Free Aphrodite's War by Donna Milward Page A

arms folded while she tried to stop
sobbing.
“Damn,” he said over and over. “Damn.”
Poetry calmed long enough to sip at the sweet beverage that soothed
on such a hot day.
    “What am I going to do?” She didn’t expect an answer. Hugh wasn’t
much for words, let alone advice. It didn’t matter. Just having a sounding
board made her problems a little easier to bear.
    “I can’t live with my parents. Even if I never see Amir again and cat
allergies aren’t an issue, I can’t live with them. They won’t ever let me
hear the end of this. They treat me like a child.”
    Hugh ran a burly mitt over the ginger stubble on his skull. The sound
cut through the quiet like the whisper of sandpaper. “I know a place you
can stay,” he said finally. Poetry clasped both hands together. Her mentor
always had great ideas. Maybe he knew a way out of her predicament.
Hugh shut her enthusiasm down with one finger of condition. “But it’s
only temporary.”
    Poetry snuffled. She had to be stronger than this, her hopes were
dangling. She peered up at Hugh’s stern gaze, knowing how pathetic she
must look with her puffy eyes and dripping nose.
    “It’s pretty small too,” he said.
“I don’t have a lot of options.”
Hugh hesitated for precious seconds. “Grab your stuff and follow
me.”
    He limped to a large closet door near the back of the common room,
or at least Poetry had always assumed it was a closet. But when Hugh
unlocked it, she saw a set of stairs she didn’t know existed.
“Where do these go?”
Hugh smiled wide, soot creating streaks at the corners of his eyes and
mouth like ripples. “You’re the only other person who knows about this.”
    The wooden steps groaned under Poetry’s feet as she climbed behind
Hugh. They were warped, making her unsure of her balance. She waited
in the dark, taking note of clicks and clunks as Hugh unlocked the door
at the top.
It creaked open and a ray of sunlight bathed the narrow stairwell in
pale yellow.
    “When I first came to Edmonton this was home,” Hugh said, the
lopsided thud of his heavy boots nearly drowned out his words. “It was
simple, warm, and cheap.”
    Poetry gawked. The whitewashed trim and moldings along with the
decrepit appliances gave away the age of the décor. Poetry experienced a
strange timelessness, like she’d walked into the sixties.
    Hugh flicked a switch and the overhead light fixture sputtered before
providing a better view of the grunge. And the peeling paint. And the
dried husks of dead insects on the windowsills.
    Drop cloths covered the furniture, but Poetry imagined the table,
couch, and chairs to be every bit as ancient as the rest of the place. At
least they wouldn’t be dusty.
“It’s very…” She struggled for the appropriate word while stifling a
sneeze. “Nice.”
“It isn’t much, but it’s all yours if you want it.”
    A smile crept up Poetry’s face. Although tiny, it had a kitchen area, a
living room, bathroom and bedroom. And she could spend as many hours
as she wanted in the forge below. What more would she need? “What’s
the rent on this?”
“For you?” Hugh grinned back. It wasn’t something the smithy did
often. “Seven hundred.”
    Poetry let her jaw drop. Seven hundred dollars a month? She wouldn’t
get a better deal anywhere in the city. One bedroom apartments never
went for less than nine hundred in Edmonton. She and Jenny had been
splitting twelve hundred. Unfurnished.
    “Yeah, I can afford that,” she said, trying to sound casual. Her heart
thumped faster. So far, so good, but she wasn’t in the clear yet. “What
about damage deposit?”
Hugh appeared to consider a price. He stood licking his teeth with his
mouth closed for so long, Poetry wondered if he’d forgotten the subject.
Please let it be cheap, Poetry thought. I can’t afford much.
“I’ll tell you what,” he said. “I’ll waive the damage deposit if you take
it as is. And you can move in now.”
She