“I—”
“What can I call you?” I’m scrambling and not even elegantly, but if I give them time to think too hard, they might decide on Plan B. I have a feeling Plan B is a violent, bloody death.
Another hesitation. “You can call me M,” they finally say reluctantly.
M. Probably a first initial. Odysseus would think he’s rather clever to have others doing his dirty work, which means this is no random person picked up from the upper city warehouse district. They smell clean, too, like mint and eucalyptus. No, this is someone who would be called by the legacy families or the Thirteen, which means they’re one of Athena’s knives in the dark. Ares’s people are more security and soldiers.
On impulse, I reach up and clasp their forearm. They’re wearing long sleeves but I can feel the ragged scars beneath. Which means it can only be one person. Or, rather, it’s a reasonable assumption that Athena would send her best.
Medusa.
Fuck.
I’m not getting out of this alive.
I close my eyes and take a slow breath. No one escapes Medusa. She’s become something of an urban legend in Olympus. Some years ago, the last Poseidon tried to make her his mistress, despite the fact that she reportedly wasn’t interested in the job. He took it poorly and there was an attack, but she fought her way free and threw herself upon Athena’s mercy, such as it is. Or perhaps Athena intervened. The details are a little fuzzy. Athena, being Athena, wasn’t one to ignore a wonderfully made tool to add to her arsenal. Since then, it’s said that the only time people see Medusa is when she’s the last thing they see.
It’s obviously a rumor designed to bolster Athena’s reputation, but I can’t shake the suddenly feeing that I most certainly don’t want to see Medusa. “Blindfold me,” I repeat. “Please.”
“Close your eyes,” she finally says.
I obey. I don’t dare do anything else. “I am.”
Slowly, oh so slowly, her hands lift from my eyes. The temptation to look at her is nearly overwhelming, but I manage to wrestle down the urge. A few moments later, a cloth comes down around my eyes. I can’t tell exactly what it is, but it hugs my face tightly enough that no light gets through. I gingerly lift my hands to it. Cotton. A face mask folded up? “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. Not with what I’m here for.”
To kill me.
I make myself smile. “Yes, well, you haven’t done it yet, so thank you all the same.”
“I will.”
Does she realize how doubtful she sounds? It’s practically an invitation to dissuade her. Or perhaps that’s wishful thinking on my part, but I’m good at people and I’m a survivor. Even in this less-than-ideal situation, I can’t stop my instinct to find her fault lines and exploit them. “Do you often kill mistresses of powerful men?”
“You’re my first.”
I carefully lean back against my dresser. Impossible to say what her sexual inclinations are—that’s one thing rumor never speculates—but there’s no harm in testing the waters. I arch my back a little, letting my robe part farther, and am rewarded with a sharp little inhale. “Do you like women, M?”
“What? I... Um… Do you?” She sounds flustered, which I should not find charming, but I somehow do.
“I don’t have preferences when it comes to gender. Beauty is beauty.”
She clears her throat. “I’m not beautiful.”
“That’s not really for you to say.” I don’t know what she looks like, but that doesn’t matter. Not for this. “You’re strong. You’re clever. You’re ruthless. Those things are beautiful.”
“Really?” She manages to regain enough control to sound suspect. “Because the entirety of Olympus would beg to differ when it comes to standards of beauty.”
“The entirety of Olympus is far too shallow when it comes to image.” I shrug. My robe slips off that shoulder. At this point, it’s more garnish than covering. “They don’t think too fondly of me, either.” Too fat. Too bold and unwilling to play the game of virtue. Too strong of features. “Do you know that Odysseus offered to get me a nose job?”
“Fuck him. Your nose is perfect.” She seems to realize how forceful she sounds and makes a blatant attempt to dial it back. “No one could look at you and find you anything less than perfect.”
Oh yes, she likes women. Or at least she’s not immune to my charms, which is a shaky foundation but it’s not nothing. I smile slowly. I’ve dealt with worse odds and come out on top. “I realize this is a little unconventional, but I have a last request.”
A pause. She’s not moving, as best I can tell, but I haven’t actually heard her move to date. She’s as silent as a cat. Finally, she says, “That’s not really how this works.”
“Oh?” I cock my head to the side. “Do you often blindfold your victims and then have conversations with them?”