by Kelly Keaton
Mirth came fast to his eyes and his smile was deep. “You're almost as crazy as he is.”
I was too busy drinking him in with my gaze to agree or disagree. Sebastian after a training session always got me going. It was the way he'd drag his hand through his damp, black hair, leaving it off his forehead and mused. Adrenaline had put color in his cheeks and darkened his lips, and even made the gray color of his eyes brighter.
As he chewed, one eyebrow arched. He could read me pretty well, so he knew exactly the effect he had on me.
For the last six months, we’d been officially dating. Well, our version of official anyway.
We’d also been living apart. Me in the Garden District mansion Violet had chosen for us after our old one had burned to the ground, and Sebastian in his father Michel's massive French Quarter mansion. My father, Theron, had left Michel’s and now lived with me and the kids in the GD.
The switch had been Sebastian’s idea. He respected my father immensely and knew our odd, all kids and no adults living arrangement made him uneasy.
I kind of liked the distance, liked getting up in the morning, catching the street car into the French Quarter, walking into the Square and seeing him standing there waiting for me, hands shoved into the front pockets of his jeans, leaning against the fence that went around Jackson Square, looking all dark and dangerous and . . . mine.
We made time together where we could. Training. Rebuilding the Quarter. Reorganizing, restructuring, and attending meetings for the new Council. In short, too busy to truly date in a conventional sense.
We’d often find ourselves staring at each other during random moments, as if we were on the verge of . . . something. Maybe it was a sense that everything was finally coming together, that what was happening between us was right and powerful and important. And the last six months of our unconventional dating was about to give way to something more normal and more committed.
“I might be too sore to hold Archer when he gets here,” I said, biting off a chunk of beignet
“Me too. The kids will be glad, though. They love holding him.”
Everyone loved the little butterball, which wasn’t a stretch; Archer was full of smiles and curiosity and wonder. He had an adorable stubborn streak that I could appreciate.
Plus, he liked me. Major point in his favor.
Sebastian slipped into silence, his finger idly tracing patterns in the condensation on the outside of his glass.
“Worried about Archer?”
“A little,” he admitted.
Understandable. Sebastian was an eighteen year old guy, trying to help raise a baby. A little was an understatement.
“He’ll do fine. He knows us. The kids love him. He loves them.”
Of course, there was the worry that Archer would miss his aunt and uncle.
Archer had been living with Artemis and Apollo for the last six months as per the agreement set up the night Athena had died. Half the year in Olympus with his mother’s side of the family. And half the year in New 2 with his father’s side of the family--as the only Arnaud descendant left, that meant Sebastian.
To make the transition easier, we’d been visiting Archer regularly while he was in Olympus. He knew us well.
The transition would work fine.
It had to.
I rubbed my eyes and stifled a yawn. I’d slept like crap again. Plus, the training had exhausted me. And the day was just getting started.
“We should probably get going,” I said, standing. I still needed to shower, change, and get back to the Quarter in time.
In time to meet Apollo and Archer.
AFTER I’D GONE HOME, showered, and changed, I caught the St. Charles streetcar with the kids and headed back to the French Quarter. The excitement at seeing Archer and having him here with us had put everyone in a good mood.
“You think Henri and Menai are going to get married?” Jenna asked, one step in front of me as we exited the car at Canal Street.
“Gross, Jen. Why do you keep asking that?” Dub called over my head.
“Uh, because they like each other.” She hopped onto the pavement, spinning around to wait for us and slipping her thumbs under her overall shoulder straps. “Henri's gone to Egypt to be with her. Writing is on the wall, people, that’s all I’m sayin’.”
“It's just for a couple weeks.” I came off the car and moved aside so Dub could jump off the last step like he usually did. “And I'm guessing marriage is the farthest thing from their minds right now.” And no doubt from the minds of Menai's godly parents--Artemis and Horus.
