Fates' Folly (17 page)

I exited off the highway.

"The thing is, Riley, I'm not good at lying
low, or making the best out of a situation. I've never been
obedient, and I can't say I give a shit about pleasing a god like
Hades." I stopped at a red light, looking over at Riley. He was the
picture of relaxation with his eyes closed, head leaning back. "Do
you think you could get me in to see The Fates?"

Riley's jaw clenched. The person behind me
honked their horn and I pulled forward through the intersection. We
rode in silence for the twenty minutes it took me to navigate
downtown Decatur and find a parking space. I turned off the car and
turned in my seat to face Riley again. "Well?” I asked.

"I can, but I wouldn't advise it. They are
the worst at manipulating and twisting lives for their own benefit,
which is usually because they think other people's misery is funny.
They despise Hades and would love to have a way to enrage him. I'm
positive that's why they chose to interfere in reclaiming your
soul. I'm just not sure that's the only reason."

"I want to see them. I'm not that easily
manipulated. I think I can handle myself." I can't just sit back
and let someone else decide my life.

Riley leaned forward, opening the passenger
side door. "I'll see what I can do."

Having spent a better part of my childhood in
the backroom of one kind of a bar or another, I could usually tell
what to expect on the inside of such an establishment before I
walked through the door. One look at the Brick Store Pub, where
Amelia Harper worked, and I could tell it was definitely a few
steps up from any of the dives my mama worked at. Riley and I
opened the weathered wooden door and walked into a darkly rich room
of bricked walls, arched shelves filled with various shades of
colored glass bottles and tables made of wooden beer casks. The
noise of conversations, the clink of glasses and the soft glow of
lanterns wrapped me in an instant feeling of familiarity and
warmth, making me smile as we settled in at the bar.

A small man, well into his sixties, with
silver hair and a handle bar mustache, made his way over to our
seats. He was dressed in jeans and dark gray t-shirt with the Brick
Store Pub logo on the breast.

"What can I get you this evening?" he
asked.

Riley nodded. “Two Guinness. Is Amelia
working tonight?"

The bartender gave Riley a quizzical look but
answered, "Yeah, she's working the Belgium bar." He pointed to
another bar upstairs.

Riley put some money on the bar, grabbed our
beers and walked over to and up the steps to the other bar with me
trailing along.

"Where did you get money, and why are you
always so calm and easy going?" I asked, as we sat down at the
other bar.

"I get paid. Most immortals do. To work on
earth you need currency. And I've never been the nervous and
anxious type, can't see where it serves any purpose," he said,
waving the tall blonde bartender over.

"I'll be right with you," she called to us,
before handing out beers to a group of guys at the end of the
bar.

"What do you do when you’re not hunting
rogues or soul collecting?" I asked, trying to imagine Riley
hanging out at the bar with a group of friends.

"I train," he said, as the young bartender
headed our way.

Amelia Harper was tall, blonde and leggy. She
had a young round face with pink cheeks and bright blue eyes. As
she walked toward us she almost bounced in her enthusiasm, making
me think she was one of those fun outgoing types of people that
everyone likes. I found myself snarling. Bubbly personalities made
my skin crawl.

"I don't trust her," I whispered to Riley,
just as she landed in front of us.

"What can I get for you? We have a nice pale
ale I usually recommend, or if you're not sure of the particular
taste you're after, we offer samples," she said with a pretty
smile.

"Are you Amelia Harper?" Riley asked.

"Yep, that's me," she said, still
smiling.

"I'm Riley Black, this is my niece Myra.
We're relatives of Sebastian Black, and we’re wondering if you know
anything about where he might be."

Amelia shook her head. "I'm sorry but I think
you've got the wrong person. I don't know a Sebastian Black."

"Look, we know he's upset and doesn't want to
be bothered but we’re worried," I said.

Her smile became strained. "Hey, I'd like to
help you out, but seriously, I don't know anybody named Sebastian
Black."

Riley said, "Have you ever heard of Morgan
Hill Academy?"

