Kicking It(79)

“Been here almost a year.”

“Seems like they’d have you in the VIP room by now. Bet the tips are better back there.”

He studied me. “That what you’re angling for? I wouldn’t hold your breath. It’s based on seniority, and sister, you just got here.”

I gave him a cheeky grin, less effective since I wasn’t showing much actual cheek . . . not the kind most guys were interested in, anyway. “Honey, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve got at least five years on most of these girls. I get much more senior in this biz and they’ll put me out to pasture. I don’t have time to wait my turn.”

Tonio did smile at that and gave me a really good once-over. Up, down, and back to my face. I’d been told by an ex-boyfriend once that I was “good enough for television,” which in La La Land was like saying I had a great personality. Kickboxing classes and wrestling with Latter-Day Olympians had kept me in shape, but I wouldn’t be winning any wet T-shirt contests, let alone pageants. “Honey,” he said back to me, “don’t sell yourself short. I didn’t ask, so you don’t tell. You can pass for a twentysomething. Hell, I’d give you a tumble if you were my type.”

“You’d be on,” I answered, because he’d about made my day. “So, no advice for moving on up?”

“Keep the customers happy and don’t step on any more toes.”

“Oh, you noticed that, huh?”

I’d accidentally mashed Mr. Musk’s toes beneath my stiletto heels when he startled me by grabbing for something other than his drink one time too many. It would have been hard for anyone to miss the shriek he’d let out, but I’d been hoping. I was lucky not to have been fired on the spot.

“Don’t worry, hon. I’m sure he deserved it.”

That was that. But I had no intention of working my way up the company ladder. One way or another, I was getting behind the scenes tonight.

It was killing me not knowing what was going on back there, not knowing whether Gareth was okay . . . or Apollo . . . So when I felt that first spike of apprehension from him, I was ready to go. I handed my tray off to Stacy, another of the waitresses, and promised she could keep my tips if she’d look after my tables. I blamed feminine issues. She huffed, but didn’t turn me down, and as soon as I was free, I struggled to walk rather than run toward the invitation-only area at the back.

Red, of course, blocked my way. I stared straight into his eyes, gave him the gorgon glare, and put my force of will behind it, ordering, “Freeze.”

He stiffened, and I waved a hand in front of him to be sure it had taken. When he didn’t so much as blink, I stepped around him, my inner alarm klaxons blaring so loudly I could barely hear myself think. Like I didn’t know danger lurked behind that curtain. Steeling myself to push past the adrenaline-fueled fear that wanted to flood my system, I lifted the curtain to slip into the inner sanctum . . . right into the clutches of Ariana Weaver.

What use was an alarm, Apollo would ask me, if I didn’t heed it? A good question. One I hoped to live long enough to explore.

I stared into Ariana’s shades, hoping I’d be able to see the eyes behind them, but as far as I could tell, they were black holes. I knew I’d have no luck getting through to her, not unless I could knock her glasses askew, but she was holding me by the upper arms, and grinning, her lips curled up strangely to reveal fangs. Fangs. I’d never been agog before in my life, but this would probably qualify.

“Welcome to my Parlor, said the spider to the fly,” she crooned, and pincers came out of the sides of her mouth, explaining the strange curl. They clashed ominously and everything fell into place.

The Parlor. The bustle gown, all the better to hide an extended thorax. The dark glasses . . . If I knocked them off, I suddenly knew I’d find multifaceted eyes—spider’s eyes. Ariana Weaver . . . Arachne? Here? I’d expect maybe a dark cave somewhere, but L.A.? Of course, she was looking surprisingly human these days. The gods’ power had faded so much when their worship had waned . . . Maybe the transformative magic that had made her into a monster was waning as well. It would explain so much. But not what had become of the missing men. Had she spun them up in her web? Made a meal of them? Was that why there’d been nothing left to find?

“I’m no fly,” I told her, trying out my bravado. Inside, though, I was quaking. Of all the ways I didn’t want to die, becoming a monster’s meal was probably at the top of the list.

“No, you aren’t, at that. I saw what you did to Red. I have eyes everywhere, my dear. Eyes in the back of my head . . . or mounted on my walls. It’s all the same. I’ve never had gorgon get. It will be a new experience for me.”