I checked my cell phone before setting it down on the bench beside the bag, from which I pulled my shiny silver shorts. Apollo was supposed to call or text me every hour so that I’d know he was okay. There was a message waiting for me already.
ALL SET FOR THE GAME, BUT APPARENTLY THE FIRST RULE IS “NO ELECTRONICS.” WON’T BE ABLE TO TEXT OR CALL. IF I’M IN TROUBLE, WILL DO MY BEST TO RADIATE IT OUT THROUGH OUR LINK. SAME GOES FOR YOU. KEEP AN “EAR” OUT.
That feeling of someone walking over my grave escalated. Now I had two graves to worry about. Two graves and no plan but divide and conquer. ’Cause that worked out so well in horror films. At least there wasn’t any hanky-panky going on with us. That would have been the kiss of death.
My brain was doing what it always did under stress—bibble. I finished my quick change and left the locker room behind me, going back to the bar, where I was sure Tonio would give me something to do besides wait and worry.
Tonio turned out to be the bartender in the silver pants and shot glass bandolier from the night before. Without all that, he looked like a normal guy in a faded khaki Metal Mulisha T-shirt, jeans, and boots. His dark hair was spiked up and his chinstrap beard nicely highlighted the lines of his face. He had nickel-sized plug earrings in both ears, black on the outer rim, toxic green on the interior.
I was cutting lemon wedges when I casually asked him what had happened to my predecessor and why we were short-staffed. Was she yet another disappearance that could be laid at The Parlor’s door?
“Amber?” he asked. “She just ditched. Couldn’t take it anymore. I hear she got a job dancing somewhere on the Sunset Strip.”
“Did she give notice?”
Tonio gave me a “get real” look. “No one gives notice. It’s not that kind of job. Lots of turnover. Here one day, gone the next.”
I tried to look impressed. “Sounds like you’ve seen it all.”
“Been here almost a year.”
“Seems like they’d have you in the VIP room by now. Bet the tips are better back there.”
He studied me. “That what you’re angling for? I wouldn’t hold your breath. It’s based on seniority, and sister, you just got here.”
I gave him a cheeky grin, less effective since I wasn’t showing much actual cheek . . . not the kind most guys were interested in, anyway. “Honey, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve got at least five years on most of these girls. I get much more senior in this biz and they’ll put me out to pasture. I don’t have time to wait my turn.”
Tonio did smile at that and gave me a really good once-over. Up, down, and back to my face. I’d been told by an ex-boyfriend once that I was “good enough for television,” which in La La Land was like saying I had a great personality. Kickboxing classes and wrestling with Latter-Day Olympians had kept me in shape, but I wouldn’t be winning any wet T-shirt contests, let alone pageants. “Honey,” he said back to me, “don’t sell yourself short. I didn’t ask, so you don’t tell. You can pass for a twentysomething. Hell, I’d give you a tumble if you were my type.”
“You’d be on,” I answered, because he’d about made my day. “So, no advice for moving on up?”
“Keep the customers happy and don’t step on any more toes.”
“Oh, you noticed that, huh?”
I’d accidentally mashed Mr. Musk’s toes beneath my stiletto heels when he startled me by grabbing for something other than his drink one time too many. It would have been hard for anyone to miss the shriek he’d let out, but I’d been hoping. I was lucky not to have been fired on the spot.
“Don’t worry, hon. I’m sure he deserved it.”
That was that. But I had no intention of working my way up the company ladder. One way or another, I was getting behind the scenes tonight.
It was killing me not knowing what was going on back there, not knowing whether Gareth was okay . . . or Apollo . . . So when I felt that first spike of apprehension from him, I was ready to go. I handed my tray off to Stacy, another of the waitresses, and promised she could keep my tips if she’d look after my tables. I blamed feminine issues. She huffed, but didn’t turn me down, and as soon as I was free, I struggled to walk rather than run toward the invitation-only area at the back.
Red, of course, blocked my way. I stared straight into his eyes, gave him the gorgon glare, and put my force of will behind it, ordering, “Freeze.”
He stiffened, and I waved a hand in front of him to be sure it had taken. When he didn’t so much as blink, I stepped around him, my inner alarm klaxons blaring so loudly I could barely hear myself think. Like I didn’t know danger lurked behind that curtain. Steeling myself to push past the adrenaline-fueled fear that wanted to flood my system, I lifted the curtain to slip into the inner sanctum . . . right into the clutches of Ariana Weaver.
What use was an alarm, Apollo would ask me, if I didn’t heed it? A good question. One I hoped to live long enough to explore.
I stared into Ariana’s shades, hoping I’d be able to see the eyes behind them, but as far as I could tell, they were black holes. I knew I’d have no luck getting through to her, not unless I could knock her glasses askew, but she was holding me by the upper arms, and grinning, her lips curled up strangely to reveal fangs. Fangs. I’d never been agog before in my life, but this would probably qualify.
“Welcome to my Parlor, said the spider to the fly,” she crooned, and pincers came out of the sides of her mouth, explaining the strange curl. They clashed ominously and everything fell into place.
The Parlor. The bustle gown, all the better to hide an extended thorax. The dark glasses . . . If I knocked them off, I suddenly knew I’d find multifaceted eyes—spider’s eyes. Ariana Weaver . . . Arachne? Here? I’d expect maybe a dark cave somewhere, but L.A.? Of course, she was looking surprisingly human these days. The gods’ power had faded so much when their worship had waned . . . Maybe the transformative magic that had made her into a monster was waning as well. It would explain so much. But not what had become of the missing men. Had she spun them up in her web? Made a meal of them? Was that why there’d been nothing left to find?
“I’m no fly,” I told her, trying out my bravado. Inside, though, I was quaking. Of all the ways I didn’t want to die, becoming a monster’s meal was probably at the top of the list.
“No, you aren’t, at that. I saw what you did to Red. I have eyes everywhere, my dear. Eyes in the back of my head . . . or mounted on my walls. It’s all the same. I’ve never had gorgon get. It will be a new experience for me.”
Her tongue slipped out from between the mandibles that were distorting her speech. It was black as night, but surprisingly human in shape. It was a wonder she didn’t cut it on her teeth.
“Do you like games?” she asked.
Ariadne did, if I remembered my mythology right. That’s what had gotten her arachnified to begin with—or rather, given spiders their classification name, since she’d owned it first—Athena’s insult that Arachne would dare think herself exceptional enough to challenge the goddess with her weaving.
“Um, sure, as long as it’s a fair contest and the stakes are right.”
“What do you say to a life for a life?”