by Laura Wylde
David put his hands on my shoulders. It was a kind gesture, neither patronizing nor controlling. “We have just enough time to freshen up before the Director’s appointment.”
“You’ll put in a good word for me, won’t you?” I asked. “I haven’t been a complete pain in the butt.”
“Just a small one.” He kissed my head. “He would like to see your hinged oyster shell.”
I felt suddenly possessive of the little curio. “Is he going to take it from me?”
“No.” He kept an arm around my shoulders as we walked toward the SUV. David is a tall man, with a build like one of those Greek statues. He looks like a jock but when he isn’t being a dork, there is something deep and thoughtful about him. “It’s yours. He just wants to see it.”
I shrugged. “Fine. I’ll bring it with me.”
I had showered, dressed, and was drying my hair when I heard helicopter blades over the apartment. I came out to the patio squeezing the moisture from the ends of my hair into a towel. Kazan and Reuben were outside, watching. “Is this a government raid?” I shouted above the racket.
Kazan laughed. “It’s our ride. The Director lives in Athens.”
I had never been airlifted by helicopter from one town to another before. The view is better. You feel like you are in a glass bubble with seats. I knew I was about to face judgement and could get kicked out of Greece forever, so I wanted to soak in every site, from the islands floating like emeralds, to the metropolis of Athens, with its ancient, crumbling temples and its modern architecture.
I had expected the Director’s office to be on the top floor of a high-rise building, shiny with chrome and plexiglass. We landed on a high-rise helicopter pad, but then took an elevator to the lobby and walked out the main doors. We continued walking for two blocks then stopped at what looked like a combined apothecary and antiques shop. I barely knew what to make of it. Half the items were the kind of junk people threw out because it got warped, cracked, or rusted. Some things looked valuable, but they were crammed in corners, piled with books, papers, and strange odds and ends, or used as clothing racks. There were rows of jars behind a counter, filled with various herbs, flowers, roots, bark, and mushrooms.
“You’re not a medical practitioner. Leave it alone. Leave it alone.” I turned around with a jar of wormwood in my hand, trying to find the voice. It was low-pitched and fussy, the way a person talks who has a permanent sinus condition. There was nobody visible until I looked down. A short, round man was looking up at me, wringing his hands. He had a wide mouth, a bald head, and a somewhat greenish hue to his skin. I would say he was olive-complexioned, but olive is usually a nicer color. “You don’t need that. Don’t waste your time on what you don’t need.”
I placed the jar back on the shelf out of courtesy. “What do I need?”
He jumped back a foot, an astonished look on his face. “What you need? You don’t know what you need? Then, why are you here?”
I placed my hands on my hips and sighed. “I was wondering the same thing. They brought me here.”
I pointed to David and Reuben, who were glued together like thieves while Kauris and Kazan slunk about, trying to be unobtrusive. “Good day, Director,” said David nervously. He was fiddling with a gadget on his arm, one I had seen him wear once or twice when making his mysterious phone calls. It looked like a chronometer with a side panel of tiny gold buttons. “You made the appointment.”
“Oh, you,” said the Director, glancing down at the gadget. “Did you break it again?”
“It works. “We trapped two harpies in the meridian and sent them back to the Underworld just a few days ago.”
“You killed the Ceti.”
“Not with this. I bit him.”
“Taking lives is for soldiers, boys. You’re not soldiers.”
David hung his head and Reuben examined unhappily his shredded cigar. I was pissed off. “What difference does it make whether they are soldiers or not? You are at war with sea monsters. He just gave you one less to worry about.”
“The man who can both heal and poison carries an enormous amount of responsibility,” the Director answered, but he wasn’t talking to me. He was still scolding David. “Was it anger? Was it vengeance?”
“It was going to hurt her.”
“Her? Her?” The Director hopped about like a frog, then stopped in front of me and pointed. “Her?”
David nodded. The Director put on a pair of round glasses that covered half his face and peered at me intently. “Who are you?”
“She’s the one,” said David. “The one you asked to see.”
The little man sniffed me! He put his nose right up to my arm, sniffed it, then continued snuffling until he was inhaling and exhaling into my ear. It tickled. I put up a shoulder and moved away. He hopped backwards with an offended sniff. “Not possible. I don’t think there is a drop of god blood. Not a drop.” He jabbed at me. “Are you a practicing witch?”
I scoffed. “No, I am not. I’m a biologist, which makes me a practicing bitch.”
“Practicing bitch.” He scratched his head and thumbed through some dog-eared books. “It’s not listed. Are you sure ….?”
“She’s the one,” interrupted Reuben positively. He spat out a piece of cigar. “I saw her put the live animals back in the water. She returned a few starfish.”
The little man finally quit hopping about. This time, when he looked at me, he folded his hands under his belly and asked politely, “May I see your shell?”
“Sure.” I started to pull it out of my backpack, but he took my arm and shook it.
“Not here. Not here. Don’t you know anything? Of course, you don’t. Come with me.”