I had to give Henri props. It took a lot of guts to date a full blown goddess with an overprotective supreme deity for a father.
Last to exit was Violet. She always took her time and was extra careful, coming off the car like a pint-size Mardi Gras queen, her mask shoved onto the top of her head, which held back the sides of a black bob she cut herself. The tall plume of blue feathers on the mask bounced as she stepped, reminding me of a princess nodding to her admirers. And of course there was Pascal, the juvenile white alligator, on her shoulder facing backwards, mouth hung open. The usual.
Violet held a hand over his back and surveyed the area calmly as though surveying her domain before joining us as we headed across the street.
Dub turned around to face us, walking backwards in the middle of Royal Street. The great thing about the French Quarter was that it was now pedestrian friendly; the only vehicles allowed were service vehicles. Gone were the engines and exhaust fumes, leaving the air free to blend the scents of the Mississippi River and the many restaurants with the sounds of conversation, jazz, and the clip-clop of the carriage mules and horses going up and down the streets.
“They said we could come visit,” Dub reminded us. “All we have to do is let Apollo know and he'll get in touch. I've never been out of New 2 before. What do you think Egypt is like anyway? Hot, right? Mummies. Pyramids...” His eyes widened and he grabbed his short blond afro in realization. “And treasure. Gold. Holy shit. Can you imagine all the gold buried under the sand?”
I laughed. “Don't even think about it. Horus will not be cool with you grave robbing on his home turf.”
“Yeah. Would be like biting the hand feeding you and all.” Jenna looked at me. “You think they live in a temple?”
“I think so. In the Egyptian god realm.” Sebastian had told me about his short time there and how beautiful it had been. One day, I was hoping to see it myself. Warm breezes off the river and cool desert nights sounded pretty nice to me.
“Hey, I could even practice my power in the desert,” Dub said, turning back around to walk beside us. “Nothing there to catch on fire...”
Dub's ability to pull fire from nothing was growing daily as he approached puberty. Henri had been the first among us to tell Dub that he had to start training, had to learn how to control and manage his growing powers or he'd hurt those he loved.
We’d all seen the aftermath of Dub's incredible power the night Athena brought war to New 2 and my actions sent Simon Baptiste and Soren Mandeville into the GD to exact revenge upon those I loved. Dub had unleashed his chaotic gift and burned Mandeville to a crisp. The resulting fire had burned 1331 Coliseum Street, our home, to the ground.
Dub resumed walking backwards, this time in front of Violet. “You'd like it there, Vi.”
Her large dark eyes were unimpressed. Today she wore several strands of pearls--real ones, salvaged from some abandoned Garden District mansion or stolen from an old grave courtesy of Dub, Pro Grave Robber Extraordinaire, as he liked to call himself. Besides the bling and Mardi Gras mask, Violet wore her usual nondescript black dress, knee high socks and black loafers.
You'd never guess the odd Gothic-looking little girl was a Titan.
In New 2 anything was possible.
“They have an alligator god,” Dub went on, his light eyes going big.
Her eyes snapped to his, then glanced at me for affirmation.
I nodde
d. “I think it's a crocodile god, but still...”
“I'd have to take Pascal, of course,” she replied thoughtfully.
Dub faced forward, walking next to her.” He'd love it. They’d treat him like royalty.” He puffed out his chest and pointed at a group of tourists on the sidewalk. “That’s Lord Pascal to you imbeciles!” he shouted. “Don’t you know a god when you see one?”
No one took him seriously at all. He was so high on the idea of going to Egypt that I expected him to start skipping around us in circles, but he just reached over and straightened Violet's mask for her and then gave Pascal a head rub.
The talk between us continued to be loud and random, going from one subject to another as we approached Michel Lamarliere’s massive four story brick townhouse complete with black shutters and three wrought iron balconies, holding rows of hanging flowers in baskets.
