Authors: Amber Benson
Jarvis was quiet, his dark eyebrows knitting together in consternation. I could tell by the look on his face he was having a hard time deciding how much information to divulge. This response was the opposite of how Jarvis usually handled info—he loved to lecture, it was his raison d’être—so I knew there was something naughty he was gonna try and hide from me.
This is going to be interesting,
I thought curiously.
“Well, uh, you see, Calliope, the reasoning behind the masks is, well …” He struggled with his words, not an everyday occurrence, and I relished it.
“Yes, Jarvis?” I said, baiting him.
He gritted his teeth, his jaw tightening.
“One word, Death,” a feminine voice purred.
“Ritual.”
Jarvis stopped stammering, foisting a nasty glare on Morrigan, who’d sidled in between us, her emerald green dress
almost black in the candlelight setting off the pale smoothness of her skin. Unlike the rest of the crowd, she wasn’t wearing her mask.
“Ritual?” I asked.
Jarvis closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable.
“In the old days, All Hallows’ Eve ‘Eve’ was a Bacchanal, where the Gods and their human supplicants came together in honor of creation, an appeasement to the Mother Goddess,” she said matter-of-factly, “so they could be assured their magic would be returned to them on All Saints’ Day.”
“You used the words ‘supplicant’ and ‘appeasement,’” I said. “Are you talking, like. human sacrifice stuff?”
Morrigan’s laugh was throaty and mellifluous.
“Nothing so trite, Calliope,” she replied. “Fucking. Lots and lots of fucking.”
I was taken aback, not prepared for her answer. Next to me, Jarvis sank down into his shoes, embarrassed … or maybe there was something more to it than that.
“Jarvis, you should share your history with Calliope,” Morrigan purred, enjoying Jarvis’s discomfort immensely. My Executive Assistant blanched, his normally tan face white and pinched.
Morrigan was harassing Jarvis on purpose, putting him on the spot because she knew something personal about him that he didn’t want to have to divulge to me. Now, normally I would’ve been annoyed with Jarvis for withholding pertinent information, but I didn’t like how Morrigan was railroading him, and my annoyance at being left in the dark again was forgotten in the wake of all the defensive feelings she’d roused in me on my Executive Assistant’s behalf.
In this world, only
I
was allowed to tease and/or torment Jarvis—not this haughty red-haired bitch. She wasn’t more than an inch or two taller than me, so I figured I could take her in a fight.
“Well, thanks for the info, Mortimer,” I said, taking a step closer to the Celtic Goddess, so I was pretty much invading her personal space. “But I think you best move the show along before
I
say something
you
regret.”
Morrigan stared at me, openmouthed, and I couldn’t tell if her shock came from my bluntness or from the fact I’d just
called her Mortimer. For a minute, it seemed as if she was going to attack me, but then her entire countenance changed and she visibly shrank away from me.
Score for the Reaper-Jones team!
I thought happily, but my self-congratulatory pat on the back was cut short by the realization that I wasn’t the one responsible for the redhead’s change in demeanor. As I followed her gaze, I saw that Morrigan’s eyes were locked on a tall, statuesque woman moving quickly toward us through the crowd, her patrician face, high cheekbones, and short dark hair making her look like approaching Byzantine royalty. She was holding a golden horse mask in her right hand, obviously having just taken it off.
“Morrigan, darling, you haven’t introduced me to your friend,” the woman said as she joined the huddle, taking Morrigan’s arm and giving it a loving but firm “warning” squeeze.
The tension in the air was palpable, but the new woman ignored it, not waiting for Morrigan to introduce us, but holding out her hand for me to take.
“I’m Caoimhe O’ Donoghue,” she said, a crackling
snap
of electricity flowing between us as I grasped her hand. Her grip was solid, her fingers warm to the touch as we engaged in a very traditional handshake, but I got the sense that, for her, this was something more.
“Calliope Reaper-Jones,” I said when she finally released my hand—an action I had to initiate. She seemed so loath to let my hand go that, frankly, I wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d decided to take it with her as a prize.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” Caoimhe said as she begrudgingly returned to Morrigan’s side. To my surprise, her eyes were moist with emotion, her smile wavering.
“Nice to finally meet you, too,” I replied, not sure who the hell the woman was, but not wanting to hurt her feelings.
“Time to go, Caoimhe,” Morrigan said as she tried to maneuver the other woman out of my orbit.
“You’re just …
you’re lovely
,” Caoimhe said, the words pouring from her mouth as if she couldn’t contain them.
It wasn’t very often I got a compliment, but I’d learned from Jarvis that the polite thing was to just say thank you. So I did.
“Thank you,” I replied, embarrassed.
“Let’s go,” Morrigan said as she physically had to drag the other woman away.
“Bye, Mortimer!” I called out after them, unable to stop myself from throwing one more potshot at Morrigan’s retreating back.
“What the hell was that all about?” I asked as the two women finally disappeared into the crowd.
“I haven’t the faintest,” Jarvis said, his shoulders loosening. Out from under Morrigan’s thumb again, he had started to relax.
“Bullshit,” I said, but Jarvis didn’t take the bait.
“Okay, whatever,” I said, annoyed that Jarvis was stonewalling me.
I knew the redhead had hit a nerve because he’d been so strangely silent during the exchange, his lips pursed unhappily. But even after I’d defended him against a marauding party, he was still choosing not to elaborate—so whatever the Goddess had on him must’ve been big.
“If you don’t want to share, don’t worry about it,” I continued, coy now. “I’ll just ask Naapi to explain.”
I started to scan the crowd for the Vice-President of North America, knowing it was gonna be hard to pick him out of the crowd, the sea of masks dissolving all individuality.
