Loved (House of Night Other World #1)(11)

“You are such a piece of work,” Stark said.

Aphrodite’s grin was Cheshire. “Thank you, Bow Boy.”





4


Zoey


“OMG, who is that deliciously handsome Son of Erebus who just walked through that door?” Aphrodite cooed.

I didn’t bother to look over my shoulder. Stark made a noise between a snort and a sigh.

“Wait, I know who it is. It’s my man!”

Aphrodite tilted her head back, perfectly timed for Darius to bend down, murmur, “Hello, my beauty,” and kiss her. He straightened and shook his head slightly. “Champagne for breakfast?”

“Always, handsome,” Aphrodite said. She flicked her finger against the empty orange juice glass and added, “But I made it healthy with this.”

Darius glanced at me. “She actually drank that?”

I nodded. “Yep. Gulped it down like a trooper.”

“It was just orange juice. It tastes good,” Stark said.

“Then next time you drink it,” Aphrodite said.

Stark looked utterly baffled. I just shook my head and rolled my eyes. Sometimes—actually, most times—it’s easier to just go with whatever craziness Aphrodite spouts versus trying to actually make sense of it. Stevie Rae told me once that she listened to Aphrodite like she read Shakespeare—not actually getting every word, but eventually understanding the basic message. As usual, I agreed with Stevie Rae.

“What is the urgency, my beauty?” Darius asked after bowing formally to me and nodding to Stark.

“Kalona showed up in Z’s dream warning of danger. He told her to read Neferet’s journal. We did. It’s as bad as you might imagine. Now we’re going with Z to Woodward Park. Hopefully shit is not going to go wrong. Which would be the first time. So, I sent out the Bat Signal, and here you are. The end.”

I watched as several emotions flashed across the Warrior’s face—surprise, fear, anger. He glanced at me. I nodded. He sighed.

“And I was naively hoping the emergency was that the dining hall had run out of champagne.”

“That would be more on the lines of tragedy than emergency,” Aphrodite said.

“Has Neferet truly begun to stir?”

“We don’t know.” I spoke with much more bravado than I felt. “But we’re going to find out.”



“Tell me why we decided to walk again?” Aphrodite said as she leaned on Darius, lifting up her foot to study the red sole of her Louboutin stiletto boot. “OMG, gum? I stepped in some Neanderthal’s gum?”

Stark and I were walking ahead of them. I glanced over my shoulder. “We’re walking because it’s a beautiful December night—not too hot and not too cold—and midtown is all dressed up in holiday lights. Aphrodite, it’s pretty. I wanted to enjoy it.” I didn’t add, While we can, because if Neferet somehow gets loose we’ll probably all die, but my unspoken words hung over us.

“We told you to put on sensible shoes,” Stark added.

“Last season’s Louboutin’s are as sensible as I get,” she said as she scuffed down the sidewalk, trying to get rid of the last of the gum.

“Check out Utica Square. I love how it looks all lit up for the holidays. It reminds me of a giant snow globe,” I said.

“I’m averting my eyes,” Aphrodite said.

“Is she still boycotting Utica Square because of Miss Jackson’s closing?” Stark whispered to me.

“Yes, I am,” Aphrodite answered. “Fucking barbarians. Do they expect me to shop at Saks? Like the rest of the upper-middle-class people?” She shuddered. “No. I’ve resorted to online Nordstrom purchases.”

“But, my beauty. You just returned from a shopping trip to Dallas. You said the Nordstrom there was a paradise,” Darius said.

“Hyperbole,” she muttered. “Sad, sad, hyperbole.”

At the corner of Twenty-First and Utica, we turned left, crossing the street and walking past festively decorated office buildings and the yummy McGill’s restaurant. There was a little rise in the road and then we were looking down at Woodward Park.

“Ah oh,” I said.

“What the hell?” Stark asked.

Aphrodite and Darius caught up to us, and we all stared at what should be a dark, deserted park lit only by the vintage-looking streetlamps. Currently it was anything but deserted and dark. There was a large crowd of what appeared to be reporters, complete with a big Channel 2 News van and several cameras surrounding a woman who was standing in front of a podium (Podium? At Woodward Park? Huh?) facing the throng of people. Camera lights flashed, but we were too far away to hear what was being said.

“Oh, for shit’s sake. That’s my mother.”

The three of us gawked at Aphrodite. Then our gazes swiveled back to the park scene and, sure enough, now that I was looking closer I could see that the woman was indeed Aphrodite’s beautiful, hateful mother, Frances LaFont.

“I wonder what she’s up to?” Stark said.

“Nothing good,” I said. “That’s for sure.” I glanced at my friend, who was staring at her mom with a kinda shell-shocked expression, her face washed the white of a porcelain doll. “Have you talked to her since your dad died?”