Demi-God Special

One of my snitches, I mean sources (I’m trying to give the lowlife fairy-tweakers more respect) had insisted the new Greek place on the corner of Speedway and Cactus would be open. A soft launch, he’d said, then sneered at my boobs. I wasn’t sure what a soft launch was, but I gave the idiot powdered portabellos that I called Sonoran Specials instead of the fairy ring champignon he wanted. He’d get a nice high off the placebo effect, imagining he was dancing naked with fairies instead of risking his sanity and soul.

In the meantime, I headed for what I hoped was some traditional moussaka or pastitsio. The door to Zetes Fast Greek was open, a good sign, and the small restaurant was painted in clich├ęd white and cobalt blue paint, bad sign. I’d be lucky to find something other than gyros or falafel drizzle.

For a city as large as Tucson, this was only our second Greek restaurant. And I had been banned from the first.

It really hadn’t been my fault. Long story, client confidentiality and all that, but there’d been a little bitty fire and some magical residue that Stefanos traced back to me.

I had high hopes that the owner of Zetes Fast Greek and I would be BFFs, that I’d never have to go without apaki again.

Nico Sardelis. A background check and a thorough Google search had told me almost nothing. He wasn’t on Facebook or any social media that I could find. His record was clean, but he seemed to live a little too off radar for comfort.

It was frustrating, because I was determined to do this relationship right. If the guy liked baseball, I liked baseball. If the guy needed a little help with the ladies, I’d slip him a love potion.
The kid in the back tapped on the service counter, impatient. I squinted at the chalkboard menu, trying to read the scrawl. Fasolada.

I raised an eyebrow. “That’s my only choice?”

“We’ll have a full menu next week.” He tugged on his gauged ear.

“The owner here?” I pulled my waist onto the counter, stretching to look into the kitchen.

The kid tucked greasy hair under his netting, walked to the back.

A minute later a lean but nicely muscled Greek hottie wearing a black apron and a white tee made his way over. This guy definitely did not need help with the ladies. For some reason he looked a little nervous.

“I am Nico.” His voice was a soft baritone, his English lightly accented.

And suddenly Tucson was experiencing a small earthquake. I looked around puzzled. Neither the kid who had returned to the counter, nor Nico seemed aware of the phenomenon.

The guys stared at me as I waited for the floor to stabilize. Must have been something magical causing ripples nearby. I’d worry about it later.

I pulled out my flirty and friendly smile, dusted it off, and plastered it on my face. “My name is Anastasia, I just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood.”

“Thank you.” The earth shook again, I felt a little unsteady on my feet.

I rubbed my bottom lip with a finger as I took a closer look at the man standing in front of me whose voice caused tremors.

I stuck out my hand. Nico took it, turning my palm down and giving my fingertips a gentle squeeze. I felt a little zap up my arm. He was lucky he didn’t try to kiss the back of my hand.

Nico leaned slightly to the right and I caught a glimpse of the large fawn-colored wings tucked against his back.

I didn’t know what he was exactly, but considering his online non-existence and those wings I was willing to bet he was hiding from someone. My supply chain of Greek food was secure. I was not above blackmail.

Follow the Author:

Wordage: falafel, drizzle
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Wordcount: 649

Image: via

1 comment:

  1. Every time I think of peri and Greek food, I remember this story :) It would be fun to read more!


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