Sirenz - By Charlotte Bennardo Page 0,8

stick, a rubber ball. Whatever else amuses them.”

I am so not a dog person. Neither was Meg. At home, we both had cats.

“That’s it? All we have to do is play with your dogs?” I ventured to ask. Greek gods always had some trick up their toga, although Hades wasn’t wearing one now.

“Playing fetch is the fun part. You’ll have to clean up after them, too. They leave quite a mess about the place.”

“Don’t you hate that?” I said. “Once you step in that stuff you can never get the smell out!”

“It is a problem,” he agreed.

Meg stared at me, aghast. “We’re pretty much doomed to either go to prison, wear orange jumpsuits, and be someone’s girlfriend for twenty-five-to-life, or spend eternity on pooper-scooper duty for gigantic hell hounds—and you’re worried about your shoes?”

“Oh, don’t worry about the shoes.” Hades lightly ran a finger down my arm. I flinched away. “I have a regulation uniform for those who take care of my babies—right down to the underwear. Tell me, do you care for industrial gray wool?”

I looked from Hades to Meg and back again, the horror dawning.

“Ah, you’re getting the finer points,” she snapped.

“That’s torture,” I breathed.

“Not quite,” said Hades, looking around in distaste. “Please, let’s discuss this in a more civilized place.” He stepped away from the tiled wall and overflowing waste can. The smell of garbage and faint urine suddenly repulsed me, and I checked the bottom of my shoes. Meg rolled her eyes.

“Starbucks?” I asked hopefully.

Meg gave me a duh look. “I don’t think we should discuss this in Starbucks, do you? We have to call someone about …” She jerked her head in the direction of the tracks.

I didn’t want to look. “Let’s go, please!”

Meg shrugged in resignation as she pulled out her cell. “Okay, Hades, lead us to a Starbucks. Shar likes chai tea and I want a—”

“I don’t do Starbucks,” he said haughtily. “And it wasn’t a question. I was merely being polite. Now—” He flicked a wrist and Sweet Jeans was gone. Another flick and we were standing in a tropical garden. Hades was now wearing a very bright white polo shirt that looked custom-made, and cargo shorts. Throwing off my coat, gloves, sweater, scarf, and hat, I wriggled out of my boots to bury my toes in the warm white sand. Ooh, nice!

Meg put her cell back in her purse. “Some place you’ve got,” she said, investigating every swaying palm tree and bright flower around her.

It seemed real enough. After a frigid New York night, this was heaven.

“Is this … Paradise?” I breathed. It sure looked like it to me. The air was balmy and breezy and the azure ocean crashed just beyond the lush trees and undergrowth.

“Actually, this belongs to an acquaintance of mine,” he began.

“Apollo?” asked Meg.

“God?” I said.

He gave us both a chiding look. “Hardly. It belongs to Arkady Romanov.”

“The fashion guy? As in ‘House of Romanov’?” I mused, staring out across the waves.

“Does it matter?” Meg put one hand on her hip. “Let’s see, fabulous wealth, personal tropical island, both most likely ill-gotten—sounds like villain material to me.” She pointed an accusing finger at Hades. “ Why don’t you take him down to Hell with you?”

“It’s Tartarus, not Hell,” said Hades with an annoyed voice. “Don’t people study history anymore?” He snapped his fingers and lawn furniture materialized. Tropical drinks appeared in our hands. I sipped. Pina Colada! The real thing! I was about to take another taste when Meg kicked me, ogling my glass.

“Don’t! Haven’t you ever heard of ‘Let’s drink to that’? You’ll be sealing a pact!”

I hastily slammed the drink down, spilling it.

Hades sighed morosely. “I don’t do business that way. You must consent or I face certain … unpleasantries.” He frowned. “And I dislike unpleasantness, especially for myself.”

I gave Meg a see, I told you so glance and picked up my drink, which Hades had thoughtfully refreshed. Reluctantly, she picked up hers, a green concoction, sniffed, then tasted. I saw a small flush of pleasure. She looked away guiltily.

“Now, where were we? Ah, yes, Mr. Romanov. He’s had a long time to enjoy this lovely place. That was his deal, you see. A regular mortal span wasn’t enough for him, so I gave him a few extra years. But now his time’s up. Next year he won’t be spending any holidays on his island—I see him in a less idyllic location. You will send him to me.” He twitched an elegant index finger with