Part II CHAPTER 3
Three days later as she walked across campus, toward her office, Tory was mad enough to spit out iron nails. How dare Dr. Alexander give her journal to that . . . that . . .
One day she was going to think of a word that would adequately describe Acheron's particular breed of low, gutter, nasty, vile . . . ness.
"Dr. Kafieri?"
She turned to see Kyle Peltier, one of her students, running up to her. He was a typical junior, with blond hair and a sweet face. He'd just transferred from another school this semester and was one of her better students. "Yes?"
"A friend of mine asked me to give you this." He held out a box wrapped in kraft paper.
She stared at the unexpected gift. "I don't understand."
"Me either, but when he asks for a favor, you do the favor without asking why."
Tory frowned at his cryptic words as she took the box. Kyle immediately rushed off before she could ask him anything more. "Well that was interesting." The box was heavy. She shook it, but couldn't figure out what it might contain.
Her current luck, a bomb.
Pushing the thought aside, she made her way to her small office, grabbed a cup of coffee and then set about opening it which was easier said than done. It was like the giver had hermetically sealed it shut with tape. "I hate when people do this!"
Finally, after no less than five minutes, she was able to detach the lid from the box and pull it free. Opening it up, she froze. It contained a hammer, a handful of olive leaves, a note attached to a single red rose, and a leather pouch the same size as a small book. Her heart pounding, she picked up the brown leather pouch and opened it to find her journal.
A smile curled her lips. So the little monster had done the right thing. Now she was able to laugh about the hammer and the olive "branches" he'd put inside. She picked up his note and opened it to find a beautiful masculine script.
I'm really not the asshole you think I am. The journal's from a young woman in an isolated part of Greece and documents her life for about eighteen months. It's pretty much boring reading, but if you want more details, call me. 555-602-1938.
Eirini,
Ash
Eirini-Greek for peace. Tory shook her head. Not the asshole she thought, yeah right. But it was kind of a sweet gesture and he had returned her journal.
With a rose.
Holding it up, she inhaled the sweet scent and debated whether or not she ever wanted to lay eyes on the troll again.
With his arms crossed over his chest, Urian frowned at Ash while Ash sat on his throne in Katoteros and played the guitar. Almost as tall as Ash, Urian had long white blond hair that he wore pulled back into a ponytail. A former Daimon, Urian had been saved by Ash after Urian's father viciously cut his throat. And like his father, Urian had a most acerbic personality that he was more than proud of.
Not willing to deal with Urian's ill mood swings or explain himself, Ash ignored the man while he continued to sing Matchbox 20's "Push" under his breath.
Simi lay on her stomach, watching QVC as she devoured a tub of barbecue-flavored popcorn. She was dressed in black tights and a short plaid skirt with a pink and black peasant top and corset.
Urian moved to where Alexion stood off to the side, also staring at Ash as if Ash were a science experiment that had gone seriously wrong. For thousands of years, Alexion had been the only person Ash allowed in his home besides Simi. Of course that was out of profound guilt since Alexion had been Ias-one of the first Dark-Hunters Artemis created. Ash had managed to bring him back to a quasi-ghost existence by using his blood to keep Ias from being a Shade.
Too bad Savitar hadn't explained those powers to Ash sooner. It would have saved both him and Ias a lot of grief. But at least Ias wasn't in constant pain and misery.
"What's the deal with the bossman?" Urian asked him.
Alexion shrugged. "I don't know. He came in last night with a book, went to his room to read, I suppose, and then he came out here this morning and has been playing . . . those songs ever since."
Those songs were ballads, which Acheron never played. God-smack, Sex Pistols, TSOL, Judas Priest, but not . . .
"Is that . . ." Urian physically cringed before he spat out the name, "Julio Iglesias?"
"Enrique."
Urian grimaced in horror. "I didn't even know he knew any mellow shit. Dear gods . . . is he ill?"
"I don't know. In nine thousand years, I've never seen him like this before."
Urian shuddered. "I'm beginning to get scared. This has to be a sign of the Apocalypse. If he breaks out into Air Supply, I say we sneak up on him, drag him outside and beat the holy shit out of him."
"I'll let you and the demons do that. I personally like my semi-living state too much to jeopardize it."
Ash looked up and pierced them both with a malevolent glare. "Don't you two girls have something better to do like pick out toe lint?"
Urian grinned. "Not really."
Ash growled a low warning, but before he could really threaten them, his phone rang. Leaning his head back, he sighed in frustration. Damn phone was always going off. This time it better not be Artemis screwing with him or he'd hunt her down and-
His thoughts scattered as he saw a New Orleans area code. He didn't recognize the number and it didn't register a name. How weird. Flipping it open, he answered.
"Is this Ash?"
"Soteria?"
Tory's throat went dry at the way he said her name. Because she was Greek, she'd never really thought Greek was a pretty language, but when he spoke it . . .
She could barely form a coherent thought. "Um, Tory. I go by Tory."
"Oh, I didn't know. Can I do something for you?"
Yeah baby, get naked and . . .
She shook her head. She never had thoughts like that and she didn't know why she had them now when she had business to discuss with someone she absolutely hated. "Uh, yeah, I was wondering about the journal. Is there any chance you could meet me later and tell me more about it?"
"What time?"
Grateful he wasn't hanging up on her after she'd tossed a hammer at him, she smiled. "I'll be home in about an hour."
"I'll be there." He hung up.