“If I knew that’s how you’d react, then I would’ve broken down sooner,” she said with a wicked grin. Then her face and tone shifted. “Do you have to get back to your cousins soon?”
“No, I have to be wherever you are.”
We decided to spend the rest of the day in Central Park because it wasn’t too cold. Callie wanted to see the zoo, so I humored her, and afterward, we sat down in the waning sunlight.
I began to think of the future again, something I rarely worried about until meeting her. Callie would age. She was a fragile mortal. She could die; I had to grasp that she would die one day. How long could I stay with her? I could never tell her who I truly was. How could I constantly hide such a large piece of myself from her, especially if she was fully honest with me? I was absolutely torn: What would you do if you could live forever? Could you hide it from the one you truly loved, especially if her life depended on it?
“Archer?” Callie touched my cheek. “I’ve been saying your name.”
“Sorry,” I said, being sure to add a chipper note to my tone, although my thoughts were anxious.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, worried. How in Hades did she notice something was upsetting me? I was purposely acting happy.
“Nothing.” I smiled cheerfully.
Her hand remained on my cheek. “Your eyes don’t lie when your mouth does.”
“My mouth doesn’t lie,” I said, leaning in to kiss her.
She stopped me with her fingertips, scrutinizing me.
I sighed, wondering how I could tell the truth. What words could I use to tell her enough but not expose her to harm? “Callie, you know those silly rules—”
“I know they’re not yours.”
I stared at her, shocked, and awaited more. I had to see how much she perceived. I must’ve foolishly given myself away.
“The way you kissed me back. There’s no way you didn’t kiss me because of your ‘virtuous’ principles. I don’t pretend to understand you, but I want to.”
I toyed with a long blade of grass between my fingers, thinking hard on how to word things. When I finally formulated the words, they came from the heart: “What if I told you I could never tell you everything about me, Callie? Would you still want to be with me? What if knowing these things would put you in danger? Could you live without knowing them?”
“What? Just remain in the dark about some things?”
“Precisely.” I tried not to laugh when it brought naïve Psyche to mind, who’d failed to remain literally and figuratively in the dark. It had been so long since I’d even thought about my former wife.
“Not because you don’t want to tell me, but because it’s dangerous for me?”
“Exactly.”
“Like you were in the witness protection program or something?” she asked.
“Good analogy.”
“Then I would say, if I can understand you and care about you without the whole picture, then it’s all right for now.”
“For now?”
“Well, I don’t know how I’ll feel in a year, or two, or three, or twenty. As long as it doesn’t matter then…”
“Can you promise me something?”
“Depends.” She eyed me suspiciously.
“Will you promise you’ll never purposefully pry, that you won’t try to find out the silly things I can’t tell you?”
“The things that could put my life in danger?” She gawked, telling me she found me odd.
“Yes.”
“Why would I seek information that might get me in trouble, hurt, or killed?” Now her gaze proclaimed me insane.
“Because curiosity killed the cat.”
“I’m not a cat.” She frowned stubbornly.
“Just promise me. Please.”
“I promise I won’t go looking into the hidden facets of your life for some mysterious information that might get me killed.” She rolled her eyes. “Happy?”
“Immensely.” I kissed her.
“So, were you involved in the mob?” She suppressed her smile.
“Callie.” I grabbed her wrists, restraining her as she laughed. I pulled her closer.
“I was kidding.” She giggled. I couldn’t laugh with her. My throat tightened, and I was unable to swallow. The sunlight had struck one side of her face, illuminating her beauty like one of Rembrandt’s paintings. She was so stunning that it was painful. It was at that moment in Central Park, watching the setting sun shine on Callie’s cheek, when I realized there would be no going back. I’d never leave her willingly, and after a while, she’d discover the truth. I somehow would need to make her immortal or die trying. That sunset, that cheek it was cast upon—that was my new reason for existence. I didn’t want to exist without Callie.
