My Evil Eye, page 3
“You mean… rare?” the waitress asks, lowering her head, trying to see my eyes.
“No, raw,” I say, quickly shaking my head. “Don’t cook it.”
“I’ll have what she’s having,” Cora says with a laugh. “A raw steak. Just serve it raw with some nice seasoning. With a Coke.”
The waitress opens her eyes wide. Then she just nods.
“Oh, I’ll have a Coke too,” I add as the waitress makes her way back to the kitchen.
“I love you, Gorgiana,” Cora says with a laugh. “You’re so freaky.”
3
LAYING LOW
I’m sitting on my rocking chair on the porch of my small one-story house. It’s dark and close to midnight. The only light is coming from a streetlight, but my beastie eyes are strong enough to read the book on my lap. Occasionally I catch a drunken kid laughing and stumbling by me on the sidewalk but, although I’m within walking distance of campus, this is a pretty private neighborhood. I’m alone and it’s after midnight. I’m laying low, like Cora told me to do. But I’m not about to just stay indoors.
Another college kid rides by on my sidewalk on his bike.
I’m reading a book called The Guy That Loved Me and Then Died. I like the title because it’s funny as hell. It’s about a spy and it’s got a bit of Cold War intrigue, and what makes it super funny is I don’t think it’s supposed to be funny—but I’m not sure. I think the title is a play on words from that old James Bond movie I also love, The Spy Who Loved Me. It’s an old book. I like all those James Bond flicks. I’m a bit of a movie buff, you know. I spend lots of Friday nights alone on my sofa with a blanket, eating microwave popcorn and watching VHS movies. I have lots of VHS movies. Some DVDs. Do you remember that rental movie place, Blockbuster? Shit, they knew me by name.
The MC, that means main character in heavy-reader lingo, who’s being followed by the spy, is now making love to the girl in the snowy woods after they slipped off a ski lift. I told you. Funny.
Here comes another guy riding a bike by my streetlamp. But this one stops on the sidewalk by the house. That’s weird. My nares flare and I sniff. He’s squinting toward me. He’s about fifteen yards from my porch. Very weird. And he’s walking right up to me. He smells familiar. He’s just squinting up into the darkness.
“Hey,” he says, his foot on the first step of the porch. “Is that you?”
I jump—not because I’m startled, but because I’ve learned over the centuries to act my part. A regular human girl being approached by a stranger while sitting alone on her dark porch, in the middle of the night, might jump too. Hey, it’s that cute guy I ditched, who was pretending not to know how to look up books in the library! What the hell?
“Hi,” I say.
“I didn’t mean to startle you. You live here?”
Uh, yeah.
“I ride by here all the time on my way to lectures,” he says.
“Hi.”
“What are you reading?” he asks. I can see that cute smile in the shadows.
“It’s a book titled The Guy That Loved Me and Then Died.”
He laughs. “Is it a comedy?”
“No, it’s funny because it isn’t.”
I like that I can look into his face in the darkness. I can look up at him like a “normal” human being. He’s got that blond hair thrown to the side, thoughtful, gentle eyes, with eyelashes that are almost feminine, but there’s nothing feminine about his chiseled jaw or broad shoulders. He’s got a little bit of stubble, which is adorable. He’s tall. If I were a normal girl, I’d be going nuts right now. But I’m not normal. Am I?
“Where’d you run off to that night?” He climbs to the third and last porch step. “You left before the library closed. They shut the whole place down. The library’s reopened now, but it was closed for days. I looked for you, but you never came back.”
“I had to use the bathroom.”
“Oh. You like what you’re reading?”
“Love it,” I say with a shrug, looking at my lap.
He’s fishing for a topic of conversation. Maybe he’s a spy for Imada? Imada is a secret organization run by the remnants of the gods of Olympus. And they detest Cora and me. He smiles again. Maybe he’s been following me? Maybe he’s seen that I live here. Or he has a crush on me? Could he have caught my gaze? My eyes can make some men feel as if the attraction is from me, not my Fugu. I still have to get rid of him. Especially now that he knows where I live.
