Painted Blind Part 21

Aeas had rented an apartment near the high school, and for awhile he stayed there every night, but as the deadline drew nearer, he seemed to be lingering. He claimed it was because he didn't trust Theron, but I wondered if it had more to do with the fact that my jeans would have slipped right off my hips if I hadn't stolen one of Rory's belts. My face was more angled than usual, and my arms were all sharp edges. I lived in a state of chronic fatigue and had become a caffeine addict, which only worsened the cycle. All this I knew, but my body was having its own rebellion, thanks to the dust, and my mind was unable to conquer it. And unwilling, too. When I looked in the mirror, I saw what I'd lost, not just Eros's love, but myself with it.

I think Aeas sensed I was slipping, losing the will to fight, and he was keeping a closer eye on me. I doubted it was for me as much as loyalty to his best friend.

Rory started to close the dock door, but from outside came the distinct honk of a truck. He paused. I figured the mailman found another bag. Rory stood with his hands on his hips and peered into the dark. Two tractor-trailers pulled into the warehouse parking lot. The first swung around and backed up to the dock.

"What's going on?" I hopped off a stack of pallets and joined Rory at the dock.

"No idea," Rory replied. He motioned the driver back until the trailer was inches from the dock.

The air-brakes hissed, and the driver opened the door. "Had trouble finding you," he said. He hopped out with a clipboard in his hand. "Who wants to sign for the delivery?" After I signed, he handed me a copy of the delivery slip. Then the driver unlocked the trailer and opened the doors.

I grabbed Aeas's shoulder in excitement. The trailer was full of pallets of magazines. Unlike the magazines coming out of our warehouse with tattered edges and dog-eared pages, the magazines on this truck had never seen a newsstand. Their vibrant covers lay flat and clean beneath the plastic wrappings.

I pressed my finger through the plastic and tore it enough to pull out a single magazine. It wasn't the September issue of Cosmopolitan. It was the November issue of Italian Vogue. I fanned the pages frantically, but the Venus ad wasn't hard to find. It was right at the center and a stiff subscription card made the magazine naturally fall open to that page.

As the pallets were unloaded, the driver set a large box at my feet. It was too heavy for me to lift. I knelt down and opened it. Inside were three hundred thousand honey-colored cards, professionally printed with embossed black ink. One card for every magazine in the two trucks.

A stranger named Tyson Ewing just saved my life.

The following morning Aeas shook me awake in the dark. "Your dad just left. Let's go."

He drove, because I was too groggy to get us safely to the warehouse before six a.m. Rory and the drivers were already there. The trucks were locked, and though they had been guarded all night, we checked them again. The magazines were stacked and packaged the way we left them.

"Call me eight times a day," I told Aeas.

He nodded amiably. "You can trust me, Psyche. I won't fail you." He climbed into the lead truck riding shotgun and took the radio into his hands. A moment later the trucks s.h.i.+fted into gear and rumbled toward the street forming a line.

Rory and I watched them until they turned the corner and the cloud of diesel exhaust cleared from the air. The next few days were sheer torture. Rory and I went to school like nothing changed. I copied notes and worked on an overdue lab report feeling like a caged animal ready to bash its brains against the bars.

When I got home from school on Wednesday, I found my dad unloading bags of groceries. "What's with all the food?" I asked.

He set a heavy bag into my hands. "On Thanksgiving don't we always make turkey, stuffing and your favorite-pumpkin pie with extra whipping cream?"

The task completely consumed me. I'd lost track of the days. Cursed be the dust for making me sick on one of my favorite holidays.

Because I couldn't eat normally, I celebrated Thanksgiving the way any girl who was wasting away to skin and bones would: I ate only mashed potatoes, gravy and half a pumpkin pie. Usually, that sort of binge was nothing for me. This time, I really thought I might end up with my head over the toilet all night. By sheer will, I kept it down, and I was able to sleep a few extra hours, too.

Early Friday morning, the Lord of the Rings theme blared from my cell phone-Rory's doing. I grabbed the phone hoping for Aeas, but I saw Theron's number instead.

"Are you ready to admit defeat?" he asked.

"Nope." I nudged the door closed with my foot so my dad wouldn't overhear. "You'll get them before the new moon."

