Page 27 of Perfectly Matching Again

“What have you done to my little sister, Muse?”

Erato gulped and let herself sink against the wall. Her empty wrist felt like an open wound. One that was perhaps self-inflicted.

11

WHERE A PEP TALK IS GIVEN AND A CHORUS OF BEARS IS INTRODUCED (THEY ARE A FEATURE NOT A BUG)

“What have you done to my little sister, Muse?”

Hera’s words echoed in Erato’s mind as she was almost dragged to some dingy bar on a side street that had miraculously materialized right next to the convention center.

Dark, sticky and smelling suspiciously like something died there ages ago, the place made Erato’s insides roil.

“Of all the places to conjure, Hera…”

The Goddess lifted her fingers, and a drink was immediately placed in front of her, the scruffy-looking bartender not blinking an eye at her pristine ivory attire. Erato narrowed her eyes at the man who knew the exact order without saying a word.

“Unless you didn’t have to conjure anything at all, and this is your regular haunt.”

Hera threw back the vodka and set the glass carefully down, the move so smooth Erato thought she might have imagined it.

“The places I frequent, my drinking preferences and the company I keep are none of your business, Muse. My sister, however…” Hera trailed off, her long slim fingers latching onto the discarded golden thread and tugging none too gently on Erato’s wrist. “What have you done?”

Erato shrugged, biding her time. For what exact purpose, she couldn’t say. Surely, if Hera intended to dispose of her, she wouldn’t do it before so many witnesses. When the second shot of vodka appeared in front of the Goddess of Matrimony without her signaling for it, Erato reconsidered her opinion about the people surrounding them. These were not witnesses. These would be accomplices.

“I don’t know?—”

Hera simply tugged harder and Erato nearly tumbled off the bar stool. She could swear the pool game next to them stopped for a second, the bikers on alert, their cues like baseball bats in their beefy hands. Hera waved them away and several sets of muscular shoulders relaxed. The sound of pool balls being racked up overtook the low rock on the jukebox yet again.

Erato rolled her eyes.

“I may be the Muse of Erotic poetry, but my boots have stomped more than their share of these asshats into the ground, Hera. You’d be wise to call off your dogs.”

Hera smirked and pushed her glass towards Erato.

“I don’t have to resort to dogs to deal with you, Muse. Though I assume these are what queer mortals call bears?” She flicked her fingers dismissively. “Men will always be men, mortal or otherwise. They think we need them for protection when they are more often than not, the only predator in the room.”

Erato drank to that.

“Now,” Hera graciously waited for the drink to burn a path all the way down to Erato’s stomach. “I will ask you again, what did you do to my sister, and please spare me the sordid details. I read some of your books, and I’ve heard about your exploits. I surmise Demeter had a good time.”

Erato winced. “Can I say that I resent this entire conversation?”

Hera drummed her fingers on the bar.

“You can. And I can say that I would respect you more for such an answer.”

Erato flicked a few crumbs from the polished surface.

“You don’t respect me at all, Hera.”

Hera was silent for a long moment before she spoke, a note of tentativeness in her voice.

“I confess I hadn’t thought much about you, Muse, for the previous Fates know how many epochs.”

The bears winced collectively.

“Ouch.” Erato rubbed at her sternum, ignoring the men. Hera smirked, then sobered.

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