In centuries past, I’d let a snake or two drop from the curls of my hair. It used to work better when people were more superstitious. Having two or three serpents scurrying in your hair used to scare the shit out of people. They’d think I was in league with the devil.
I could flash my green eyes? Perhaps make him think I’m a vampire by showing fangs? Of course, these days I like to rely on my thick, furry sweater, large fake glasses, unshaven arms, and unshowered smell to keep people away.
“Do you take classes at college?”
“Huh?” He’s still talking. Can you believe this? “I just work in the library.”
“Oh.”
He puts his hands in his pockets and looks very uncomfortable.
“I’m a sophomore,” he adds. “You look about my age. I thought you were a student working in the library to pay for school?”
“Not smart enough,” I lie. Maybe it’s not a lie? I don’t know. I never went to college.
“You look smart.”
“Thanks.”
“May I?” he asks, gesturing to a chair beside me.
No!
There are two rocking chairs on my patio beside the porch. He sits on the one closest to me.
I’m an idiot. I should have stayed indoors. Cora told me to lay low. But not being around people over the past few days was driving me crazy. What were the chances that the guy I saw in the library would come tonight?
I smell him. I’m not referring to his cologne. I’m talking about his phenome, his essence. It makes me clench my hand tightly. His maleness being this close makes me lust for him. Heat rises in my back, along my chest, and between my legs. Like I’m in heat. The lamia side of me even makes me lick my lips, and I feel my front incisors grow sharper. I’m ready to jump him right now. You like him too, don’t you?
Calm down, Gorgi!
When I lived in Sarpedon in ancient Greece, after I became a monster, if prey had been presented like this, it would have been all over for the man. I couldn’t control myself. I was a complete pervert, enjoying sex, using my powers of petrification, and giving in to every desire. It’s like how vampires like to suck the blood out of people. I wanted to throw men into a trance, fuck them, and then kill them. Thank Athena for that sick, perverted shit. But long ago, I stopped doing it to nice guys. After reflecting on what I was doing to good souls, I stopped. Except those committing rape. I’ve never stopped tearing rapists apart.
“Can you show me?”
“Show you what?” I ask, brushing my hair back.
I feel a little wiggly. Even in the dark, my snakes are coming out, being this close to a virile young man. And he’s acting coy, which is really bad, because that’s acting like prey.
“The book?” he asks, pointing to it.
“Oh.” I hand it to him.
He’s wearing a black button-down with a T-shirt and khaki slacks. It looks preppy. I’m thinking he went to a party. I smell a slight tinge of alcohol on his breath.
He looks at me and smiles. Then he loses his smile. Why? Shit! When I leaned forward to hand him the book, I was facing the streetlight. I think it reflected my eyes. Worse, they could have flickered green. I cover my eyes and look at the floor of my wooden deck.
“What’s the matter?” he asks, bending down.
“I have to go.” Like back into my house. Like away from this yummy guy. He should get the hint.
“Of course,” he says, standing up. He shakes his head, as if recovering his senses. He walks back to his bicycle.
“You want to borrow my book?” I blurt out.
I don’t know why the hell I asked him that, but it seemed like a nice thing to say to make up for my rudeness. He looks over, as confused as I am.
“You’re not done with it.”
“I… read a lot of books,” I say with a shrug. “I already read the ending. I can read the beginning later. A story’s a story, you know, and I don’t believe it matters whether you enjoy it the same way every time. Sometimes it’s better starting at the end. You can tell me if the beginning is worth reading.”
“You’re really weird,” he says with a chuckle.
Yes, I am.
“Okay,” he says.
What! Really?
With his youthful energy, he sprints back up the three steps of my deck and reaches for my book. “Sounds like a deal. I’ll check out your book right now, librarian. I’ll let you know if the beginning is worth reading.”
