My Date From Hell (The Blooming Goddess Trilogy, #2)

Hipster decoder ring and other godly toys (Part 2)

I stepped onto the hammered aluminum platform attached to the screen and froze. Embossed in the frame under the large monitor were the letters "FeE."

I glanced over at Festos, watching me with a puzzled frown, and the penny dropped. Holy crap! This was the guy who'd created the torture machine, the manacles, and who knew what other nefarious devices. Heart racing, I jumped off the machine and bolted for the door.

Which, of course, was locked with several deadbolts. Despite my speedy unlocking and several blasts, Festos managed to cross the room and press the tip of his cane against the door, holding it firmly shut.

He was freakishly strong.

No way was I getting on that death trap. I spun, called out my vines, wrapped one around his right ankle and flung him across the room.

Then I reached for the door and—

Screamed and jumped away as a blob of molten lava blasted past beside my head, sealing the door's hinges.

"You better hope that was some kind of brain tumor impairing your judgement," Festos said from behind me, "otherwise I am going to be so pissed."

I turned to face him, hands up, placating. "I'm really sorry. Let me go and we'll pretend I was never here." I pressed myself into the wall as he came toward me, using his cane to support his weight.

He stopped about a foot away and took in my wide eyes and shallow breathing. "Why are you so terrified? What exactly did Prometheus say?"

He sounded extremely angry.

"Nothing. I swear."

He glowered harder.

"Really. It's just ... you're the Fee guy," I babbled.

His anger turned to confusion. "Fee?"

I pointed at the dance machine. "Capital F small e capital E. Fee. Maker of Zeus' torture device and the ..." my voice wobbled, "cuffs."

The last thing I expected him to do was sigh heavily. "Yeah. That's me. But you're pronouncing it wrong. It's not Fee. It's Irony."

I relaxed a fraction because he didn't look like he was going to hurt me. And I was confused and wanted to know more.

Festos gestured as he spoke. "'Fe.' For both Festos and the symbol for iron, my favored material. 'E' for excellent. Put them together, you get irony." He looked up and I finally saw he was really distraught. "The irony being that I am so excellent at making things so awful. Generally under threat of death, I'd like to add." He blinked back to attention. "But this puppy?" He waved his cane over the dance machine. "A pet project. All good. I swear."

Something in his expression convinced me. I believed him, in part because I figured Theo must have known what he invented and still sent me here.

I let Festos lead me over to the dance machine and tape to my head a bunch of wires which ran down into the contraption. Truth be told, I was sort of impressed with him. It had to have taken wicked intelligence and skill to create these things. Perhaps a dash of sociopathy, but I was willing to chalk that up to his client Zeus. For now.

"So you're like the Acme Corporation of the gods?"

Festos laughed. "Lookie lookie. Persephone gets a sense of humor."

Not a fan? I loved this guy. "Call me Sophie."

"Well, Sophie," he stepped back from the machine and limped over to a desk holding a small fortune in the latest Apple technology. "Brace yourself. It's going to be quite the experience."

He sat down, winked, and hit a button.

The dance program began.

Fast, furious, and requiring all of my focus, it ran at a speed regular 'ole humans wouldn't be able to follow. Plus, get real. Those stupid "dancers" in the background onscreen were pulling moves impossible to mere mortals without wires and a team of visual effects artists. How was I supposed to keep up by stomping the correct foot on the correct pad?

I took my eyes from the screen for a nanosecond to glower at Festos, who was busy running this gongshow by redirecting dance moves in accordance with my brain wave patterns.

If trying to co-ordinate my brain and my feet at the speed of light wasn't zapping all my energy, I'd have been making very loud gagging noises in his direction. "This is stupid."

"Oh look, she's mastered the art of juvenile generalizations. Goody." Festos clapped his hands. Even his applause was sarcastic. "This," he continued, "is cutting edge technology, predicated on years of experimentation and study into how dance increases temporal and prefrontal activity to improve memory through the formation of new interconnections. And in my opinion, which is the only one that matters whenever you and I are in the same space, it's utterly wasted on you."

Note to self. Festos was mega touchy about his work. I veered right, barely nailing a move. My reward? A whack in the face from one of the wires taped to my head. Sweat dripped down the back of my neck but in the face of Festos' haughty disdain, I wasn't quitting until the program ended or my feet were bloody stumps.

"Brilliant," I said, gulping down air. "And don't tell me. You've also figured out how to cure cancer by playing Twister?" Front, back, back, left, right ...

Festos looked at the enormous monitor plugged into his laptop and frowned. "While I'm heartbroken you've forgotten such obviously important items such as your fashion sense, this is a colossal Waste. Of. My. Time."

"Hey" I replied, "don't let me keep you from such life-pressing tasks as updating your Genius playlist with obscure indie bands."

Festos snorted. I glanced over at him. He met my glower with a scowl. Despite the hostility, it was really a moment of kinship. By the grins both of us tried not to crack, we had recognized a kindred spirit.