Hades Ain't Got Nothing on Us

Ch. 7 - The Smoking Bromeliad

There was one place Rob knew he could find Sephy alone. He never intended to use the location where Sephy spent most afternoons, but it was an understatement to say that it was critical he speak to her in private.

Rob had never been to Topanga State Park, but he could certainly see its appeal. He didn't know exactly which part of the vast landscape she frequented, but he swore to search every inch of the park until he found her.

He stood in the purple and yellow wildflowers which peppered the sides of the trail, examining the verdurous pastures and canyons nestled in the valleys for any sign of Sephy. Spotting tiny caves on the mountainsides, Rob's vow was becoming increasingly daunting. The possibilities of her location were endless, and if she was a goddess, she could venture places where the journey alone would probably kill him. He hoped that the hawks flying overhead would magically lead him to her, but they only traveled in circles.

He pushed forward, into drier lands and higher altitudes. The deer that grazed next to the trail were replaced with prowling mountain lions in the distance. Besides the occasional lizard, he was the only living being around. There were no more wildflowers, only dry brush. The prolific meadows were lost to the mountaintop, desiccated into endless fields of yellow and brown chaparral. The trail was wide, but rocky and difficult to walk without sand to cushion his feet.

Further up the road, so far from his starting point that he was unsure if he'd reached Mexico, he heard a faint symphony of birds chirping. The warbling guided him on a seldom-trodden tributary from the main trail. Over a hill and into an obscure sector of the park, an array of purples and pinks came into view. The colors pulsated over a belt of sparkling greens which floated over the yellow grass. He waded through the undergrowth in its direction, feeling the crackling of the brush under his feet.

The colors were no result of atmospheric conditions. It was a wall of exotic bromeliads that he had spotted, and they were rapidly multiplying and changing colors. The birds rustled and tweeted under the oversized viridescent leaves.

She had to be nearby.

"Sephy?"

Suddenly the vivid flowers turned black, revealing Sephy's silhouette. Dozens of sparrows fled the formerly lush garden, as if Rob's voice was a bullet he'd shot into the air. The black mass, turned to dust, blew away in the wind and fell from the wings of the birds.

Sephy did not turn. She was looking at the floor, murmuring to herself like an actor rehearsing his lines off stage. When she removed her ear buds, Rob recognized the artist immediately. It was Jeff Buckley.

"How long were you standing there?" she asked.

"Long enough to confirm what I already suspected."

"What's that?"

"Your name. It's Persephone."

Worry struck Sephy's face and she finally turned to face Rob. His expression was petrified. He knew she could unleash the wrath of a goddess on him, or if she wanted to play it safe, she could simply have him committed. Worse, she could deny the whole thing and disappear forever. Rob feared he had read her mind, because Sephy merely scoffed and looked toward the sky.

With her chin down again, Sephy miraculously laughed to herself and closed her eyes. She had a single question to ask.

"What gave us away?"

Rob heaved a sigh.

"The Getty Villa."

"We'd hoped if we were out of sight, we'd be out of mind."