And there it is. That look. I’m looking down, but in my periphery, I see his face. It’s lust. Yep, I ensnared this guy that night with my eyes, and he’s hooked. I must have. That’s all. Fugu. I’m so stupid. Once a man is hooked it’s hard to shake him off. I was actually thinking he liked me or something.
“When will you be back to work?” he asks. “I can give it to you then.”
“I’m on extended leave. I’m not sure.”
“Oh… well, I know where you live.” Yeah, that’s not good. “I’ll come back and give it to you here.”
“Okay.”
“Hey, my name is Asher, by the way. What’s yours?”
“Gorgiana.”
“Georgiana?”
“No. Gorg, like gorgeous. Gorgiana.”
“Gorgiana,” he says slowly, as if tasting the name. He furrows his brow. “It’s pretty and…” Spine-tinglingly-weird?
“It’s my name,” I add with a shrug.
“I like it. I’ll see you soon, Gorgiana. After I start reading your book. It was a pleasure meeting you.”
“Bye, Asher.”
“Call me Ash. My friends call me Ash. And thanks for the book.”
I watch him get back on his bike.
“Ash, you know,” I holler, “you know the book’s ending kinda sucks.”
“I’ll let you know how it begins. Maybe the beginning’s better?”
“Maybe,” I say with a chuckle.
What a weird boy.
4
MEDUSA
I give it a week. Cora said lay low, but I can only take so many movie nights alone. I have to get back to seeing people, even if I don’t talk to anybody. I’ve been checking out the library from afar. It’s gone pretty much back to normal. Anyway, I’m a voracious reader. I want to check out a few more books to read at home.
It’s eight o’clock. That’s when my shift at the college university library begins. I don’t really need to work, you know. I’ve collected enough money over the years from my relics to not work for a century. I even have places here and there that only I know about where I buried gold bricks. I pick cemeteries because cemeteries are places people don’t like snooping around—except in the olden days when there were grave robbers. But now they have all these expensive security cameras. Anyway, I don’t see people bothering graveyards much anymore. Not to mention, I’m not an idiot. I bury it in multiple sites. But I still have to work because otherwise I might go completely crazy.
I walk through the sliding glass doors and head up the escalator to the main hall. Maryann, this sweet old woman, knows to leave my work on a cart for the evening. She collects books lying around and stacks them on my cart for me to shelve. As I stand on the escalator, I think about library catalogs. That makes me think of that guy again. Ash. Was it Fugu or was it me?
Stop nightdreaming, Medusa.
I hope it was me.
I suppose now is the time to remind you why I’m the most miserable wretch to walk this earth. I am famously more beautiful than the goddess Athena. Aha, that’s why she cursed me. Some say, though I’ve only caught a glimpse of her from a distance, that I’m cuter than Aphrodite. You believe that? Well, I am. I’m arguably even prettier than my good friend Persephone. At least Cora tells me so, because she’s nicer than hell. I can tell you one thing. If you stack me up before a bunch of super models, I’ll give them a run for their runway. And that’s with the wigglies roaming in my hair.
So, now that I’ve elevated myself in your eyes, let me ask you this. What if every guy in the world froze when I walked by? What if I could have any one I wanted, but couldn’t control my animal instinct and threatened to tear every guy apart? The thing about Medusa turning people to stone is complete bullshit. I mean, I can do that, but so what? That’s not the problem. Being a lamia is my problem. Even if he doesn’t fall into a trance, any handsome hunk that falls for me runs as fast as he can when he sees my hair thickening and turning full-on cobra. Can you blame him?
Then again, let’s consider the opposite extreme. Let’s say I were fertile and I could have a baby. I mean—what the fuck? A house full of kids? Really? I’m like a fucking lamia. Don’t you know what lamia are? They’re famous for eating babies. Gross. Anyway, some kid isn’t about to run into momma’s arms while her hair’s slithering—with fingernails sharp as knives and bleeding fangs, looking like a total fucking Nosferatu. I mean, really.
