by Kelly Keaton
“Here,” he said, handing me the vial.
It was warm in my hand, almost hot.
Ares had been gone since the War of the Pantheons. The blood had to be at least that old or older depending on when my father collected it. It shouldn’t be warm at all, and definitely not hot, but then that was Ares wasn’t it? Quick to rage, hot-headed, total bad ass...
My father had just offered me a ticket into Olympus by way of Ares’ old temple. Hestia and her staff of eyes and ears would never expect it and I had to move now before any more time was lost.
As I pocketed the vial and then finished lacing my boots, I asked, “So I take it you have the code to this thing, too?” Otherwise he never would have given it to me.
You needed two things to open a gateway into Olympus on your own. The blood of a god. Check. And the unique symbols that particular god used to create his or her gateway into and out of their temple.
There were times when the gods wanted their privacy, and didn’t want the others on Olympus to know who was coming and going. So, long ago, they’d created a way for their loyal subjects, lovers, and conspirators to travel straight into their temples rather than have them enter through the main gate.
Anyone who had the blood and the code had a continuous round trip ticket--provided the god didn’t change the code--into Olympus. One wouldn’t work without the other.
I paused to watch the gold disk my father pulled out of his pocket flip end over end and land beside me on the mattress. It was similar to Apollo’s disk, but tarnished and much, much older. But even with the age, the symbols that surrounded an image of helmet emblazoned with a dragon were still visible.
I lifted my gaze and felt like I wasn’t looking at my father, but at the hunter he used to be. His blue eyes burned with intensity, with the need for retribution, the need to fight. Even though I knew part of him relished the peace the last six months had brought him, part of him missed the adrenaline of battle, the tactics and maneuvers of the hunt...
Oh, crap.
“No.” Panic crept in as I understood his expression. “You said you were never going back.” We had just reunited, for God’s sake. We’d really begun to form the father/daughter bond I’d been missing my whole life, and there was nothing on Earth that would make me put that--him--in jeopardy. And Theron, former Son of Perseus, Athena’s number one hunter, going into Olympus was like pulling the pin out of a grenade.
His arms crossed over his chest as we stared down each other. Formidable as my father appeared--vicious, in fact, with that lethal expression and those fierce scars--I was not backing down.
I shoved my jacket into my backpack. “Forget it. You’re not going.”
“You might be my daughter, my heart, my agapi̱tós. But no one tells me where I can and cannot go. Not even you.” His tone was calm and final.
I really tried to take my emotions out of the equation, but they bled through anyway. “You know how many people want you dead? You know how many enemies Athena made? You were her hunter, which makes them all your enemies, too. You step one foot on Olympus or in any Greek realm and it’s a free for all on your ass. She’s not there to reign supreme anymore. Whatever protection you had is gone. And they won’t care that you hated her and betrayed her. All they’ll see is her assassin. And they’ll want your blood. More than that. They’ll want you to suffer the way she made them suffer.”
By the time I was finished my tirade, I was a little out of breath. I paused, one boot unlaced, my backpack hanging from one hand, and daring him to defy anything I said.
It was all true.
A blond eyebrow lifted. “Finished?”
Anger flushed my face. “Well, that depends on if you still want to commit suicide.” Those sarcastic words brought tears to my eyes. I knelt to tie my lace. “I won’t watch you die.” My throat went thick as I tried to steady my jerky movements. “Look, I won’t attract the kind of attention you will. It’ll be easier if I go alone. I already have a battle to fight for Archer, and I don’t want to battle for your life, too. Not to mention, the time sink involved of having to fight off everyone who wants you dead. I know you’re strong.” Understatement of the century, “but there are too many who want you--”
“Ari.”
I stopped knotting my lace. Three. I’d put three knots. Great. That’d be a bitch to untie. With a heavy sigh, I looked up to find him standing in front of me. I didn’t want to fight with him, didn’t want to leave like this. He sat on the bed. His jaw was tight, emotion swam in his eyes. “What kind of father would I be to let you go alone?”
“You’d be alive. And that’s the best thing you could ever do for me. Please just stay.”
“You have no idea how this goes against everything I am. You are my child. For so long I was not there for you, not able to protect you. And now you don’t need my protection.” He rubbed a hand down his face and let out a heavy breath.
Relief swept through me. He was going to stay. Before he could say anything else, I threw my arms around him. He pulled me in his lap and returned my hug. “Fierce, stubborn child. I would do anything for you.”
I leaned back and smiled. “Ditto, old man.” A flash of surprise passed over his face as though he couldn’t believe I felt the same way for him as he did for me. “Look at it this way. You not going is protecting me, because if you were with me, you’d draw every pissed of immortal in a fifty mile radius, trust me.”
“I could take them all.”
“I know.”
Violet knocked on the open door. Her big eyes took in the scene with curiosity, as though my father holding me was a foreign thing that warranted further study.
“I’m going with you this time,” she said.
I decided not to have that particular fight just now. Instead, I got to my feet and slung my bag over my shoulder.
“What’s the world coming to,” my father muttered. “My daughter and a child wanting to fight a battle better suited for a seasoned warrior.” He rubbed his temple. “Feel like I’m in a bad dream.”