The inside was no less impressive, completely restored and updated with a gorgeous garden, pool, and courtyard, and staff quarters on the fourth floor. It was a great place to raise a kid. Archer's room awaited right down the hall from Sebastian’s and Michel’s.
Apollo would be meeting us there in just a few minutes.
The thought made all my nerves and worry flood back.
From out of nowhere, a massive gust of wind barreled down the street, parting the locals and tourists, shoving everything out of its way. Doors and shutters rattled and banged. People screamed. The force passed by, shoving me so hard I stumbled several feet. In the chaos, I snagged Violet’s hand to keep her from falling.
The gust headed right for Michel’s and exploded against the front door, splintering the wood and shattering the two windows on either side.
Everyone nearby ducked for cover, their cries and shouts filling the street.
Dread slid cold and quick down my spine.
No.
I released Vi’s hand and bolted toward the house, heart in my throat. Glass crunched under my boots as I made my way around the debris and then down the front hallway.
Footsteps echoed overhead, along with Michel's voice as he and Sebastian came rushing down the stairs.
Pictures, tables, vases had been overturned. Whatever had come through had gone all the way down the hall and out the back door into the courtyard.
The worry in Sebastian’s eyes matched the fear I was trying not to feel. We raced to the courtyard.
There, we skidded to a halt. “Jesus,” Sebastian breathed in shock.
Apollo had crashed into Michel’s fountain.
There was no sign of Archer.
THREE
APOLLO HAD SLAMMED into the fountain, back first, obliterating the bricks that contained the water, and stopped by the thick base of the mermaid statue in the center. His legs were sprawled out, body slumped and completely soaked. Blood smeared the mermaid’s stone scales. From the look of it, he’d cracked his skull pretty hard on the stone.
His blond hair fell over his forehead, the strands soaking and sticking to his head and face. But even in this state, out cold and drench in a black T-shirt, tan cargo pants, and flip-flops, the god was an extraordinary sight, like some majestic lion laid low. Power radiated all around him, sharp and chaotic, making my ears pop and my skin tingle.
I’d been around him quite a bit in the last few months and never experienced an energy output like this before. Now that he was unconscious, it was another story entirely. Uncontrolled power seeped out of him like the blood flowing from the back of the god’s head.
I was aware of footsteps, shouting in the distance, the staff coming outside, but all I could hear was the pounding of my heart and the hum of power in the air.
And all that kept going through my head was: Archer.
Sebastian snapped out of his shock before I did and stepped into the fountain without a care for the danger. “Where's Archer?” he demanded, his voice strong and loud.
No answer. Michel put his hand on Sebastian’s shoulder in warning, but he ignored his father and grabbed Apollo’s shirt. “Where's Archer?” he yelled. “Apollo!”
Nothing.
“He should be getting up by now,” I said to no one in particular. He was a god. He should be getting up.
“That’s what worries me,” Michel said over his shoulder, his face pale, making the strange swirling tattoo that ran up one side of neck, clipped his ear, and disappeared into his temple, appear stark.
To see Sebastian’s father look so disturbed and shaken...
Beyond the fountain, a shadow appeared in the tunnel connecting the courtyard to the street alongside Michel’s house. A tall, imposing Greek warrior stepped into the light. Blond, scarred, and handsome, my father strode over with grim purpose. While he was extremely fit and appeared like that of a man in his prime, my father was hundreds of years old. And he bore the weight of it, of his battles and betrayals and tortures, in the set of his shoulders and the light of his eyes. He was a born leader and a feared hunter, supernaturally gifted with all the senses and skills that made a hunter great.
When he talked, people tended to listen.
“What happened?” he asked, surveying the scene as he came to a stop. “Where’s Archer?”
“It’s just him,” I answered, looking at Apollo and feeling ill inside.
With a curse, he went right to the god and crouched down beside him. “Apollo!” His voice was sharp and clear, intent on getting results. “What happened? Where's Archer?” Then, he repeated the questions in ancient Greek.