There was a long pause. "We will count them. You can't trick the G.o.ddess."

I rolled my eyes. Aphrodite really liked the whole G.o.ddess bit, even though I knew better. "You can count them. I even sent you a few extra." I could almost hear him growing angrier. "What about the second task?"

"I'll contact you after we count the ads." The line went dead.

I s.h.i.+vered in the morning chill and got dressed. Rory picked me up half an hour later to film the contest drawing. Much as I dreaded it, it helped take my mind off the delivery.

The warehouse felt dead without the magazines and the Dragonslayers. The garbage bin overflowed with pizza boxes and empty soda bottles. The grinding rail and the couches were gone. All that was left was the kiddy pool full of cards.

I used a snow shovel to stir the cards while Rory videoed. "Okay." I looked up at the camera. "Time to choose a winner." I reached down, shoved my hand way into the mess of cards and pulled one out. It was honey-colored with Tyson Ewing printed in black. I held up the card and said, "Erik Savage." If you searched for Erik Savage on the Internet, you would not find a photo, just a description of the reclusive, billionaire CEO of Millennial Holdings, Inc. Erik Savage was Eros's current mortal ident.i.ty. "Congratulations, Erik. I will be in touch soon."

I stuffed the card into my coat pocket, and Rory said, "Cut."

Eros would probably never see the video on YouTube, but if he did, he would know he was still the only guy in the world who mattered to me. As for Tyson Ewing, if I survived these tasks, I would fly to Italy and personally thank him.

For three full days Aeas was out of contact. I sent him a dozen text messages and tried to call, but his phone went right to voice mail. As the sun fell behind the mountains for the night of the new moon, I lost what little hope was left. Something happened. Aeas said he wouldn't fail me, but he did. I drifted into restless sleep and was jarred awake by music.

I felt around the blankets and finally found the cell phone.

"It's done, Psyche," Aeas said. "The s.h.i.+pment is delivered."

Two hours ago I wanted to kill him, but now I nearly wept with grat.i.tude. "Why didn't you call?" I demanded.

"One of the trucks broke down. It took us all night to fix it, then we were running behind schedule."

"What about Theron?"

Aeas replied, "See for yourself." A moment later a picture message came through followed by two others. I opened the first picture and saw a mountain of magazines in the center. The next photo was of the drivers, unloading the last truck. The final photo was of Theron scowling at the delivery. The text said, Task Complete!

Chapter 18.

After my dad went to bed the following Friday night, Aeas appeared on the carpet of my bedroom. He leaned on his elbows with his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. His brow wrinkled at the screen of his new iPod.

"You said you'd never steal from him."

Aeas suddenly had money to spend and was blowing through it fast. He bought clothes and furniture then filled his apartment with electronics. He looked up, surprised. "I didn't." He held out the iPod. "Can you help?"

I scrolled through the menus and showed him how. When the music started playing in his ears, his expression brightened. "Are you going to explain?" I persisted.

"I sent for personal a.s.sets, then sold them for your currency."

"What kind of a.s.sets?"

"Diamonds." When my mouth dropped open, he added, "Only a handful." He pulled a wad of bills from his pocket. "For the clothes you bought me."

"Keep it. You have no concept of what it means to be a guest," I mimicked.

His mouth flattened into a scowl. "I didn't mean you had to do the same for me."

"So, you could stay long-term if you had to?"

"Yes, but I would have to give up my horse, and I really don't want to." So, that was how Aeas got around. He flew. "He stays in the back yard. But, don't worry," Aeas a.s.sured me, "he's under strict orders to relieve himself in the field outside of town."

I snorted. There was an invisible, winged horse living in my back yard. Could my life get any weirder? "I wondered why there were hoof prints in the alley."

"I hope your dad didn't notice."

"The horse takes messages to your family?"

He shook his head and thumbed through the music. "Eudora. I couldn't tell my parents I was banished. It would shame them."

"You think Theron will call tonight?" I asked.

"I expect him to give you the task soon. I hope he'll call." What he meant was, he hoped Theron wouldn't visit, which explained why Aeas camped out on my floor instead of watching high definition television at his apartment. Theron was p.r.o.ne to violence against mortals at any provocation, and I'd just made myself target number one.