I patted his shoulder. “I know. It’s like the Twilight Zone. Or, you know,” I said with a wink at Violet, “New 2.”
He grunted.
As we left the room, my father behind me, he put his hand on my shoulder in the hallway. “Marble is best to make the gateway, especially when the blood is this old.”
I glanced over my shoulder and nodded. I wasn’t sure if writing the blood symbols on marble was simply because marble was traditional, or if there was some real, specific reason that made it the preferred material for making gateways. Either way, it meant that I’d have to find marble that was big enough to make a doorway and hidden enough that we wouldn’t be discovered or our symbols washed away while we were gone.
“The cathedral is across the street,” Violet suggested.
There was a ton of marble in the French Quarter, but the last thing I wanted to do was deface it with blood and leave behind symbols that, in the wrong hands, could be extremely problematic.
“Too out in the open,” I said. “We’ll have to head back into the GD and use the cemetery.” The place was forgotten, overgrown, and part swamp now. The perfect place for us to make use of some marble.
“Or you could head over to Arnaud House,” my father suggested as we went downstairs. “Josephine’s garden wall is made out of marble. A part of it runs beneath an eave, protecting it from the elements. I noticed when we were doing the clean up...”
Clean up as in removing the corpses from the house and clearing the walls, floors, and furniture of blood and matter. I’d never been back since the night Sebastian and I had gone there looking for clues to who killed Josephine and where she might have hidden the stone statue of Athena’s child. What we’d found was straight out of a horror film. The entire staff and family had been torn apart...
“It’s much closer. You could be there in a few minutes,” he added. “Plus, the house is secure...” Which meant it was locked up tight, both by huma
n means and supernatural means.
“Sounds good,” I said at the front door. “I’ll head over there.”
“Michel has a key. Wait here. I’ll get it.”
As he left to get the key, I decided to use the opportunity to speak to Violet.
“You think I'm too small, too young,” she said before I could get a word out.
“You are young.” I leaned against the door. “And you are small.”
“But I’m strong. You said so. You know so.”
A fact I couldn't exactly argue with. In my spare time, I'd been taking Violet into the bayou to the River Witch/Pandora's shack, making good on my promise to help her learn more about her origins and biological parents.
There, we had uncovered Pandora's journal devoted to her thoughts, theories, and experiments on what Violet was and might be capable of as she grew.
And, of course, once I’d read Violet those theories she had to try them out and test her abilities.
Could Violet protect me? Hell, yes.
Pandora had created Violet from the most powerful shield in existence--Zeus’ lost Aegis, which had been fashioned using the skin of his father Cronus, King of the Titans. Dora had taken the skin from the shield and, using her considerable magic, grew an egg within the womb of the skin, nurturing it deep in the murky waters of the bayou. Her goal had been to create a new aegis, a living aegis.
A means to help her end Athena’s life.
She’d created a Titan. A shieldmaiden.
Violet.
But as strong as she was, as unique as she was, it didn’t change the fact that she was young and inexperienced. No matter how much we’d been training, she wasn’t ready for this.
“Look,” I reasoned with her, “we don't know how long you can last, hitching a ride and shielding me like that.”
“I don't get tired. It's like I'm floating on my back in the bayou, staring up at the blue sky, drifting, daydreaming. It's okay.”
“And what about eating, drinking? If you're not careful, you could waste away.”
“But you can be careful for me. Besides, I don’t get hungry or thirsty when I'm shielding you.”
“We've only tried for a couple hours, and that’s always been in ideal conditions, not under stress or threat. The place I’m going is totally different than the bayou, Violet.”
“So? I want to help find Archer. I like him. And this is what I'm good for.” She looked down at her hands, her brow knit.
I heard her unspoken words. She thought it was all she was good for, the only reason she existed. Violet had been handling the discovery of what she was pretty well, but she still had moments of doubt, moments of feeling as though no one ever really wanted her, as though her power was the only thing that defined her.
“You were also born to be a kid and not bear the responsibility of protecting everyone all the time,” I said, kneeling in front of her and tugging on the hem of her dress for emphasis.
My father came back with the key. I straightened and took it from him. Violet was angry; I didn’t need to look at her to know that. But I wasn’t giving in.
“Ready?” he asked. “I’ll walk you over.”
When Violet asked if she could come too, I didn’t say no. I figured I’d already handed her the biggest no of all, preventing her from taking part in Archer’s rescue.
As we headed out of Michel’s and into the humid summer night, my father offered his advice. “Be careful in Olympus. Apollo and Artemis might have cleared it of Athena's minions. But they still could be hidden in the forest, around the mountain, and deep within it. Do you remember the way to Mel’s temple?”
The one I didn’t even get to search for since Hestia had wigged out on me. “Yes, across the lake to the West. I remember.” I gave him a rueful smile. “I’ll find her. There’s no one else who can get me into the Underworld, so it’s Mel or bust.”
“Don’t underestimate her, Ari. She’s a goddess in her own right, and will only help you if it benefits her in some way. There is always a price. And for Hera’s sake, do not make any deals that involve your soul.”
