Quiver

by Lisa Borne Graves

  “Lucien,” I insisted, hitting his shoulder hard, aware there was no way I could truly hurt him. After all, if one of them could fall twenty-nine stories and temporarily have a slight limp, then what could my measly fist do?

  “Unfortunately, you were right. His time was already up Friday night. It is a miracle he lives at all.”

  I swallowed hard. “Archer saved his life, but for how long?”

  Lucien let out an uncomfortable breath. “Until another Olympian Death is born or made.”

  I contemplated that as we rode in the elevator down. When we were out on the street, I took his hand to stop him. He peered down at our hands. I quickly let go, realizing how it could be misconstrued. I tried to ignore the fact that I’d overheard their conversation the other night where he didn’t deny he had feelings for me.

  “Will you…” I paused to catch my breath and suppressed my rising emotions. “Will you warn me? When one is made, will you please tell me?”

  Lucien’s eyes met mine, and it was as though he were thinking about his own father’s death. He was that sad. He nodded, gave my hand a quick squeeze, and led the way toward his car.

  Walking into the coffeehouse without Archer was atrocious, but at least Lucien fielded the questions about our missing friends, telling everyone that their father flew Archer and Aroha out to Fiji for a vacation, and Chase wouldn’t come with us because it wasn’t his scene. I was amazed how it still was sort of the truth. These gods were so good at hiding the truth without truly lying. Everyone was envious of a winter vacation in Fiji, where it was summer, but if they knew the real circumstances, then they’d shut their jealous mouths (yeah, I was bitter).

  I was in a daze, and Linda and Emily kept asking what was wrong. They must have thought I was pathetic, claiming I missed Archer and was worried about the long flight. Linda was the only one to truly sympathize with me. It was clear, since she’d made it that way on Friday, that Emily only played nice to me to be able to sit at our popular table. I could no longer rely on her for anything. Linda’s disastrous birthday party felt like a lifetime ago.

  I went up in line to get another coffee. Emily’s sparring words were too much for me right now.

  “You look flushed again. Go sit down and take something. Your fever’s probably back, and I can’t do anything about it for you at the moment,” Lucien commented quietly as Linda followed him a second later, acting a bit territorial.

  I nodded and followed his orders because he was right. I felt dizzy, spaced out, and my vision spun. And Linda, my only real friend, was jealous, when she had every right to be. This sucked. I never asked for Lucien to like me.

  “You okay, Callie?” Dan asked as I sat back down.

  “Dunno,” I murmured. “I almost didn’t come out because I had a fever. I think it’s back.” I fished into my schoolbag for medicine.

  “You and Lucien came here together, didn’t you? He’s been oh-so-very attentive, hasn’t he? How nice,” Emily mused in a catty tone.

  Thank goodness, Linda wasn’t around to hear her thinly veiled accusations.

  “She’s sick,” Dan defended me. “Lay off, Emily.”

  “I’d play sick too to get one of those boys’ attention. One superbly hot guy isn’t enough for you? You need the whole set now? Who’s next? Chase? Or maybe you’ve already hooked up with him and got him sick. That’s probably why he’s not here,” Emily shot out.

  I couldn’t respond, the room spinning. Linda sat down, followed by Lucien, who was carrying a tray of snacks and drinks.

  “Callie?” Linda sat down next to me. “You’re right, she doesn’t look good.” Her gaze was focused on Lucien. Linda touched my forehead and withdrew her hand quickly. “She’s burning up, Lucien.” Her voice betrayed horror.

  “I already took a Tylenol,” I murmured, my voice sounding odd to my own ears, as if I were outside myself, listening in. My head was like a balloon detached from my body and floating up to the ceiling.

  “She’s just being a drama queen,” I heard a voice say, Emily maybe.

  “We should take her to a clinic,” Linda protested. “That’s a high temp for sure.”

  Lucien touched my head, and his eyes went wide. I felt the healing heat come out of his palm, but nothing happened. He was frustrated as he removed his hand. “No. Hospital. I’ll drive,” Lucien told her.

  I felt my arms being lifted, and I walked, following where they led me. I was on autopilot. My legs moved without my mind telling them to.

