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I take another look around. I don’t want to be so impressed by the place, but am. “Named after the mountain nymphs, I presume.”
He nods. “One of whom, Nomia, is married to our own Medea.” He indicates toward the female behind the bar, who studies me with a fierce bright-green gaze. Her eyes match many of the streaks in her hair, which are varying shades of spring forest colors.
“Medea,” I echo, dipping a short bow. “Nice to meet…” I trail off and step back. “I don’t think she likes me.”
“Oh, she likes you a lot,” he drawls. “She’s just trying to determine how fast it’ll take you to pass out from her concoctions.” He jogs his chin with a commanding flair. “I’m afraid he won’t be staying around long enough for the fun, Mistress.”
While Medea takes the time to grumble in return, I throw a curious glance around the rest of the bar, which boasts a column of swirling clouds in place of Labyrinth’s fire tube. The atmospheric spire is reminiscent of the tornado fromThe Wizard of Oz, with actual items swirling in its vortex. But instead of trees and cows and a cackling witch, it’s all fresh fruit. Before Z and I turn away, Medea leans back with lithe arms to grab an apple and a pineapple from the swirl. Without faltering, she throws them down and chops them up with the speed of a cooking-show contestant. During the whole process, her keen gaze never falters.
“All right,” I say at last, watching the willowy woman scoop the fruit chunks into a blender. “So why are we here?”
“Two birds, one stone,” my father explains. “I need to make sure the staff has prepared my table to my specifications. Good enough time to also deal with the burr under your saddle.”
Theburr?
My mind spits it out, but my throat is suddenly incapable of sound. Not even a worthy snarl. But since he’s started things rolling with the yippee-kay-yay bit, I welcome some new fantasies of drawing a Winchester on him.
Instead, for the sole purpose of being the good son my mom raised, I compel myself to use my words.
“Your table. Because you’re not just taking Mom out forquick drinks, are you?”
There. Those are words. I just draw the line about agreeing to be civil with them.
Zeus doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. It all makes sense now. The Sonny and Cher outfit game. The starry-eyed gaze locks. And, in Mom’s case, all the gawky date night small talk.
“Your mother deserves a nice night out,” he says past tight lips. “She’s been working nonstop since Hades turned this city upside down.”
“A point I’ll easily concede.”
“And you want a medal for it?” He flags Medea with a finger, and the bartender twists her multihued hair up into some kind of fast but fancy bun. At once, she’s switched from bartender to hostess mode.
As she takes another second to stow her apron and circle toward the bar’s flip-up exit, Z angles a little more toward me.
“So listen. I’m only trying to—”
“Don’t.” At last, I can no longer keep my growl trapped in. “I know exactly what you’re trying.”
“Okay. Well. That’s actually good.” He jumps a brow entirely too easily. “In that case, you must also be aware of how happy it’s making your mother.”
“You mean up to the part where you break her apart again?”
His stare becomes an icy storm at midnight. “Shewielded the hammer, damn it.Shesmashed us apart.”
“Because you gave her no choice!” I finish it with a harsh hiss, aware of Medea’s approach. “Because Hera and her harridans were turning thedream lifeyou created into a fucking nightmare—for usboth.”
“She could have come to me!”
“And you’d have done…what? Marched into your wife’s boudoir and called her out? Razed the room with a few lightning bolts? Ordered her to stop harassing your mortal side dish and her bastard son? Expected Hera to actually listen and obey?”
“Yes.” As soon as the word spews from him, lightning-like sparks erupt around his head. The restaurant’s boughs and leaves, stretching at least half a mile above us, tremble as if expecting a violent cloudburst. “Yes, damn it. I’m her sovereign husband. Her consecrated king. Herawillbe loyal, dutiful, and tractable to my hand!”
“Wow.” I rock back, folding my arms. “Well,that’spretty…swell. And, I’d say, the perfect vibe for winning over Mom, who’s been looking after herself, her son, and wards full of patients for the last twenty years.”
My remark brings him up to a froth. He’s breathing like a bull to the point that I expect sheets of rain, even in here, any second.
“Your mother and Hera are nothing alike.”
“So miracles do exist in Olympus.” I resettle my weight into a solid brace. “But if that’s supposed to make me feel better about you in the Gatsby get-up and the Romeo eyes…”