Having Aeas on the floor by the closet did make me feel safer, but I tossed and turned until two a.m. before sinking into deep sleep. I heard voices in my dreams; one I had been aching to hear for weeks.

"Figured I'd find you here," he said. "Made yourself right at home, didn't you?"

"If you're accusing me, speak plainly," Aeas replied. Then he added, "You look like you've been to Hades and back."

"I'm fine," was the muttered reply.

"When was the last time you slept?" There was a pause, then the exclamation, "Judge of Olympus!" Aeas exclaimed. "You have it, too!"

"I'm fine. But you can't get enough of her, can you?" He made no effort to hide the jealousy in his voice.

"I want to go home." Aeas's reply was just as angry. "And I don't want her to die because of you."

"She won't die." Eros scoffed. "It was just a little dust."

Eros!

Suddenly wide awake, I scrambled out of bed.

"See for yourself," Aeas whispered.

"Aeas!" I felt around the room frantically. "Aeas!"

"Here." He appeared in the far corner. He stood rigid, fists balled and shoulders tight.

I grabbed handfuls of his s.h.i.+rt. "I heard... Is he here?" I sounded hysterical, but I couldn't help it.

"You were dreaming."

"No, I heard you talking." That voice pulled me out of my dreams. I didn't imagine it.

Aeas's expression hardened, and he peeled my hands off his s.h.i.+rt. "I was on the phone," he said finally, "with Rory."

"But I was sure..."

He shook his head.

Grief stole my strength. I stumbled back. My legs refused to hold me. Aeas made no effort to catch me as I slid to the floor against the wall. I clutched my belly and waited for the nausea to pa.s.s. "Did Theron call?"

"He sent a text. You're to meet him at nine o'clock. Local address."

"What time is it?"

"Almost eight-thirty," he replied.

I pushed myself off the floor. "I'll change. Wait in the hallway."

"You're going to undress in here?" Aeas asked as I pushed him out the door.

"It is my bedroom."

He tried to claw back through the doorway. "I think the bathroom would be better."

"Just wait out there." I pushed his hands off the doorjamb, then closed the door in his face. The dream seemed so real. I thought I smelled cinnamon in the air. Echoes of Eros's voice floated through my mind, jealous of Aeas. If only that were true. If only he were driven to fight for me. But there I was-dreaming again.

With Aeas in my room I slept fully dressed. I stripped off my T-s.h.i.+rt and flannel pants, then stood in front of the mirror in a bra and panties revealing what I hid under my clothes. My hips were all bones and no meat. There were deep dips above my collarbones, and every rib showed. Blair would be thrilled that I now had the skeletal build to work runway in earnest. Too bad I was never going back.

My face, too, showed the strain. My skin was paler, not an attractive translucent tone, just stark. Dark circles swept from the bridge of my nose past the center of my eyes. Gone was the healthy summer glow. I turned away and pulled on clean clothes.

Theron today, another task tomorrow.

"We have another problem," Aeas said when I opened the door. "I found these on your dad's dresser." He scowled at the window and placed a stack of pamphlets into my hand. They were hospital brochures from specialty centers around the country. One treated eating disorders, another specialized in post-traumatic stress disorder. They ran the spectrum all the way to schizophrenia.

"He's planning to send me away, but he doesn't know where."

"It would seem that way."

"If I'm locked up, I can't complete the tasks."

"Get better," Aeas answered flatly.

I pulled on my coat and pocketed my phone. "Yeah, I'll get right on that one."

The address took me to a two-story Tudor home with steep rooflines. A real estate sign in the front yard boasted "SOLD" in red across the bottom, but the information box was still hanging on the back. I crossed the gra.s.s and pulled out one of the brochures. The home sat on three lots and contained six bedrooms and four baths. The asking price was just under a million dollars.

The front door was slightly ajar, and entering put me into the two-story great room with a stone fireplace climbing one wall. Sunlight s.h.i.+mmered amber across the wood floor.

"Theron?" My voice echoed through the empty s.p.a.ce.

I stepped lightly toward the kitchen. This had all the makings of a trap. I was walking right into a beast's lair, but I needed that second task.

Theron appeared on the other side of the bar leaning against the counter. He considered me a moment then said, "Follow me."