She bounced. "Well sure, I've been student
teaching there all year. I'm still blown away that I got such a
great opportunity."

Curiouser and curiouser. "What department do
you teach in?" I asked.

"Classical languages."

"So, you teach Latin, maybe Greek?" I
asked.

Before she could answer, Riley leaned forward
so his nose was only a few inches from Amelia's smiling face. "Who
was the teacher you worked with?"

Amelia's smile widened but her whole body
slumped as if she deflated a bit, her eyes became glassy and,
though she was still smiling, the rest of her seemed confused.

"I…I… don't remember. Isn't that the funniest
thing, I remember going to class, I remember speaking with my
adviser, at least the conversations, his instruction… yes it was
definitely a man…" She cupped her cheeks in both hands with her
fingers pressing on each temple. "I just can't remember who he was,
or what he looked like. I don't know why I can't remember." She
pulled her hands away from her face, hugging herself, her smile
gone and her eyes dark with fear. "I don't feel so good. Would you
please excuse me?" she asked.

Without waiting for an answer, she turned
away from us and, in a half run, hurried out from behind the bar
through a door marked Employees.

I asked Riley, who was still staring at the
closed door. "Do you think she was lying and has Sebastian hidden
away at her apartment or something?"

"No. I used the power of persuasion on her,
someone has taken her memories."

I took a long swig of my beer. "I didn't
think someone like Sebastian was capable of something like that. I
guess a god could have done it, though?"

"Let's go," Riley said, downing his whole
beer in one gulp as he slid off the stool and started for the
stairs.

I followed, practically running down the
steps and out the heavy wooden door to catch up. I stepped out onto
the sidewalk as Riley turned the corner, heading for my car.

He was standing on the driver's side holding
his hands out for the keys when I walked up. I didn't even know he
could drive, but I guess, like the money, it would be hard to get
by on earth without the basics. I tossed him the keys and got into
the passenger seat.

After counting to ten, I asked, "Okay, what's
up?" Riley started the car and smoothly zipped out onto Church
Street. "Speak to me, Riley."

"None of this makes sense. A god could have
erased her memory, but not without The Fates or another god finding
out. The gods can't just materialize on earth and screw with humans
without being held accountable. They have very specific rules of
behavior while on earth."

"Are we sure she's Sebastian's girlfriend? I
know we found her phone but she could have dropped it anytime she
was at the school."

Riley pulled a brand new phone out of his
pocket.

"What's this?" I asked, taking it from
him.

"Amelia's phone was damaged, so I bought a
new phone and switched out the memory cards. Look at the photos,
they're how I found her."

I tapped the little camera icon, and the
screen filled up with pictures. There were pictures of Amelia
behind the bar at Brick's, pictures of Amelia on the beach,
pictures of Amelia with a much healthier, sane looking Sebastian-
in bed, at the park, at her work, in his classroom, all with the
two of them looking infatuated.

"Okay, so if a god didn't mess with Amelia's
memories, maybe Sebastian did?"

Riley grimaced. "He shouldn't be able to. But
I can't think of any other alternative that makes sense. Someone
moved Joshua Collins’ body, did a poor job of covering up the mess
in Sebastian's office and altered Amelia's memories."

I grabbed Riley's arm as my mind began
thinking of the possibilities. "And the memories of anyone at the
school that would have heard or seen Joshua's suicide, plus the
parents have probably had their brains wiped as well. How else
would they be convinced that Joshua committed suicide somewhere
other than the school? I wonder what they think actually
happened."

Riley pulled onto I-20.

"We'll speak with them tomorrow night at the
service and find out. Then, you and I will have to report to Hades
on our progress."

"A funeral where we're not invited, much less
welcomed, and a trip to the Underworld. Wow, Riley, you sure know
how to show a girl a good time."

"I aim to please."

"Well, aim for the nearest pizza place- I'm
starving.”

Tuesday was pleasantly boring, no encounters
with Bo, Sebastian, Dr. Covey or obnoxious teenagers. I was
actually humming when I was stopped on the fourth step up to my
apartment by a disapproving Mrs. Crowell.

