Blood Hunt by Lucienne Diver Read Free Book Online Page B

just then. And buzzed. I had a call coming in. Had it been twenty minutes yet? Surely not.
    â€œSorry, I’ve got to take this,” I said, but I waited to see if she was going to take advantage of my distraction. Instead she nodded regally, granting permission.
    I didn’t trust it, but I didn’t want Jesus calling in the cavalry if I didn’t respond, at least not yet. I pulled the phone from my hip holster and swiped to accept the call.
    â€œChica,” he said, without even a hello, “you ask me to research the strangest stuff. I’m assuming you’re not talking about the video game character, but the Egyptian deity, yes?” He didn’t wait for my answer. “In brief, Neith is a warrior goddess and a goddess of domestic arts, weaving especially, which doesn’t all seem to fit together, but there it is. At least that’s how it all started. Later she seems to have gotten confused with Isis and became a protectress of the dead. She’s also known for being chaste.” He said that like it was a bad word, “which with the warrior goddess thing might be why she’s seen as some kind of corollary to Athena. Her fetish is two crossed swords on an animal skin or shield.”
    â€œOh,” I said, eyeing the insignia my attacker wore on her vest, “ that Neith.”
    â€œI can send you all the research.”
    â€œYes, please.”
    â€œYou sound funny. Do I need to call Detective Armani?”
    â€œNo, everything’s fine,” I said, hanging up once again.
    Neith and I stood eyeing each other. If she’d “heard of me” before, she knew who I was, probably knew I had gorgon blood running through my veins. Maybe that was even the reason for the instant animosity. If she’d been Athena, she didn’t have the best track record with the gorgons. Myth had it that she was responsible for making Medusa into the monster she was, and all for something that wasn’t her fault—being defiled by Poseidon. I knew all about how stories could be distorted, but until I knew another angle on this one I couldn’t squash the…dislike was too weak a word. Hatred was poison. The very strong feelings I had for her. Or rather, against .
    â€œSo, warrior goddess,” I said finally. I tried to keep my voice cool and even. I mostly even succeeded.
    â€œSo, P.I. to the Pantheon,” she said back.
    â€œTell me about the man dead asleep in the living room.” I wasn’t asking. I was commanding. She liked that about as much as I would have had our positions been reversed.
    We walked back into the living room, watching each other warily, and stood over the unconscious man as though we weren’t tromping all over a crime scene. Come to think of it, I didn’t have any evidence of a crime. If he’d been drugged or knocked out with blunt force trauma or any number of things, I could call this in. But if he was bespelled… I didn’t think there was a police code for that. Calling all cars, calling all cars—there’s a 666 going on at the Ramone residence…
    â€œSee the image stamped into the coin?” Neith asked me.
    â€œSort of. Seems like it’s been worn away.”
    â€œNearly, but if you look closer—” she grabbed the nape of my neck and pushed me down closer to the body. I had to remind myself that I couldn’t take her in a fight—not the goddess of warfare and, particularly, strategy—so I couldn’t rip her arm off for manhandling me. Instead, I ground my teeth. “You see?” she asked, now that I was right on top of the thing. “It’s nearly sphinx-like, but instead of a man’s head, it’s a dog’s.”
    â€œIt doesn’t look like any dog I’ve ever seen.”
    â€œExtinct species. Anyway, it’s the symbol of Set, a dog if I ever saw one.”
    â€œSet? As in… Set ? The chaos god who chopped Osiris up