The Blood of Athens

by Amy Leigh Strickland

  “What do you want?” Jason asked. Minnie's phone vibrated in her pocket. She picked it up and walked away, whispering into it.

  “I want to talk. Man-to-Titan. What do you say? Meet me at midnight. Play diplomat.”

  “Talk? Why don't I believe you? Oh, right, must have been the slasher film you staged at the hotel.”

  “That was just a little fun. This is business. Meet me on the roof of the high school at midnight. No backup. We'll exchange words.” The Titan hung up the phone.

  Minnie hung up at the same time. “That was Dr. Davis. She has to go down to the police station to answer some questions. They identified the woman Evan tripped over at the hotel. It was Mrs. Matthews.”

  “But Mrs. Matthews came back with us on the plane,” Devon said.

  Minnie shook her head. “No. That was something else.”

  “That must have been our Titan. He has Zach and June,” Jason said. “I have to meet him at midnight. He wants to talk.”

  “He can't talk over the phone?” Devon asked.

  Minnie looked at her watch. “Then we don't have time to chase down Spade. Let's get back to Dr. Davis' house. We need a plan, fast.”

  Devon and Minnie ran back to the car. Jason lingered for a moment, staring out across the park in the dark. There was no sign of Spade. Minnie leaned across the seats and honked his horn.

  “Come on!” she hollered. “Time's not on our side.”

  “When the tiniest creature defends itself like this against a giant aggressor, what ought we to do?”

  -King Agesilaus

  xviii.

  Zeus had been warned of this battle for ages.

  He had sired the hero Herakles for this.

  The Gigantomachy was fought to avenge

  the fallen Titans.

  The Gigantes shook the slope of mount Olympus.

  One of them seized the marble column that held

  the roof over the palace assembly hall

  and cracked the marble.

  Herakles was not the only son of Zeus

  to fight so boldly in the raging battle.

  A blur of gold streaked across the palace floor:

  the speedy Hermes.

  The Gigante, with his arms around the pillar,

  did not see the spritely god enter the room

  but he felt the sandals' tread as Hermes ran

  straight up the giant's back.

  He only stopped his sprint on the giant's shoulders

  as he raised his golden sword above his head

  and, plunging its gleaming blade into the flesh,

  killed the invader.

  “The test of any man lies in action.”

  -Pindar

  XVIII.

  Peter Hadley watched the Buick Electra pull away from Dr. Davis' house. Most of the Pantheon had gone home to appease their parents and then try to sneak away again. Peter didn't bother. He didn't think his father cared where he was after the fight. For all he knew, Mr. Hadley might have been passed out drunk on the sofa.

  Peter sat down on the front step and stared into the dark. He processed everything that had happened, from finding the body in the bathroom, to the chasm that lead to the underworld, to making peace with Penny. And now, once more, he was fearing for his life. When did it ever end? When did they get to be safe? When did Penny get to be safe?

  He was pulled out of his thoughts by a familiar feeling, a sensation of cold that sank beneath his skin and into his chest. He spun around to see a spirit standing over his shoulder. It was Mrs. Matthews.

  “Oh no. No, no, no,” Peter said. “I'm not going to be haunted by you. I've done all of my English homework this semester.”

  “Jason's in danger,” she said, her eyes wide. She placed her hand on his shoulder. Peter felt the icy pressure, even though his shirt didn't so much as crease. “It's a trap. The Titan can change shape. He’s going to kill Jason and use his form to get to all of you.”

  Peter looked down the street. The old Buick was already out of sight.

  “Are you sure?”

  “He used me to get back here and he'll use Jason to get to each of you, one by one.”

  Peter swallowed. He nodded. “Alright. Thanks for the warning, but Doc’s not in the car. It’s Frank.”

  “Then he’ll kill Frank and use him. Nobody is safe. Not you, not Jason, not Penny. You have to act now.”