  The rest of the day was just foggy images I could hardly recollect. I never had felt so out of it: riding in a car, Linda holding my head in her lap; a nurse taking the thermometer from my mouth, gasping; someone saying, “I need cold water, sponges...one-hundred cc’s of dantrolene”; holding someone’s hand—Lucien perhaps; being in cold, damp sheets; needles and queasiness…

  I woke up in a cold bed, shivering, with someone holding my hand. I looked at the hand, then to the face. It was Dad. He was so frail and worried.

  “Hey, pumpkin.” He tried to smile. “You gave us quite a scare there.”

  “Where…what…” I was confused. Something was in my nose; I went to pull it out, but another set of hands stopped me, much stronger ones. My gaze flew to the owner of the hands: Lucien. I was disappointed. I had hoped it had all been a nightmare, and those hands belonged to Archer.

  “Stop it,” he scolded.

  “You’re in the hospital. You had a fever of 106, Callie. They’ve got you down to 101, but it was very scary there for a while,” Dad explained.

  “I’m so cold.” I shivered.

  “And you’ll be sweating in a minute.” Lucien leaned back against the wall.

  “Wait, you said a while.”

  “Callie, you’ve been out of it for almost twenty-four hours.” Dad patted my hand.

  “Archer!” I tried to sit up, but Lucien was pushing me back down again. I felt the IV shift in my arm and almost gagged.

  “Rest, darling,” my dad instructed.

  Lucien and Dad exchanged a look. Did I see my dad shake his head slightly?

  “What’s going on?” I pleaded. They were hiding something from me. There must’ve been news while I was out.

  “Well, you have some kind of infection. They have no clue what it is, but the idiots are claiming food poisoning. I sent some of your blood to the most intelligent…’person’ on earth, but she’s busy at the moment, so hopefully, we’ll know the truth in a week or so,” Lucien told me quickly. He was trying to distract me from the subject of Archer.

  “Infection?” I asked. “Food poisoning?”

  “Her brain’s fried,” Lucien mocked me.

  “Shut up.” I scowled at him.

  “There she is.” He chuckled.

  My dad’s hand touched my hair. He looked so sad, so scared, so frail and vulnerable.

  “I’m okay, Dad,” I told him.

  “You really did give me a scare,” he said, brushing my hair from my face.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked him, concerned.

  “Hanging in there, kiddo. Hanging in there.” He tried to force a smile.

  I was released from the hospital a couple hours later with a prescription for antibiotics. Dad insisted I stay home from school the next day to make sure the fever was kept at bay.

  Lucien had stopped by the school to pick up our missed work and delivered it to me. We hung out in my new camp out, the living room sofa. I hadn’t slept in my bed since Friday. It reminded me of the last moments I’d had with Archer. Dad hung out with us, and he and Lucien talked all about history and mythology. I was hardly interested, so I got started catching up on schoolwork. But my mind was elsewhere, on the other side of the world, to be exact. It had been almost three days since Archer had left. What was going on for him not to call me? Or had he called while I was unconscious? I hoped he hadn’t, because if it were good news, Lucien would have told me. If it were bad news, he wouldn’t because I was ill. I looked at them both, my dad a
nd Lucien. What were they hiding from me?

  “What is it, Callista?” Dad perceptively studied me, concerned.

  “Something’s happened, and you won’t tell me.” I glanced at them both. “It has to be bad, or you would’ve told me to cheer me up.” I kept my voice strong to prevent them from using my sickness as an excuse to further hide things.

  Lucien and Dad looked at one another. Dad nodded, giving permission, and Lucien said, “He called while you were…out.”

  “You told him I was sick?” I asked, shocked. That was the last thing Archer needed on his plate, to hear that I had been deathly ill.

  “He knew you wouldn’t…without Death around and all,” Lucien defended himself. “I had to anyway. He wanted to talk to you.”

  “Call him,” I pleaded. “Call him back now,” I said, finding more strength in my voice. “Where’s my phone?” I frantically searched the clutter in my sick campsite, but it was lost in the mess.