A deep, rumbling groan burst through the god’s wet lips. He tried to push himself up, but his muscles were too weak. “Archer,” he whispered with a ragged breath and blinked open his eyes, revealing the sky-blue color I was so used to seeing. What caught me by surprise was the glowing sun-like ring around his pupils. His eyes burned with a wild light as they searched the courtyard.
They froze on Jenna, huddled with Dub and Violet. “You,” the god rasped. “Come here.”
Immediately, she stepped back.
Apollo lifted his hand. “No. Come . . . closer.” His arm fell, slapping into the water, too heavy for him to hold. It was a struggle for him to stay conscious. He didn’t have much time before he passed out.
My father spoke once more to Apollo in the ancient language of the gods. He was the only one among us who could. As a Son of Perseus, and once Athena's number one hunter, he'd been born in Olympus and had grown up there. He was as close to the gods and their culture as anyone could get.
They exchanged low, broken words, then my father looked over his shoulder. “Jenna, it's all right. He doesn't have much time. He needs to tell us, tell you, what happened.”
“Me?”
“Yes. I'll explain that part later. Do you trust me, child?” He was so much like Apollo. Strong, intimidating, powerful, but he had a sense of humanity that the gods would never have. He cared. He'd sacrificed; he'd given so much. And since he’d moved into the house in the GD, he’d become a father figure to the kids.
Jenna swallowed and readjusted her overall straps--something she often did when she was nervous--and then squared her shoulders. “What the hell,” she muttered on a shaky breath, her pale skin making her freckles leap out. She lifted her chin in a show of confidence and went to the edge of the fountain.
At my father's urging, she stepped inside and leaned over the god. Without warning, Apollo grabbed the front of her overalls and yanked her so close her knees fell against his chest. Eye to eye, he held her there, the yellow ring around his pupil growing until light burst outward, blinding like the sun.
Shielding my eyes, I reached for her, but my father held out a hand to stop me.
Light had completely encompassed Apollo and Jenna, the god’s voice coming out deep and strong as he spoke in the ancient language.
When it was over, Apollo collapsed back into the fountain, out cold, and Jenna stumbled backward over the jagged bricks, turning as she tripped.
I caught her. Her fingers dug into my arms as she breathed
my name in relief. Then, she lifted her chin and I froze in shock.
“What?” she cried, terrified, at my expression. “What is it, what’s wrong?”
Slowly, the strange glow faded from her eyes. I released my breath, told her it was nothing, and helped her to a courtyard chair where she sat, put her head between her knees, and threw up.
“I'll get her some water,” Dub offered, fear written all over his face.
As he hurried into the house, I questioned my father. “What the hell was that?”
“Transference. He gave her his last memories.”
“Why her?” Sebastian went to Jenna and placed a hand on her shoulder. “He singled her out. Out of all of us.”
Michel rubbed his jaw. “Perhaps because she's human?” He turned to my father for affirmation.
“Yes. Your powers would have gotten in the way of the kind of transference Apollo has given her,” he answered. “She’s human, a vessel easily filled, and one with the gift of seeing the unseen.” He glanced at me. “Do you remember?”
“At the hospital when she was recovering from Simon’s attack. She could see through Pandora’s spell.” We all saw an old man, but Jenna had seen the truth-- the Pandora of legend had been masquerading as an elderly old man known around New 2 as the River Witch.
“That kind of power is often an indication of prophetic ability as well. It usually strikes around puberty.”
Jenna blanched. “Awesome,” she mumbled. “Really wanted everyone to know.”
My father gave her an apologetic look. “Apollo is a god of prophecy. He would easily recognize this trait in you and know you’d be able to receive some of his power.”
Dub returned with two glasses of water. He handed one to Jenna and used the other to wash away the vomit on the stone. She thanked him, took a long drink, and then swiped a hand across her mouth. After she stared at us for a moment, she said, “I can't see the future. That’s never happened to me before.”
