I blamed jet lag.

“Shall we?” he asked.

Christos made an “after you” gesture, and Jesus led the way to the meeting room—where I was jumped immediately upon entering.

“There you are!” Tina said, mugging me. I’d have called it a hug, but her arms were like steel bands propelling me forward, leaving the others in the dust. “Come on, they want to meet my bridesmaids.”

“They?”

She paused in her manhandling to give me a quick once over. “You look good, except for some puffiness around the eyes. Flying always makes me water-retentive too. Don’t worry, we’ve got a cream for that. Remind me to give you a sample.”

I bucked out of her embrace. “Good to see you too. Congratulations, by the way.”

Just like that, the disapproval left her face, and she beamed like a prison searchlight. “Sorry. I’m just… nervous. I want everything to be perfect, and I know the film stuff is paying for my dream wedding, but…OMG, the stress!”

A young blond man with a pompadour, a shiny vest and a clipboard bustled up to us. “This the last bridesmaid?” he asked, giving me the same critical stare I’d gotten from Tina. “Let’s get her with the others.”

It was his turn to hustle me about the room…or try to, anyway. When I growled, he drew back his arm and instead crowded me toward Althea and Junessa.

He eyed the three of us—the Amazon, the wispy wood nymph and me, the wild woman, probably still smelling of onions and tzatziki sauce. His face scrunched when he looked at me, but all he said was, “I can work with this.”

This.

“Hello. Living, breathing person right in front of you,” I snapped.

“As if I could miss you breathing,” he sniped back.

Damned onions.

“Okay,” he said, clapping to get our attention as if we were wayward children. “Tomorrow you’re due at eleven a.m. sharp for hair and makeup,” he said to Althea and Junessa. He pointed to Tina and then to me. “You and you, ten a.m. You’re getting the works.”

I started to protest that I’d just gotten “the works”, courtesy of Christie, and I still wasn’t over it, but Tina looked so happy that I bit it back. Not my day, not my day, I chanted over and over to myself.