"I want to let you know that they opened up a
Diet Divas. Melanie Brock's running it out of Lydia Pierson's hair
salon," she said.

"Great, maybe I'll check it out," I said,
already starting up the stairs and secretly smiling because I
seemed to be getting off easy today.

"I signed you up for classes. Melanie said
she would come by one afternoon this week so she could clean out
your cupboards and do your initial fat measurement. I told her
you'd want to do something like that in private."

Busybody, decrepit hag. "Well, I'm sure to be
looking forward to her visit," I said, gaining another step.

Mrs. Crowell moved along the wall so she
could continue to see me. "It's what your mama asked me to do."

I made it to the curve of the staircase,
where Mrs. Crowell would no longer be in view. "I'm sure she's real
pleased with your efforts," I said, rounding the corner and running
up the next set of steps to my apartment.

I could hear Mrs. Crowell's cackle as I shut
the door. I shouldn't have run, shouldn't have let her know I was
upset, but hell, if I didn't hurry, she'd get on the phone with
Lydia Pierson and I'd never get through. I ran into the kitchen,
pulled the skinny city directory off the top of the fridge and
started frantically searching for Golden Touch, Lydia Pierson's
hair salon. I found the number and dialed.

"Golden Touch. How can I help you?" a
scratchy voice asked.

"Lydia?"

"Yes, how can I help you?"

"Hey, it’s Myra Jane Collier. I'm sorry to
bother you, but I need to speak with Melanie. There's been some
sort of mistake and Melanie may think I've signed up for her new
fitness club."

"There's no mistake. Mrs. Crowell came in
this morning for her weekly perm and told us all about your poor
mama. You should be ashamed the way your disrespecting her,
especially now that's she's God's heavenly messenger. Your weight
is the least of your problems. You need to get your butt down to
church and start worrying about your eternal soul."

I took a moment to give Mrs. Crowell the
finger, though I doubt she saw it through the floor, and then I got
mean. "Lydia, I'm going to make this very simple for you. Give
Melanie the damn phone or give me a number where she can be
reached, or I'm telling whoever will listen that your son, Dillon,
made a bong in pottery class and -when asked where he got the idea-
said he made it to look just like the one you keep in your closet.
I have pictures of it Lydia, and you and I both know that Dillon is
so stoned most of the time, he won't even think of denying it." I
paused, waiting to see if she'd deny it herself. She didn't. "Now
personally, I don't see a problem with you smoking weed, we could
all use a little mellowing out now and then, but I doubt all those
old biddies in town who frequent your salon will feel the
same."

"Bitch," Lydia huskily whispered.

"Damn straight, now put Melanie on the
phone."

"You know you're going to hell," Lydia
said.

I laughed, "Yep, been there already."

It took a few seconds but, before I could
become impatient, I heard, "Yes, this is Melanie."

She sounded falsely upbeat. I'm sure Lydia
was standing next to her, foaming at the mouth.

"Hi, Melanie. This is Myra Jane Collier. I
wanted to tell you that I am not interested in the Diet Diva's
Program or you coming to my home for a consultation, and though you
may not know me, just so we're perfectly clear, I have a gun and
know how to use it."

"Are you threatening me?" she asked on a
gasp.

"Absolutely not. I am just informing you that
I own a fire arm and know how to operate the weapon properly. Have
a nice day."

"That was stupid," Barty said from behind
me.

I'm proud to say that I did not jump in
surprise. Apparently, I was getting used to the bastard. "Why,
because she knows I have a gun? I had to register it, most of the
town already knows, hell I had to sign a liability addendum added
to my lease because of it. Not to mention, this is Dempsey,
Georgia, and half the town owns a gun, most of them kept on racks
in the back of pickup trucks."

"It was stupid because it was your last
defense. What else will you use as a threat if they don't back
down? It won't take long before those two women work themselves up
into a frenzy and go on the offensive, and as you said, most of the
town owns guns, so it won't last long as much of a deterrent,"
Barty explained, leaning against my fridge.