Rise of the Blood by Lucienne Diver Page B

our fuschia-wrapped friends.
    “Beauty cult.”
    “Huh?”
    “You know, like the Back to Earth movement, only not. Less digging in the dirt and more miracle makeovers.”
    “O-kay,” he said, smiling.
    I huffed. “You know those sell-from-home cosmetic companies? They’re like legal pyramid schemes. You recruit ten people, and they recruit ten people… The cultish part comes in with the rules on how you should appear in public, because you’re always representing the brand. It’s not just a product, it’s a way of life…that sort of thing. Tina got drawn in a few years ago.”
    Nick rummaged in his bag and came up with a catalogue featuring a smiling woman in a faux fur wrap. “Oh, I see, very ominous,” he said.
    “Go ahead, laugh. But don’t come crying to me when you get suckered in by their manscaping gel or anti-aging aftershave.”
    “Seriously?”
    “Oh yeah. Spiro has a whole duffle bag full of product. At one point, I think he was going for customer of the year.”
    “How’d that work out for him?”
    “Well, he does have some pretty smooth skin. I think Jesus can attest to that.”
    Speaking of whom… “Chica, have you seen the stuff in here? Do you know what these samples are worth?”
    “No, why don’t you tell me in extreme detail.”
    “Sarcasm does not wear well on you,” he answered with a sniff.
    “Really? Do they have a cream for that?”
    “Don’t make me separate you two,” Nick cut in.
    Then it was our turn at the reception desk, where we were very efficiently set up with adjoining rooms.
    “Like I’m your child or something,” Jesus complained.
    “Heaven forefend,” Nick answered.
    The reception guy, thank goodness not another model of female perfection but a maître de sort of man with a mustache that looked anemic next to Yiayia and Fergus’s facial hair, gave us a map and a schedule along with our keycards. I glanced down at the schedule—production meeting, rehearsal, rehearsal dinner… Production meeting? Were they kidding? All told, it looked like they’d left us maybe an hour and a half to ourselves over the next few days.
    “Oh, and you’re expected to dress for dinner,” the reception guy said. “I’m sure they’ll explain everything in the meeting.”
    Dress…as opposed to undress? I was about to ask when Nick elbowed me as if he could read my mind. I stuck my tongue out at him, and Jesus looked mildly disgusted at my immaturity. I could live with that. I was on vacation and, anyway, Christos was the head of the PI firm again now that we’d sprung him from the crazy Back to Earth cult, so I didn’t have to be the big boss.
    And while I was reminded… “Has Christos Karacis checked in yet?” I asked the reception guy.
    He typed a few keystrokes into his computer and said, “Yes, would you like me to connect you to his room?”
    I told him I would and ended up leaving a message. He owed Apollo as much as I did…almost. He’d want to repay the debt, and considering that I had no idea exactly where to start my investigation, I could use all the help I could get. Normally, I’d start digging into the victim’s past, but when that comprised centuries and many of the tales had been lost or mutated by time and retellings…it was a tall order. I couldn’t begin with his routines and regular encounters, because he was away from all that here in Greece. He’d traveled from his present back into the land of his past.
    So, the past it was. I had at least two primary sources onsite—Hermes and Apollo himself. Yiayia could fill me in on everyone’s more modern escapades. And meanwhile, maybe I could get lists from Uncle Hector and from Tina on anyone involved with the productions, wedding or film. Because with my family, it was always a production.
    Fingers snapped before my face, and somebody grabbed my arm to steer me away from the reception desk.
    “Earth to Tori,” Nick said, as if maybe it wasn’t the first time. “Lunch?”
    “What? Oh,