Despite these overwhelming feelings, despite my frigid heart rekindling after years of inactivity, the things Lucien had said overpowered any urges I had. I would be careful with my words. Although I wanted Callie forever, I had seen many times how fickle the heart could be, mortal and immortal alike. I needed to give Callie the choice, without forcing her to love and desire me and only me. I would not bind her to me, but let her love me for the person she believed me to be and not the god whose powers could force her.
After the sun set, it quickly grew chilly, so we went to our respective homes to get ready to go out. I was more than happy the cousins were out with Lucien. I must have dressed too quickly and eagerly, because when I reached Callie’s apartment, she wasn’t ready.
Their servant let me in and motioned for me to continue into the living room. I found myself waiting with her father, who was on the sofa with a blanket wrapped around him, piles of notes and books strewn about.
“Where are you taking Callie tonight?” He pored over his notes, only giving me half his attention. We’d had our awkward introductions previously, but I still didn’t feel comfortable around him. Something irked me about him, but it could’ve simply been my worry over his godly expertise.
“Oh, uh, dinner.” I sat down across from him. “And to um…Emily’s house,” I responded, unsure whether he knew Emily or not. I wasn’t sure what to say to him. I had little experience in dealing with fathers, especially concerned ones.
“Emily, yes. So, a party?” He glanced up at me over his spectacles.
I swallowed the lump in my throat. God that I am, I was terrified. What had Callie told him? “Well, yeah,” I let out. Better not to get caught in a lie, and reading his mind in front of him might be a little obvious and awkward.
“You driving?”
“No sir. Got a driver.” Not that it mattered. Ichor burned off the effects of mortal liquor pretty quickly. Nectar whiskey was a whole other story.
“Be sure she doesn’t drink too much, and have her home by midnight,” he instructed.
I was taken aback by his leniency, the lack of strict rules most mortal kids complained about. I slightly recalled the days when my parents had had rules, but I couldn’t remember what they were exactly. “Oh, I didn’t intend to—”
“Archer, I cannot be strict with her. I am not the typical parental figure. I must shock you, I’m sure, but I will not be on this earth much longer, and I feel when one is used to rigidly strict rules, once free from that restraint, the child goes wild. My daughter tells me almost everything. There is an uncanny trust between us.”
I wondered how much he surmised about Callie and me. “You seem to have a great relationship,” I told him, trying not to think of what they would say about me.
“Do you and your parents?” he asked, going back through his notes.
“I don’t with my father, unfortunately. He’s…in the military.” I told him vague truths. “But I have a great relationship with my mother when she’s not away.”
“What does she do?”
“Besides live off of alimony from her previous marriage? Not much of anything. But she’s in school.” The half lies were so easy to tell, it made me feel guilty.
“School is good. I
hope Callie goes to college,” he mused. “What on earth is this?” He pulled up his notes, squinting. “I’ve never heard of this before.” He picked up a Greek-English dictionary and then closed it a moment later, stumped.
“May I?” I asked him.
Dr. Syches’s expression was skeptical. “You can read Greek?”
“Didn’t Callie tell you I was born in Litochoro?” I asked, taking up a photocopy of an old manuscript.
“No, she didn’t. I wonder if you were there when we were,” he mused.
“I don’t think so. I left when I was young, but my parents made sure I kept up with my heritage. Which part?” I scanned, reading the document easily. It technically was true. We moved on to Rome when I was fairly young, for a god.
“Fourth line down,” he told me. I read it, not noticing anything odd, but he might be referring to the ambrosia part. It wasn’t in reference to the food of the gods, but the high-altitude berry ambrosia was squeezed from: ambrosía moúro.
“It literally translates to immortal berry.” I told him. He was bug-eyed. I had to expand. “Some believed it was a juice from some mystical berry.”
“Interesting.” He eyed me. Why was he so suspicious?
“That’s what this writer seemed to believe at least,” I told him, handing it back, wondering who wrote it.
He studied me carefully and thoughtfully. Surely, I hadn’t revealed too much.