The five of us huddled together and followed him to the back of the room. He held up a device much like David’s and pushed a button. The wall rolled away, and an entirely new room appeared. It was state-of-the-arts, ultra-modern, with laboratory equipment that was still on the design tables where I came from, computer enhanced imaging for microscopic studies and a semi-circular desk in the middle of the room for commanding the entire information network. I’ve worked enough in laboratories to appreciate this marvel in modern technology. It was years ahead of anything I’ve ever seen.
When he sat at his desk, he appeared older, wiser, and more dignified. “Now you may show me your shell,” he said, holding out his hand.
I opened a small box and unwrapped the handkerchief from around the delicate shell. He cradled it in his hand like it was a priceless treasure and lifted the hinged top carefully. “Ah! The color! The hue!” He probed around the base. “And they mounted it in permagel. A gift fit for a queen.”
He closed the lid and handed it back to me. “But you are not a queen, are you? No royal blood in your family?”
He asked the oddest questions. “I don’t think so. We’re just regular Americans. A little bit of this and that. I don’t think any of them were considered royal.”
“Salt of the Earth kind of people? Yes,” he muttered to himself. “Earth children. Of course. No outstanding prejudices or quests for power. Do you speak Mer?”
“I can speak a little Spanish.”
He appeared disappointed. He sighed and drummed his fingers on his desk, then brightened. “No matter. No matter. Let’s find out what you have. If you’ll put your finger here on this little pad.” He pointed to a small triangle on his desk. A dim blue light rotated inside it. I glanced at my mates. They had somber, encouraging expressions on their faces. I sighed. The extremes a girl will go through to be with her guys. I pressed my finger on the triangle and closed my eyes, expecting something weird to happen, like getting hit with a drug or sent into another dimension. The blue light hummed, stopped, clicked, and hummed again. I opened one eye, then the other. They were all standing around as though it was all perfectly normal. I looked at my hand. At least, I didn’t grow any extra fingers. The Director was reading something on ticker tape.
“Ah! Peacekeepers, scholars, far
mers, patrons of the arts. Good, strong genes. Excuse me. I’ll be right back. I don’t get many children of Ghia.”
He went through that dimensional curtain and disappeared. In the brief interval he was gone, I touched my head and whispered, “is he sane?”
“Too sane,” grumbled Kazan, his arms folded.
The Director returned in a flash with a dusty book. “Now, where were we? Ghia’s children are difficult to pinpoint. They wander, you know. Wander the earth. That’s what she told them to do and they did it.” He shuffled through a few pages. “She did leave them one magical gift. They lost the ability through the ages…. Aha. Here it is. I can give this gift back to you. All I have to do is stimulate a few of your ancestral memories.”
“How will you do that?” I asked, looking around nervously for a machine with an electronic headset.
“It’s very simple. Just a tiny bit of powder I put in a bit of water. Think of it as a Nano-code. It will only access the part of your memory that contains this gift and build a pathway in to your conscious mind. That’s not hard for a biologist to understand, is it?”
It felt like he was mocking me, yet his tone was friendly. Maybe he really was miles ahead of me. People didn’t own expensive laboratories and command dragons by being stupid. “What’s in it for me?”
The Director was already sprinkling a white powder into a glass of water. “Why, I don’t know,” he said, inspecting his concoction. “Everybody’s gift is different. Maybe you will sprout wings and fly.”
“Huh.” Maybe it would teach me to shape shift. That would be cool. I drank the entire glass in one swallow, as I had been instructed. Nothing happened. I didn’t change color or grow extra limbs. I slammed a fist forcefully down on the counter space. No extra strength and definitely not an increased tolerance to pain. I rubbed my hand, wincing.
“Maybe telekinesis is your gift,” suggested Kazan hopefully.
I tried moving things around with my mind. I couldn’t even rustle a piece of paper. “I guess you wasted your time with me,” I told the Director, sighing.
He drew himself to his full height, which was just below my chin and folded his arms over his chest. “Impossible. I never waste my time.”
“You absent-minded old bugger, when are you going to feed me? It’s half-past chow time.” The high-pitched, nasal voice came out of nowhere. I wheeled about, scanning for the intruder.
“Is something wrong?” Asked the Director concernedly. “Are you receiving hallucinations?”
“Audio ones,” I muttered.
The voice squeaked again. “Come on, man. I’m hungry. Can’t you jabber and feed me at the same time?”
“Over there.” I wandered transfixed to a corner of the room that held a large ferret cage. The animal had its paws and nose pressed to the bars as it chirped. “He’s talking to you. He says he’s hungry.”
“Oh goodness. Oh dear,” the Director said in dismay. He quickly opened the cage and brought out his pet ferret, giving it a few nuggets of food and letting it play around on his shoulders while he filled the dish. The ferret chirped in his ear. “What is he saying now?”
I cleared my throat, trying to think of a way to say things delicately before resorting to the ferret’s own words. “He says you promised him a woman six weeks ago and now his balls itch.”
“So, I did.” He handed the ferret absently to Kauris, who held it out in front of him with both arms stretched before turning it over to Kazan. “Come with me,” said the Director.
I followed him to where several guinea pigs were kept in cute, interconnecting houses. While the others snuffled and explored their various tunnels and options, one stayed despondently in a corner. “Lyla has been like this for several weeks. I don’t know what the matter is with her.”
