Page 7 of A Subtle Scar
“Oh, fuck you,” Lionel said.
I cleared my throat. “I think I’ve only ever seen that the other way around, Lionel.”
Lucy broke out laughing, and Lionel, if at all possible, looked even more embarrassed.
“See, babe?” the Devil said. “Everyone knows how things are supposed to be.” And after a pause, “And where my cock is supposed to go.”
“Charon wants to go get a drink,” Lionel said, and while this was turning into something interesting, I didn’t think I needed to get off on the wrong foot with the Devil’s better half. Lucy clearly only had eyes for his demigod, and that meant the Devil was in the demigod’s hand, whether the demigod had realized it yet or not.
So I left them to it and made my exit. The little helldog walked ahead, her claws clicking on the marble floors. She seemed to like that I was following her.
The Devil—or more precisely, Metatron, his angel housekeeper—had redone the manor not very long ago. It had become much brighter than it had been, and none of the beautiful golden chandeliers had survived as far as I knew.
In their stead was indirect lighting, LEDs in the floors and walls, fancy fixtures that cobwebbed all across the ceiling and gave the impression of floating will-o-the-wisps. I followed the lights past the small and more private living and dining room to the long row of rooms lined on one side by floor-to-ceiling windows that were occasionally interrupted by walls.
The walls, once clad in lush wallpaper, had been transformed to glass and white-on-white, right angles wherever you looked, making the paintings all the more captivating. They showed variations of human underworld myths but done sexy. I’d always liked the one with Jason facing the onlooker while the minotaur stood behind him, their bodies one, caressing a collar around Jason’s neck. Neither was clothed, apart from that collar.
That particular painting was gone though, and in its place a new one had been hung. Unless I was mistaken, the winged man with a victor’s crown kissing another—not on the mouth—was supposed to be Zeus.
I tore my eyes off the scene and walked on, the windows to my left.
The party was still going slowly, judging by what was happening in the area of Lucy’s house designated to it for today.
There was a buffet type selection of food in the first area, where the most extreme thing was a human allowing another human to feed her pastry. She was kneeling between his legs on the floor while he reclined on an armchair and licked his fingers thoroughly clean after every bite. No one was really watching them, and most people just stood around talking.
I spotted Nyx, their eyes almost fully back to black now that night was nearly here. They were in conversation with Persephone. We exchanged a nod, and I walked on.
The next few rooms, while busy, were tame, the most entertaining one the open bar behind which Hades was regaling drinkers with a story of Midwinter, involving a sleigh, an angel, and not at all as much wassailing as there had supposed to have been.
Hades gave me a quick wave between working a cocktail shaker, and I mouthed a quickwill be by soon.The helldog who had been leading me so far abandoned the task to dash behind the bar.
It was in the next area that I spotted something interesting. There, Cerberus watched over the sushi models, three sets of eyes clearly hopeful one of them would move and drop a morsel.
The interesting thing—human, really, not a thing—was a tall, dark-haired man in conversation with Trony, both of them standing on either side of a model who had his cock caged, unlike the others. And judging by how Trony poked and teased the model with her chopsticks, there was something going on there.
The man opposite Trony talked and smiled, wore an expensive suit and tie, and wasn’t fazed at all by the sushi model being arousingly tortured right under his nose. In fact, as I watched, the human picked up a piece of sushi and ate it slowly while nodding and smiling at what Trony was saying. He had blue eyes, icy blue, the kind that was almost white, and he was a magical human as well, one of the stronger ones.
To my utter chagrin, Hermes was already there and watching the human like he had a right to.
I made a beeline for the fireplace against whose mantel Hermes was leaning casually.
“Sorry, but I’m busy,” Hermes said when I stood in front of him, partially blocking his view. “Can you move?”
“I want that one,” I said.
“The sushi plate? I think Trony has a claim on him.”
“Not the sushi plate, you utter idiot,” I said. “The magical human. The handsome one with the black hair and the nice suit. The one who just ate that maki off the model’s abs.”
Hermes snorted and twirled his glass by the stem. He’d gotten a refill somewhere between opening the door for me and parking his ass here. “He’s out of your league, Ronny.”
“Do not—fuck you. I am an age-old death god, and he is not. How could he be out of my league?”
Hermes turned his eyes to me. “You wear boots with heels, pants that are too tight, and your hair is sort of lank,” the ass said, then pointed to my hands. “And I don’t even want to talk about that.”
“There is nothing wrong with glitter nail polish, and men have always worn heels. Women are simply late to the game.”
Hermes rolled his eyes. “Look at him. No, wait, don’t. He’s all human, but the fancy kind. More my speed.” He looked around and pointed at a chestnut-haired sushi model who had her legs slightly parted in a suggestive way, if you could be suggestive at all covered with rice rolled up in nori. “Try that one. More your speed.”