  “I can’t. He’s in a complex negotiation with Zeus. There is more than one life on the line here, Callie,” Lucien said, talking down to me as if I were an obstinate child. “But Callie, we will know today.” He glanced at his watch. “In fact, he should’ve called by now.”

  I felt dizzy again, staggered that I would hear something soon. My entire future, my life, might be on the line as well as Archer’s. It all crashed down on me and overwhelmed me.

  “So we cannot die until there’s a new Death?” Dad asked.

  “What?” Lucien was confused by my father’s shift in topic. “Oh, no. There are other Deaths out there, the others—”

  “All religions, the gods are real?”

  Lucien froze. “Let’s not talk about them to get you on more hit lists, but no one dying isn’t as good as it sounds. You have a human body. That body can stop working. Without Death, your soul will be trapped in a body that doesn’t function.

  “Meaning?” My father prompted. I didn’t like this conversation.

  “A coma, life support, trapped and unable to communicate. No picnic.”

  Dad paled.

  “I don’t want to hear this,” I said in an attempt to cut off the morbid conversation before I could envision what might happen to Dad.

  On cue, Lucien’s phone rang. We all froze. Then Lucien got up fluidly, with such speed that when I blinked, he was already in Dad’s office. I muted the television to hear his side of the conversation. My father looked at me but didn’t scold me for eavesdropping, probably because he was curious as well.

  “She is better, yes, and at home now,” Lucien said, then waited a moment. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

  A long silence.

  “What?” Lucien’s tone was disbelieving.

  Silence again.

  “Are you sure? Are you positive?” Lucien’s voice was firm.

  Another pause.

  “Okay, all right. Bye.” He hung up the phone and came back out into the living room.

  I stood up, awaiting the sentence. It was my own as well. My dad got up and crossed to me, then placed his arm around my shoulder. I didn’t know who was supporting whom more.

  Lucien stared at the floor and shook his head solemnly, grappling for the words. When he raised his head, he avoided my gaze, instead, fixating on the area a foot above me. He cleared his throat and shuffled his feet.

  “Archer…um…” Lucien swallowed hard. “Callie, he’s gone.”

  “What do you mean, gone?”

  “He’s gone. He’s dead. Executed. It was his life or yours, Callie. He died to save you.” Lucien’s voice cracked, and he was trying to reel his emotions in.

  But why wouldn’t he look me in the eye? The god of truth should be able to look someone in the eye.

  As the words set in, I felt myself quiver from head to toe. I couldn’t believe it. I felt my heart and mind crumble from within. All my hopes, all my dreams were shattered. Everything I wanted in life had been torn from me. Didn’t he realize that I’d rather die than be without him? Archer had called me cruel, but this was beyond cruelty.

  “No,” I heard my own faint voice gasp. “Impossible.” I could not believe it.

  Lucien placed his cell phone down on the coffee table and pulled me up into a hug.

  I pushed him away and turned. “I want to be alone.”

  “Callie,” my dad said weakly.

  “Please, just give me a moment,” I said.

  Lucien awkwardly led my father into the office. Something in me wouldn’t click; my mind would not process the information given to it: Archer, gone. It was impossible.

  I tried to take in a deep breath, but my chest constricted painfully. I heard their concerned murmuring. Then I noticed Lucien’s cell phone sitting there. I picked it up and went into the call log to see the last caller. Expecting to see Chase’s name or even Aroha’s, I was shocked to see Archer’s name. My heart skipped a beat. If he were dead, how could he call? I hit the Talk button.

  The phone was torn from my hands, and I looked up to see an enraged Lucien glaring down at me. “What are you doing?” he demanded as his thumb quickly ended the call.

  “He’s alive. You’re lying.” I lunged to get the phone back. “He called you!”

  “Stop it!” Lucien shoved me back a bit roughly.

  I went in attacking him, hitting him. I wanted to hurt him as he had just wounded me with his deceitful words. How could he possibly say those things?

  “Stop it!” he repeated. I felt my feet go out from under me and was slammed on the sofa. Lucien had me pinned down and restrained with his immortal strength. His face loomed only inches above my own as he growled, “Chase used his phone, Callie. It was Chase.”

