Love or Fate by Clea Hantman Page A

Don’t get me wrong, you are good-looking, but that getup? No, no, I don’t believe you.”
    “Really, I am!” But it was no use.
    “Still, I think I can find something for you to do for me.”
    Apollo was scared to ask. “What, exactly?”
    “If you give me a single kiss, I think I may be able to tell you where you can find a silly old Witch Tart.”
    “A single kiss?”
    “Yes, a single one. On the lips.”
    Apollo knew better than to make deals with witches, and as harmless as a single kiss on the lips sounded, he knew it could be very dangerous. Still, this was Thalia’s life at stake. Plus her sisters’ and possibly his own. He had to find a Witch Tart, pronto, and this might be his only chance.
    He looked into the eyes of the young witch. They were jet black and cold as ice. But as he got closer, he could swear he saw a figure, a shadow, really, dancing a little jig in each pupil. It scared him a bit; he shut his own eyes so as not to see and planted a dry kiss on the young witch’s lips.
    Apollo stepped back and opened his eyes, and then he gasped. The woman before him was no longer a young and beautiful witch—she was decrepit and old. Her long fair hair had turned a dirt brown color, and it was dry and frizzy on the ends. Her pale silk gown was now tattered and torn and bulging in places a gown shouldn’t bulge.
    Apollo didn’t understand. He took a step back. And another.
    “Don’t go away so fast, young man. You said you were looking for a Secret Society Witch Tart. Well, you have found one. Now, why would you want such a creature in your midst?”
    “Are you really a Witch Tart?” asked Apollo.
    “I am more real than you. Apollo, did you say it was?”
    “But I am Apollo—I really am. This body, well, it’s from the future; that’s why it looks so odd to you. It’s simply a disguise.”
    “Hmmm, yes.” But it was obvious she didn’t believe him. She giggled.
    Then she stopped abruptly. “What is it you want, young man?”
    “I must contact the Fates.”
    “Well, if you are the great and powerful Apollo, you do not need a lowly old witch, Secret Society or not, to do that.”
    “Yes, but see, like I told you, I am without my powers right now.”
    “So you said. Hmmm. No. I do not do favors for silly clowns or ridiculously dressed mortals.”
    “But I am neither. Please, you are my only hope. I must contact the Fates. I need their help on a most dire matter.”
    “And what is that?”
    “Well, it’s a rather long story, but suffice it to say that my true love, Thalia, and two of her sisters are trapped here in Tartarus and I must get them out.”
    “No one leaves Tartarus, you fool. Besides, I heard from a recently dead arrival that Thalia wants nothing to do with the god Apollo. You really must keep up with the godly gossip if you’re going to walk around claiming to be one of the gods!”
    “With all due respect, Madam Witch Tart, Thalia does indeed want something to do with me, or at least I am fairly certain that she does. Now, please, call on the Fates for me.”
    “No,” said the witch.
    “Please!” said Apollo.
    “I’ll tell you what,” said the witch.
    “Yes, please,” begged Apollo.
    “No matter who you are, I shall call on the Fates for you—”
    “Oh, thank you, thank you,” cried Apollo.
    “Wait! I was not finished. Under one condition.”
    “Of course, name it!” exclaimed Apollo.
    “You must bring me a three-ounce vial of Cerberus’s slobber!”
    “The three-headed dog?”
    “That is the one!” said the witch.
    “But that’s all the way back at the gates! I’m up against a clock here. Don’t you have a quicker job, perhaps?”
    “No, that is the condition. I need a few drops of it for a spell. Get the slobber and I will command the attentions of the Fates. Fail and you’re on your own.”
    “Fine. I will get you the slobber. But you better hold up your end of the bargain,” said Apollo.
    “And remember,” said the witch,