“No, don’t!” Jarvis said, grabbing my arm. “Morrigan may have been blunt, but she wasn’t wrong. The Bacchanal was real … is
still
real.”
That got my attention.
“Still real?” I asked, warming to the subject. Jarvis didn’t want to elaborate, that was more than apparent, but he’d already moved past the failsafe point in the conversation, so there was no going back.
“The Bacchanal is how many of the half-breeds are created …” Jarvis said, trailing off. “It is how I was conceived.”
Jarvis looked down at his feet, shame dark in his eyes.
“Jarvis, I didn’t mean—”
He waved me away, his voice low.
“It’s nothing.”
But he was lying. This was obviously a big deal to the ex-faun, something he didn’t want to share with the world, but
was now being forced to do by the bitterness of Morrigan’s wrath.
I decided to change the subject, or at least, change the thrust of the conversation.
“So, it still happens, the Bacchanal?”
Jarvis, relieved I wasn’t going to pin him to the wall and watch him wriggle, nodded his head.
“The masks keep one’s identity a secret, so all are equal on this night. Couplings between Gods, humans, and supernatural creatures are encouraged.”
I looked around, noticing for the first time that couples seemed to be pairing off and leaving the dance floor, their masks keeping the hookup totally anonymous.
“Are they going off to have
sex
?” I sputtered, starting to understand for the first time why Jarvis and I were maskless, why Runt hadn’t wanted to go off and “have fun,” but instead was sticking to my side like glue.
Jarvis perked up, smelling blood in the water.
“Shall I get you a mask then, Miss Calliope?” he sang, enjoying my unease, milking it for all it was worth.
“Shut up,” I seethed.
“But don’t you want to have anonymous sex with a stranger?” Jarvis said, his eyes brimming over with glee.
“No, I do not—” I shot back.
“But you really seemed to want one of those lovely golden masks—”
I took the opportunity to punch Jarvis in the shoulder, hard.
“You win,” I growled. “So shut up now.”
The night had soured on me, the beauty of the cave and its glorious artwork tainted by all the crazy sex I imagined people having in the shadowy corners and hidden nooks. The candles weren’t just for ambience; their flickering incandescence was being used as a tool to keep the sex stuff secret, and the music I’d been enjoying was only a cover-up for all the grunting and grinding.
Ugh … so
not
my cup of
tea.
“How long do we have to stay here?” I asked, feeling kind of dirty just being in the cave. I wasn’t a prude—far from it—but orgies were
not
in my repertoire.
“Eleven fifteen is the earliest we can get away with departing,” Jarvis replied, the look on his face telling me he was feeling just as skeevy about the evening as I was.
My mind was reeling, unable to focus on anything but the sex I knew was happening nearby. I wondered how my dad had dealt with this kind of thing—had he been repulsed by it or had he just accepted it as part of the job?
“This must’ve been weird for my dad,” I said. “Standing here all night, knowing what was going on around you.”
Jarvis got noticeably uncomfortable.
“It was a part of your father’s job.”
Well, that’s no kind of an answer,
I thought to myself.
“Sure,” I said, not wanting to argue with Jarvis, but sensing once again there was more to the story than my Executive Assistant was willing to share with me. “What about you? You ever partake in the mass orgy?”
Jarvis shuddered, his distaste palpable.
“Never,” he said, a bite to his words. “I would never contribute to something this destructive.”
“How is it destructive?” I asked. “It just seems kind of gross and it’s definitely a repository for a ton of sexually transmitted diseases.”
“Like the Gods care about that,” Jarvis mumbled.
“Sure, they’re immortal, so it doesn’t really affect them,” I agreed. “But the humans and other creatures, they’re susceptible.”
“As I said before,” Jarvis repeated. “Like the Gods care.”
“So, explain to me the destructive part?”
Jarvis sighed, looking down at Runt. He must’ve decided the pup had already heard too much naughty stuff, so what was the point in stopping now.
“The offspring born of this night, they never know who their true fathers are.”
This problem hadn’t occurred to me before, but when Jarvis voiced it, it made sense. Especially when I remembered that Jarvis himself was a member of this fatherless club. I may not have loved everything about my parents, but at least I knew they were my parents.
“You never met your father?” I asked, not wanting to press, but also curious to learn more about my Executive Assistant’s
upbringing. Jarvis knew everything about me while I knew absolutely nothing about him—and this was something I wanted to remedy.
“Never. I have no idea who he might be,” Jarvis said, a pained expression on his face.
“Maybe we could find out—” I started to say, but Jarvis cut me off.
“No. No meddling, Calliope Reaper-Jones. My life is perfectly fine as it is.”
I didn’t believe him, but he’d sounded so adamant, I wasn’t going to push it.
“All right, no meddling,” I said, trying to placate his ruffled feathers.
“Thank you.”
“What time is it anyway?” I asked, letting Jarvis off the hook. I was itching for eleven fifteen to arrive as quickly as possible.
“It’s not even ten yet.” Jarvis sighed, looking at his wristwatch.
Why is it when you want time to speed by, it’s as slow as molasses, but when you’re really enjoying something, it goes into overdrive, moving so fast the fun stuff is over before you even know it? Well, this party was going to be a molasses night and there was nothing I could do about it.
Daniel.
His name popped into my head, unbidden. Was he here now, having hot sex with someone—his date, Coy, possibly, or maybe a masked sex bomb he didn’t even know—right under my nose? Oh God, the idea made me sick to my stomach. To my horror, I couldn’t stop myself from looking around the cave, trying to catch sight of him in some secluded corner, pounding away.