  “I will,” Peter said. Mrs. Matthew’s ghost, a being of cool blue light, glowed brighter until she was a flare of white light. Peter squinted as she grew brighter and then suddenly faded away until Peter was left alone. He looked down at his hands anhe placed herd watched them flicker out of visibility. When he was sure that no part of him was left to be seen, he slipped into the house and grabbed the keys off of the table by the door. Devon was asleep on the couch, baby Xander dozing in his mother's arms. Celene had nodded off in the arm chair. Only Penny was awake.

  “Peter?” she whispered.

  Peter wanted to say something, but he knew that every word he wanted to say wasn't fair to her, so he pressed his lips together and closed the door. The keys belonged to Frank, and Peter started the motorcycle. He had ridden a cousin's dirt bike years ago, when they still visited the family in Hillsborough county; Frank's bike was heavier and more powerful, but Peter found it almost the same once he got used to it.

  He pulled out of the driveway and down the street in the direction of the school. He wasn't sure what he planned to do, but the cold feeling that had settled in when the ghost of Candice Matthews had arrived just wouldn't go away. Though he was sweating beneath his black canvas jacket and Frank's too-big motorcycle helmet, Peter Hadley's heart felt like ice.

  Jason turned off the bathroom faucet when he heard the rumble of a motorcycle outside. He peeked through the blinds. Peter, looking like the Mouse on the Motorcycle in comparison to Frank's fierce red Yamaha, was pulling away.

  “Son of a--” Jason grumbled. He ran down the hall and out the front door.

  A purple jaguar pulled in to Celene's driveway. Teddy didn't even have time to put the car in park before Jason was at the door.

  “Hey, Doc, what's up? Was that Peter on Frank's bike?”

  “Don't turn off the engine,” Jason said. He ran around to the passenger's side door.

  “Where are we going?” Teddy asked.

  “The school. Peter's about to do something stupid.”

  With a baseball cap pulled down over his face, Frank Guerrero sat behind the wheel of the Buick Electra, squinting in the dark at the exterior of Olympia Heights Senior High. A light was on in the office at the other end of the building.

  Frank turned the collar of his coat up to hide his face, walked to the fence around the air-conditioning units, and checked around once before starting to climb. The climb was easy, but he moved slowly to avoid making too much noise. Frank wanted to catch this asshole by surprise and knock his lights out before he could realize that it wasn’t Jason who had pulled-up in the old Electra.

  From the fence, to the top of the air conditioner, to the awning, to the conduit, to the roof, Frank climbed. He wondered if the Titan he was meeting could merely fly up to the roof. When he got to the top, he looked down. A pinprick of red light shone at him. Frank smiled and slipped his hand into his pocket. All according to plan.

  There was a fixture on the roof, a large box that Frank assumed was the housing for some electrical work. Next to it, in its shadow, stood a man in a long coat. Frank couldn't see his face in the dim moonlight.

  “So,” he said, raising his voice a bit and doing his best to sound like Jason.

  The man stepped out of the shadow and into the moonlight. His face was moving, constantly shifting. It stopped, the features settling on a remarkable facsimile of Candice Matthews’ face. His body was still broad and masculine and the result was grotesque. “Looking for someone?” he asked.

  Frank grunted. It was best not to speak too much, or he'd give himself away. He kept his head tipped do
wn. Surely the Titan wasn’t this stupid, right? Frank was nearly seven feet tall.

  The Titan continued in his approach until he was standing right in front of Frank. He smiled and his face began to shift again, slowly this time. “You're not who I expected,” the Titan said.

  Frank glanced over the Titan's shoulder. Another flicker of a red laser light told him that everything was in position. Frank’s eyes focused back on the Titan and he stepped back in shock. The Titan was wearing Frank’s own face.

  “You're not the mortal,” he said, wearing a wicked smile. “You really should learn to follow directions.”