“No worries.” I bumped his shoulder as we walked. “This soul’s not for sale.”
“Or loan,” he said seriously.
“Or loan.”
We weaved through a crowd of tourists and went the rest of the way in silence. I loved the streets at night. There was always activity, music, laughter, the shops open, the smell of food...
And yet when we made it to Arnaud House, the gray mansion seemed to sit in a dark void, even though it was surrounded by life. Images flashed in my mind. The bodies. The blood. On the street in front of the house, I’d killed Gabriel. The door and windows had been shattered as we’d fought to save ourselves and the city while inside the house, the damage had already been done.
Without a word, I unlocked the repaired front door and stepped inside. The smell of drywall and paint hung in the air as I led the way to the back and out into the courtyard. I didn’t stop until I was across the law and staring at the high marble wall that went along the backside of the garden.
Only the best for Josephine...
I removed the medallion and vial from my pocket, undid the stopper and tipped the blood against the pad of my finger, then set about drawing the four symbols from the medallion on the marble. Four corners. Four symbols. And when I stepped back, I could see the faint shimmer that suggested the marble was no longer marble but something else.
“What if the gate is gone on the other side?” Violet asked.
“The way won’t be opened and the wall will remain marble,” my father answered.
Violet gave me a quick hug, and then turned to my father. “I’m going over to the candy shop. See ya back at Michel’s.” Before he could answer, she skipped from the garden.
For a second I stared after her in confusion, wondering if she was suddenly over being mad or she was so ill with me that she had to leave.
“I’ll talk to her,” my father said. “You take care of yourself.”
“I will.” I would have bedazzled him with a confident expression, but he could see through that kind of bullshit, so I settled for a hug. Nothing I could say or do would put his mind at ease. He’d worry until I returned.
The realization made warmth spread through me as I faced the marble wall. It wasn’t that I wanted my father to worry or stress, but in a weird way, it pleased me to no end that he felt these things.
Without looking back, I walked into the marble wall.
SIXTEEN
THE AIR WENT FROM hot and humid to cool and slightly musty. Dim light illuminated a wide archway and spilled weakly into the room, illuminating smooth marble walls covered in shadowy figures. As my eyes adjusted, I realized the shadows were part of a long mural that wrapped around the entire room, depicting a glorious battle of gods and men.
There was a large table in the middle of the room, a giant chuck of agate. Every visible inch except for the smooth surface was carved in the most amazing scenes of triumph and war. It was easy to imagine Ares bent over the table, maps spread across its surface as he planned his next invasion.
A fine layer of dust covered the table and made me think of Hestia. Obviously she’d seen no reason to care for the temple of a god who had died a thousand years ago.
It made me a little sad to think this amazing place was now a mirror of its forgotten patron god.
The sound of my footsteps and the rub of my clothes invaded the hollow space as I left the war room and went down the corridor into the main hall.
Thick columns disappeared into a ceiling so high it was lost in somber darkness. Unlike the bright, colossal awe of Zeus’ temple, Ares’ temple was a slumbering brute, an altar to warfare, strength, prowess, precision, violence, bloodshed...
The glory of the great war god had passed. Strength and power no longer stalked the massive halls. I let my fingers trail along a smooth column as I approached the light filtering in from a long, open colonnade across the
main hall. There was an aura of belonging, of communion here, one that spoke to the part of me that loved a good fight, loved a challenge, that understood the art of battle and understood the intrinsic nature of shedding blood, of killing...
As I drew closer to the open colonnade, a neglected garden came into view. The air held the slightest chill, the muted light suggesting dawn had settled over the mountain.
Grass grew through cracks in the stone path that led to the garden. To my left was a large round space with a low bench that went along its circumference. No grass grew in the circle. On the wall of the temple by the circle were pegs that once held weapons.
I was pretty sure I was looking at Ares’ training area and could almost hear the sound of blade against blade, of grunts and taunts and jeers, and deep, male laughter.
Bran would love this place, I thought as I headed right and through the long garden, surveying the area and listening for any signs of life within and beyond the high wall surrounding it. Soon the sun would wash away the thin membrane of mist remaining in the air and all of Olympus would wake.
I needed to find Mel’s temple before that happened.
My gaze snagged on a derelict fountain nestled in a far corner surrounded by statues and flowering trees. From this far off, it was hard to tell, but it looked like there might be a break in the wall beyond the statues. Could be an illusion caused by the statues, but worth a shot.
As I walked in the shadows of a two long rows of statues that led to the fountain, a shiver danced up my spine. They were warriors, all of them, the toughest of the tough, male and female, decked out in full battle gear, and from several different eras and civilizations. Amazon warrior. Roman general. Medieval knight.
At the end of the rows, a ring of statues circled the fountain. Unlike the others, these were bigger, harsher, and so life-like I had to pause in admiration. They resembled some close-knit, bad-ass fighting unit.
The biggest warrior of the bunch drew my attention. Whoever he was he was one tough-looking sonofabitch, reminding me of Bran in the proud set to his shoulders, the grim jaw, and the lethal promise in his gaze.