I clicked my tongue at her, and she turned toward me, clicking and squealing. “Ah,” I said. “She is sad because she is a short-haired guinea pig and the new one you brought in has swirls. She thinks you don’t like her anymore because the other guinea pig looks fancier.”
“Lyla! How can you believe that!” Chided the Director. “What shall I do? I’ll just have to play favoritism to her for a while. I hope the others don’t mind.”
I listened to the chirps of the other guinea pigs. I interpreted for them. “They think Lyla should be crowned a queen. She has been with them the longest.”
The Director’s frog-face lighted up and he took both my hands. “You are a jewel! A treasure. You’re an animal talker. Gentlemen, she is exactly what you need for your next mission.”
Touching a button on his chronometer, another wall rolled away, revealing a cozy sitting room with plush, leather upholstered chairs, a coffee table with tea and biscuits, all arranged around a fireplace. I began to wonder about the dimensions of his humble shop. Once we had settled in, he told us about our mission.
With so many factions at war with each other in the world under the sea, the only thing that could reunite them was to find Poseidon’s Trident and use it to create a neutral council until they had found a suitable leader for keeping the peace. The Director felt my new-found abilities for talking to the animals would be helpful. The earthy creatures would have a more objective view of the war and could possibly help find the trident.
I left the shop feeling a little giddy. A pigeon flew overhead, squawking, “popcorn spill at the Maritime Museum.” A dog chased another, barking, “take that back! My mother only screws border collies. I’m a purebred.” A cat preened in an upper apartment window. “My whiskers are all out of whack. I need to see my hairdresser.”
We stopped at a corner to cross the street. A horse and buggy plodded by. The horse was mumbling, “I’ve got to quit snatching ice cream cones. They are giving me indigestion.” My eyes involuntarily followed it. “Is it confusing?” Asked Kazan.
I sucked in my breath. “A little bit. I’ll just have to learn to screen it out like background noise. The way we screen out pedestrians.”
“Well, don’t screen out too much. You might miss something.” He was whistling cheerfully, his hands in his pockets.
It was an aimless walk, one that took us to the Temple of Athena. My four teammates sprawled out on the crumbling steps with the last of the sunlight filtering through. I sat next to David. “What now?”
He leaned back on one elbow and traced a meaningless pattern in the sand on the stone step. “We wait for dark and go home.”
“I can’t fly, remember?”
“You can ride on Reuben’s back. He’s a strong flashed onto the wing base like handlebars. Just don’t touch the gossamer veins. They are delicate.”
The shadows turned long and purple. Only a despairing red streak bled along the horizon. The few visitors left didn’t seem a part of this time and space. We were invisible to them. My companions stretched long and still. They looked like giant lizards soaking up the last of the heat radiating from the temple steps. No one turned a head to look in our direction.
When it had turned completely dark, David stirred. “It’s time.”
I got up on Reuben’s back as I had been instructed. The wing base was more like holding the framework for a kite. It was a secure hold. You just had to let the base slide loosely back and forth within the circle of your hands. If I thought helicopters were great, dragon flying was magnificent. We swooped in an out with the breeze, dipped a goodbye to twinkling Athens, and sped over the ocean on our way back to Santorini island.
6
David
For once, I felt like a champion. I soared through the sky, the air singing over my wings, the lights below growing smaller and more distant. The Director had praised us! He said we had done a good job and given us what could be the most important mission of the war. And it was all because of Macy. If she had not found that shell, we would be serving up apologies and receiving warm donkey hock.
I should say, if she had not been given that shell. In all probability, a Eurynome had been waiting near the cove. When he saw Macy
climbing down from the ledge, he left the gift and disappeared. The Eurynome feel that gifts should be given anonymously but they always make sure it goes to the right recipient. They had intended for Macy to have it.
If we found the trident, we would be fulfilling the Eurynome prophecy. This would be more persuasive than creating deadly disasters with a pitchfork could ever achieve. The power of the trident was good only if you could keep the weapon. Fulfilling a prophecy leaves a permanent mark. You become a legend and anyone tampering with legends is automatically a villain.
For once, the girl was ours. There are so many stories about dragons and their beautiful princesses, but we’ve never really known the pleasures of human devotion. They like those big, rocky- looking dragons or the ones that breathe fire. The only other time I shape shifted for a woman, she called me a lizard head. That hurt a lot. After that, I stuck with my own kind.
My own kind didn’t scramble my brains and cause a total melt-down the way Macy did. They didn’t cause a ferocious desire to protect. My own kind were good at protecting themselves. Macy was like a fawn running across a field with no idea there were lions in the brush. I wanted to save her from every hidden danger, but like a fawn, she had to grow and gain her awareness. I could only keep watch for her predators. There were four of us. We could keep her safe.
I had never thought much about the set of apartments on the island. They were standard AMP accommodations and would pass on to another group when we finished our assignment. Our choice of residence was the tropical coast of Granada. It’s not heavily populated, it’s too mountainous for prime beaches and it is very lush and green. We’ve got a manor there, set high on a hillside. Tonight, however, those unimaginative, block-style apartments on the Santorini Coast looked like paradise.