  Lewis crashed into the Titan's back, tackling him to the ground. They rolled around on the roof, falling into the shadow of a water tank. When Frank grabbed each man by the back of the shirt and pulled them apart, he found himself pinning two identical teenagers to the ground, each held firmly under one large open hand. They were both Lewis Mercer.

  “Frank, it's me!” one of them shouted. He grabbed the fingers on Frank's left hand and tried to pull the hand off of his chest.

  “Bullshit!” shouted the other. “He's a shapeshifter!”

  “Let me go and I'll prove it by super-speeding.”

  “Don't! We don't even know what the Titan can do. Don't let him go!”

  “Come on, Frank, don't you know me well enough by now to know it's me?”

  “He's lying. Can't you tell?”

  “Alright. Just pummel the hell out of both of us. I'll take one for the team.”

  “I'm gonna vote to not be murdered by fists of rage, here.”

  “Frank, whatever you do, just do it quick. We have to save Zach.”

  The Lewis in his left hand seemed to want what was best for The Pantheon. The Lewis Frank knew was eternally loyal to Zach, right? Frank wasn't sure what to do, but he figured that listening to both of them would only make him more confused. He had to trust his gut. Frank took his left hand off of the Lewis it held and struck the Lewis pinned beneath his right hand.

  The Lewis he struck went immediately limp and fell to the ground, unconscious but still breathing. The other Lewis, the one he had released, stood up, reached into his pocket, and shot Frank with a taser. Frank went down hard. As he lay panting on the ground, hundreds of thousands of volts still coursing through his body with a benign-sounding click, the face of the Lewis he spared began to shift endlessly.

  “Sorry, Ares,” he said. His jacket shifted back from Lewis’ green track jacket to a long black trench coat. “Wrong choice. Hermes should be flattered that you think he's so selfless.” He began to pace around Frank. “I was hoping for the mortal, but you'll have to do.”

  “A savage desire eats away at you, drives you to murder, blood-sacrifice proscribed by divine law, whose only fruit is bitterness.”

  -Aeschylus

  xix.

  The four brothers, Prometheus, Menoetius,

  Epimetheus, and Atlas, fought on both

  sides of the war between the gods and Titans.

  The Titans fell back.

  With Prometheus on the side of the Gods,

  The Olympians were sure to win the war.

  Menoetius, a Titan defined by rash acts,

  continued forward.

  As he reached the palace at Mount Olympus

  he was met by the Olympian King, Zeus.

  Zeus stared him down with a thunderbolt in hand,

  clenched tight in his fist.

  From ten meters above him, Zeus hurled his bolt

  and split the broad chest of Menoetius in twine.

  With his defeat the Titans were all cast down

  into Tartarus.

  “He is the best man who, when making his plans, fears and reflects on everything that can happen to him, but in the moment of action is bold.”

  -Heroditus

  XIX.

  Peter climbed the chain-link fence and scooted up the conduit just in time to see Frank go down. The Titan stood over him, smiling and speaking quietly. Frank twitched on the ground, unable to force his way through the current of electrical impulses and compel his muscles to move. Peter was invisible now, but he still had to be cautious. He walked slowly, trying to minimize the crunch of his boots on the tar rooftop.

  A pebble rolled under his foot. The Titan looked up. He sniffed the air.

  “I can smell your sweat and fear. Invisible? It must be you, Hades.”

  Peter revealed himself. He tried to stand tall and proud, but it was hard not to show fear in front of an unknown enemy. “Who are you?” he asked.

  “Finally!” the Titan shouted. He put his hand over his heart. “Really, Hades. I'm touched. It's so nice to know that somebody cares.” A sick smile spread across his face. “Some call me passion,” he sang, “Some call me action, some call me violence, but I prefer murder. Menoetius, son of Iapetus.” He held out a hand to shake. Peter didn't take it.

  “Why Livingstone?” Peter asked. “I mean, you have Zach and June.”

  “You Olympians don’t trust each other, but all of you trust the mortal without a second thought. I’m a god of many talents, but even I can’t take on fifteen Olympians at once.”