Then my stomach dropped. Callie had said he knew Greek, so he hadn’t needed me to truly translate. “Ambrosia” was a common enough word, and “berry,” simplistic. Had I been the first to reveal to mortals that immortality came from a berry? I couldn’t be. Mortals thought of us as a myth. Even if this one thought we were real, that ambrosia was real, he could never prove it. Just as he could never prove our old palace was actually Mount Olympus.
“I heard you climbed Oros Olimbos.” I wanted to test him, just as he was assessing me, to see how much he knew.
“Yes, some of the artifacts are in those glass cases over there. The ones museums weren’t interested in,” he told me vaguely.
I got up, highly interested, to examine the glass cases along one wall. I scanned, looking for things I might recognize. There were a few arrowheads, broken jars, and my attention came to a couple of figurines of ancient soldiers and tiny arrowheads. Faded old memories of my childhood came back to me, dim distant memories that were hard to recollect because they were so long ago…
I could remember my dad sneaking into my room to see me when he thought I was asleep and leaving me soldiers he had carved for me. Those were the tiny arrows my mother made for me to teach me archery. My parents had a secret love affair back then, and I was the result. But when I was six, her husband Hephaestus found them out and that I wasn’t his son. They had been so happy then, Ares and my mother, until that fateful day when Heph found them…
“Recognize anything?” Dr. Syches asked.
“Pardon me?” I turned toward him, confused. What did he mean? Callie mentioned he was very perceptive, but this was impossible. No mortal could fully read someone’s mind, especially us gods. We were the hardest to read.
“You’re from the area. Have you seen similar items in museums over there? They refused to take them because they could not date them, so they thought they were counterfeit. The experts believed them made much later and placed there. Too high tech for the era to match the architecture.”
I half listened to him, examining the rest of it. An all-too-familiar carved ivory box, a bronze flute, a couple cosmetic pyxides, and a bronze lyre without strings—that last one would amuse Lucien, as it most likely had been his. It wasn’t his first lyre—that Hermes invented with a tortoiseshell—but Lucien used to have quite a collection.
“What I believe is that the inhabitants of the dwelling were far more advanced, despite being so secluded,” Dr. Syches went on. At least he wasn’t telling me outright that they were gods. At least he didn’t dare say it out loud and look crazy. Yet his tone suggested that he was onto me, onto what I was.
“You ready?” I heard Callie ask. “Oh Dad, he doesn’t care about your old toys.”
Dr. Syches turned to gaze upon her, and his face beamed. “Her beauty was so great and illustrious, that it could neither be expressed nor sufficiently praised by the poverty of human speech,” he translated Apuleius’s description of Psyche’s beauty from the myth as he crossed the room and kissed his daughter’s cheek. “Gorgeous.”
I tried not to react, not to let my eyes, which Callie could read so well, betray me. It was too familiar, too coincidental, too close to home to have him quote ancient literature about my first and only love before Callie. Apuleius was the first to record Psyche’s and my love story, thanks to Dionysus’s loose, inebriated lips. Syches spelled so similarly, how I sensed she must be a demigod or at least a descendant of one, her unrivaled beauty—all these factors were making my mind hatch wild and frightening theories.
Callie didn’t notice my expression. She was much too mortified by her father to notice me. I really had to watch myself around these two mortals. I composed myself.
“You look amazing,” I told Callie, and it was the truth. She was stunning, and it scattered every fear in my mind to the four winds.
Dr. Syches beamed at us with a sense of pride. I turned away, unnerved by his probing gaze. I rushed Callie out of that apartment as fast as I could.
No matter how I tried to shake the feeling, Dr. Syches’s words wouldn’t leave me. A fear grew in the pit of my stomach. Were the parallels a sign that history would repeat itself? I couldn’t deal with losing Callie. The emotions from hundreds of years ago resurfaced—the grief, the anguish when I saw my ex-wife’s and daughter’s ashes. I tried to repress the thoughts by paying all of my attention to Callie, but the fear of losing Callie became paramount, and I had a sinking sensation that it wouldn’t be long until this fear was well-grounded.
