Page 4 of Perfectly Matching Again

Erato breathed. Aphrodite stared. The clock on the desk measured their heartbeats. Aphrodite gulped, closed her eyes, hummed something that sounded suspiciously like a curse, and sat back down in her chair.

“Do you know what is at stake when matters concerning Demeter become ‘complicated’, as you call them?”

Erato blinked, then nodded. Her devastatingly gorgeous hair flowed prettily around her face. In the dark window, her reflection looked chiseled from marble, all sharp angles and cutting glass cheekbones. Her jaw alone was a work of art. But as she opened her mouth, plump lips and all, to say that yes, she was very much familiar with the ruin that upsetting Demeterusually resulted in, Aphrodite waved her away and reached for the calendar. Then she massaged her temples.

“Do you know what month it is, Erato?”

Well, that was one question Erato could answer.

“April. Late April.”

Aphrodite did not praise her. Erato wilted a bit.

“And do you know what the temperature outside is?”

Erato looked back at the mirror, almost fixed an errant strand of hair that nervously raking her fingers through it had dislodged, and settled on, “Freeze your tits off temperature?”

Aphrodite’s gaze hardened. But as rain, which was undoubtedly ice cold, started pelting the windowpane, Erato’s eyes went suddenly wide with realization.

Aphrodite’s expression mellowed somewhat.

“And there goes the lightbulb.”

Yes, there it went. Erato didn’t consider herself the brightest one on the porch, but nobody had ever accused her of being slow on the uptake. Vain? Often. Gorgeous? Oh, yeah. Sexy? Sure thing, hon. But not stupid. Maybe a touch indolent when matters of the vagina were involved, which admittedly was often with her, but still?—

“The Goddess of Harvest is clearly miffed, since we are getting a fifth month of winter and nothing is blooming, Erato.”

The phone rang. In the room's silence, it sounded like a fire alarm. Aphrodite swiped to answer and then winced at the chill audibly coming through the receiver. Only one Goddess was this cold and this bitchy when needed. Fates, even when not needed. Hera could pretty much freeze Hades’ domain over with her attitude. And there she was, calling Aphrodite, and Erato could venture an educated guess about what.

Aphrodite for her part said nothing, occasionally shivered at the onslaught of vitriol coming her way, but listened silently. Then she simply hung up. And gave Erato a telling lookfrom underneath those ridiculously long lashes, rivaled only by Erato’s own. A look that screamed volumes and managed to transmit Hera’s message, perhaps better than any words.

Still, Aphrodite spoke.

“Erato…”

Her name sounded like an accusation. But what was she supposed to do?

“No need to tell you what Hera said. Because it wasn’t nice or helpful. Just… fix it, Muse. Or we are all in deep trouble. Remember last time?”

Oh, Erato remembered. Every immortal did. Demeter going all scorched earth when Hades and Persephone had shacked up. Nothing bloomed for years. Famine, pestilence, locusts… Well, not the locusts, but yeah, many had suffered.

“So… I guess I better fix it, then?” Erato’s voice was a mumble. Aphrodite reached for her phone again, already dismissing Erato from her sight. Well, that was only fair. Erato had some fast thinking and fast acting to do and, by the sound of it, Aphrodite didn’t like where all of this was going. Erato could sympathize, mainly because her own gut told her it was all about to get worse.

2

WHERE EVERYONE GANGS UP ON THE DEVASTATINGLY BEAUTIFUL MUSE (IT’S NOT HER FAULT SHE IS GORGEOUS)

“Purgatory” basked in a positively wonderful abundance of sunshine and blue skies this time of year. After the freeze-your-tits-off temperatures of Paris, Erato unzipped her jacket and immediately felt better. So did her tits.

The yacht, so large as to have its own helicopter pad, was resplendent in the Indian Ocean’s water. It had only taken Erato a week to find it and she had had to ask Hera, of all people, for help. Hera had been rude—which was par for the course—but overall helpful enough. She pointed out that if Persephone didn’t come to Demeter—with no sight of spring on the horizon, she had not been spotted either—then surely, Demeter had gone to see her daughter.

Erato fought off a somewhat unpleasant premonition that had plagued her since the night she lost her mind in Vegas and braved Purgatory. She never did like boats.

Charon waved her on board, and, having seen much in his long long life, asked no questions, merely pointed to the front of the immense walkway from where laughter and conversation could be heard.

Erato’s twinge of premonition became a permanent background noise once she rounded the corner and came face to face with the party.

A hodge-podge of immortals were dancing around, mingling and sipping on cocktails. This was exactly her scene. Except Erato felt overdressed in her kneehigh boots and the leather was making her uncomfortably sweaty. Taking it off right now would probably just reveal moist armpits. Erato had more class than that. Usually. So she decided to keep the jacket on, no matter how ridiculous she looked when everyone was cavorting in bikinis and sarongs.

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