  “Why take us on in the first place?” Peter asked.

  “Well, there's the whole moral question of dispatching the Olympians for the sake of the mortals, which frankly,” he gestured to Frank, unconscious on the ground, the taser still clicking away, “I don't give a damn about that. Then there's the fact that you all murdered my brothers. Prometheus, Epimetheus, and Atlas were much nobler than I am, but they didn't deserve to die. So, yes. I'm going to kill you all for vengeance, and also because I like killing people.” The taser stopped clicking. Menoetius dropped it on the ground, letting the plastic shell crack.

  “That's why you killed all of those other people?” Peter asked. “Because you like killing?”

  “I had to keep myself busy while I waited for you,” the Titan said. “And when I get bored, I murder. It's rash, I know, but that’s just the way chaos made me.” Peter could tell he was excited. He was showing off. Menoetius flicked his hands and his appearance changed in a flash. He was a short man with long hair and an impressive mustache. He spoke in an eastern-european accent. “I've been princes, bloody and terrible.” With another flick of his hands, more for show than function, he was another, bearded man holding a scepter and a crown.

  Now he was tall with a top-hat and a black Inverness coat. He spoke with a British accent and brandished a knife. “I've inspired theories, movies, and novels.”

  His form changed again, this time to an Italian man with a red sox hat over his eyes and a thick Boston accent. He twirled a piece of chord in his fingers. “I've inspired copycats, too.”

  He changed into a man with short hair and heavy glasses, wearing a crosshair on his chest, “And a good handful of frauds.”

  Now he was back to his shifting form, dressed in a black coat and never letting his face settle too long on one identity. He had walked closer to Peter, and now the young Olympian found himself backed against the ledge.”

  Peter clapped sarcastically. “I am death, and you are murder,” he said, stepping to the side slowly, trying to maneuver himself away from the ledge. “You bring souls for my Kingdom. That would make me your boss, then.”

  “Nonsense. I'm a Titan. I came before you and I will be here when you are destroyed.”

  “But if you're murder... that's a very specific kind of death. So you fall under my domain.” He had worked his way around so that the line of sight between himself and the Titan was parallel with the edge of the roof. Peter glanced over his shoulder. A purple Jaguar was pulling into the school parking lot.

  “It won't be your domain when I kill you,” Menoetius said. A long knife grew out of his hand. He wrapped his fingers tight around the handle. “It will be easy,” he said. “Especially with our agent among you.”

  Peter's hands clenched into tight fists. “What?”

  “Who do you think released the T
itans? Zeus did a fine job of cleaning up after his coup. Even I give you enough credit to know that, had we burst out on our own, you would have had some warning. Someone betrayed you. One of your own.”

  “Who?”

  “Now, Hades, why would I tell you a thing like that?”

  “Because you're planning to kill me anyway?” Peter suggested.

  “Yes, well, true... but I'm planning to kill Persephone first. I want to keep you alive and make you watch. Maybe I’ll have a little extra fun, you know what I mean? Like I taught my little friend BTK. Doesn't that sound like fun?”

  Peter blinked out of sight.

  “Is that the best you have? You think that your little invisibility trick will keep me from her?” Menoetius asked.

  “No,” Peter said from behind him. “But this will.”

  There was a scraping of shoes on tar as Peter charged towards the Titan. Menoetius spun around in time to be struck by an invisible force. Peter's arms wrapped around his shoulders, not giving him the chance to squirm free. The back of Menoetius' calf hit the ledge around the roof. He clutched at Peter's shirt, his fingers curling around invisible fabric.

  From the parking lot Jason watched as a figure in black was knocked back and tipped over the edge of the roof. His black cloak floated out around him as he sailed to the ground and hit the concrete with a thud and a thousand simultaneous cracks.

  “Everywhere man blames nature and fate, yet his fate is mostly but the echo of his character and passions, his mistakes and weaknesses.”

  -Democritus