Chapter 10Aroha
I naively believed that going to Fiji in Autumn would be like a holiday since it was practically summer in the southern hemisphere, but I was very wrong. Zeus ranted, raved, yelled, and bellowed at me about all sorts of nonsense, half of which was really not my fault. He scolded me about Ares, Hephie, and Archer, as if I were the one who was supposed to keep track of them. They were men and did as they pleased; men had forever attempted to control the world, despite all the feminine efforts to thwart them. When they acted all high and mighty, whose job was it to contain them? Mine? I think not. He was the god of gods—deal with it!
At dinner, Zeus appeared more civil. He had to be in front of everyone—all nine Muses; his sister, Demeter; and his wife, Hera. Sure, most of them hated me—jealous of my beauty—but they wouldn’t stand for him screaming at anyone as he used to. He had my favorite dishes made, served nectar wine and ambrosial cakes and berries—just like the old days. Zeus was quiet and sulking behind his feigned civility. Hera’s gaze volleyed back and forth between us, sensing the tension from our fight, or perhaps she was creating one of her little jealousy schemes. Hera was jealous of every female, mortal and immortal, and she had her reasons. Zeus was as unfaithful as the sky is blue, but Hera stayed with him anyway, and now she constantly struggled with his infidelity. Plus, I mean, what man could gaze upon me without adoration anyway? I couldn’t help that I was the most beautiful being ever to exist.
“Zeus, please don’t be angry. I’m at your service. Whatever you want, I’ll do.” I finally crumbled. There would be no peace until Zeus got his way. That was the way it always went. Selfish and obsessively controlling Zeus.
“First, you need to convince Ares to peace,” he began.
“Zeus, he’s your son. You know how hard it is. He’s in love with fighting, with battle.” I looked to Hera for help. Her cold expression told me I would get none. She had never liked me.
“He’s the difficult son,” she scoffed, “but you did leave your husband for him.” Bitter old Hera was still upset that I left her son, Hephae
stus—Hephie—the god of fire, for her and Zeus’s gorgeous and powerful son, Ares. Ares and Hebe were their only legitimate children, but she always favored Hephie because he was hers and hers alone due to her one and only fling with a mortal in revenge for Zeus’s many conquests. Zeus later made him immortal in hopes of gaining Hera’s forgiveness, but Hephie was in his early thirties by then. Created gods appeared the age they were made immortal, while us born gods were frozen when the body stopped growing, around eighteen.
“You will try your hardest. Bring him home with you for a while.”
“Ares in New York.” I laughed. “Disaster.”
“You will obey or suffer the consequences!” Zeus commanded. By the beard of Zeus, he had no sense of humor.
“What are those consequences in case I fail?” I asked quietly.
Hera choked on the soup she was daintily consuming. She wouldn’t dare speak to him that way. Then again, she was spineless.
“Then you will stay here under my supervision for as long as I deem necessary.”
That was enough for me to obey. No one wanted to live with Zeus breathing down her neck. He wasn’t as peaceful and laid back as he had been back when we all lived together in the original Mount Olympus. The world was much more complex, and mortals harder to manage, these days. Plus, with all of us scattered across the world, it was difficult for him to keep tabs on us.
“I’ll give it my all,” I told him.
“As for Hephaestus,” Hera began.
“You will find someone for him. A temporary mortal solution to make him happy,” Zeus finished.
“He is still brokenhearted. It pains me,” Hera mused. “Over three thousand years, and he still loves you.”
I swallowed my soup, trying not to choke. I always felt horrid for what I had done to Hephie. Back then, after the affair with Ares expired, I had wanted to reconcile, but Hephie wanted my darling Eros dead, and being the god of fire, he could easily do so. I could never trust Hephie around Eros, and I loved my son best of all.
“I’ll find someone,” I told him. I’d fail at this task yet again, but I didn’t want to be stuck with Zeus.
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