So I’m wretched and alone. You get it. That’s why I talk to you.
Giggles.
Hey, what do you know, I’ve got a note on my stack of books. It’s my boss, Charlie.
* * *
I’m still here, Gorgiana. When you get in, please come by my office. We need to talk.
* * *
Am I getting canned? He’s never, ever here late. That’s one of the perks of my job. I think the last time I saw my boss was four years ago.
So I walk over to a bunch of glass offices beside the main library hall. One of these is his office, and I see him through the window, sifting through paperwork at his desk. I knock on the glass. The door’s unlocked.
“Hi, Gorgiana.”
He’s in a button-down and slacks. It’s supposed to be formal, but he looks sloppy, with dark unkempt hair.
I yawn and excuse myself. Charlie’s office really sucks. He has no privacy; all the students can watch him at all times. Then again, watching students is probably part of his job.
“Hi, Charlie,” I say, readjusting my spectacles and looking down.
“Gorgiana, how are you?”
I shrug.
“There was an incident on campus during your shift last week. Did you hear about it? The authorities are asking to talk to all the employees who were here that day. Do you know what happened?”
“I heard a student died.”
Charlie loses color for a moment. Then he flashes me a very ingenuine grin. “The poor kid was torn up. Yes, Gorgiana, he died. I’ve never heard of such a thing in my life. His body was dismembered. The police are coming tonight to talk to people who weren’t already questioned. They want to talk to you.”
“I’d rather not. Can’t I just fill out a written report?”
“They need to talk to you in person.”
“I don’t like talking in person.”
“I know. But you have to.”
“I’d rather not.”
“I know you’re shy. But you have to.”
“Okay. Fine.”
“Tell me this…” He leans forward and steeples his hands, running his fingertips along his lips. My gaze creeps up just a tad. “Why weren’t you here that night when they were questioning us? I didn’t know how to answer that. I’ve never seen you miss your shift.”
“I had a family emergency.”
“That’s why you’ve been away?”
I nod. And he believes it because, when you really think about it, I’ve been laying low for the past three decades. I’m not suspicious. I’m mundane.
I jump at the sound of a commotion behind the glass windows. What the hell? About ten men in black suits and sunglasses are moving up the escalator. The commotion isn’t from them; the agents are stone silent. It’s from all the students still studying for finals, turning their heads and murmuring to one another. It’s as if the president of the United States has decided to visit the library and this is his cavalcade of Secret Service agents. One of them, this large broad-shouldered dick who’s bald and has a goatee, is walking in the center. He’s the only one without shades. I know him well. I loathe him. His name is Hades. Nowadays he’s called Orcus. “Orcus” means death. Like killer whale. “Orca.” Get it? Orcus totally fits him.
I like killer whales by the way. They’re fierce predators, even better than great white sharks. Love great whites too. I swam with a great white shark once. You want to wager on who won? Well, talking to you about deadly marine predators is a fantastic distraction from the more pressing situation at hand. Hades is also a leader in the Central Intelligence Agency. Once, though Cora wishes to forget, Hades was Cora’s husband. The brute’s a lot of things. But right now, he means just one thing to me. Trouble.
“Medusa…”
Hades whispers the word as he walks in the center of his cavalcade. The guards probably don’t even hear him, but he knows I do.
“Medusa. Don’t scurry off like the capricious slithery snake you are. You’re better off talking.”
“I have to go,” I say to Charlie.
But he’s not listening. He’s staring at the black suits too. “They’re here again,” he says, shaking his head.
“Medusa…”
I’m running. I have no interest in listening to this asshole. I’ve been working at the library for over twenty-five years. I’m not going to lose this gig.
Having worked here so long, I know every turn and every corridor of the library. I think Hades saw me run, but I don’t turn back to look. And I try to drown out his stupid voice by listening to as many students as I can. But he keeps whispering:
“Medusa…”