  The scent of flowers tickled my senses, reminding me of my mother, of Archer—all my loved ones taken from me, dead. I stopped struggling.

  After he realized I had stopped fighting, he let go of me and got up. I stood back up defiantly. “You didn’t look me in the eye when you said it,” I protested. “Why wasn’t he allowed to say goodbye, then?” My voice sounded weak to my own ears. The fight was leaving me.

  Lucien’s eyes met mine. “He is gone, Callie. Archer is gone, and he’s never coming back.” It felt like a slap in the face this time, acute and painful. “I am so sorry…” His voice cut off in his throat, and he choked back tears that formed in the corner of his eyes.

  My head swirled in realization, and I had that floating feverish feeling again, like everything was happening around me, but I couldn’t focus directly on any of it. I felt my knees go weak, and darkness closed around me. I felt my body slump to the floor, and then the sounds around me went faint. I heard panic in my father’s voice and Lucien’s commanding tone, but I could not make sense of their words. Then all noises ceased, but in the comforting cocoon of darkness, I heard my heart still beating strong.

  This wasn’t right. It was all wrong. If Archer were truly dead, my heart should have died with him. I clung to that thought. It was the only gleaming object in the obsidian darkness. It was left in Pandora’s box for mankind to behold: hope. It was mine, and Zeus couldn’t take that away too. Archer had promised he’d come back to me one day, and he would somehow, at some time, come to me. He could not break that promise. Gods can’t die. They just couldn’t. I would see Archer again. I knew that was true, somewhere deep down, and I would never give up that hope. It was all I had left, and I concentrated on clinging to it as I sank further into the abyss, an unconsciousness from which I did not want to wake.

  Chapter 23Archer

  In the wee hours of Saturday morning, Hermes whisked my parents and I away, in two goes since he could only bear so much matter when teleporting. Fiji was hot and beautiful, or so my father exclaimed. I saw no beauty around me at the moment. We checked into my grandfather’s vacation resort and were sent a message to report to his office in the morning since it was already night in Fiji.

  I didn’t sleep at all and went down with my somber parents the next morning as instructed. T
he hearing terrified me. At the moment, despite being a god, facing Zeus felt very much like facing the firing squad. He sat behind his corporate-looking desk in a tailored suit, looming and intimidating and not at all the doting grandfather he had been to me years ago. It had been a few hundred years, so I’d forgotten how pale he was, so pale that the veins showed blue through his almost transparent skin. His hair and beard were platinum blond, making him appear older than his thirty-six mortal years. He had been the first of the Olympians, the one who figured out how to become immortal. I didn’t know how old he truly was, and I wasn’t sure if he still kept count. He also had piercing pale blue eyes that felt as though they sliced through you, and if you beheld them for more than a moment, which was difficult, you could see how old and wise they were. The pale skin, hair, and eyes were not the most intimidating thing about him; Zeus was an exceptionally big man, muscular, thick, and tall. My dad was the only one who was as big as him. Zeus’s demeanor and status demanded our submission and respect.

  I, the defendant, sat across from him, and Athena, my defense lawyer, next to me. My parents stood behind me for moral support and ready to beg mercy, I was sure. But this was no ordinary trial with a jury to deliberate. Zeus was prosecutor and judge. I was to be the only witness, the only one to tell any side of the story. Dr. Syches’s and Callie’s views didn’t count. In Zeus’s eyes, they were as insignificant as ants, ones he could crush if this all went horribly wrong.

  Zeus sighed and studied me. I swallowed with difficulty, waiting to hear what would happen to me, to Callie. I feared his wrath because no one had an anger like his: tornadoes, hurricanes, thunderstorms, cataclysmic events.

  “You look terrible,” he said. Harsh, and not at all what I expected.

  “I feel terrible.” I felt ashamed. What I had done finally caught up with me. I felt guilty. I had taken life. Unlike my father, this was something I had never done before. There were people who did love the god of death, and he would be missed by a few. I was conflicted, though. The guilt was kept in check by justification. I could not regret killing Thanatos. He would’ve killed Callie, and I couldn’t live without her.