Nemesis

by Cat Bruno

  Half-truth, half-lie, which is the game we both played.

  “You’re here on assignment?”

  “I work freelance, Detective,” I answered quickly and with growing annoyance.

  “The cape. I’ve seen it in your wedding photos. An odd choice to wear here.”

  There was no denying what could be proven. (It is time for me to remember the rules.)

  Themis had gone; she would not punish me. Instead, she deferred judgment to one higher than us both.

  “Are you here to arrest me?”

  “No. Not yet. Although I do find it interesting that you have fled the country and changed your appearance.”

  It was clear that I was not going to be able to explore the temple without him following my steps. Even my mother, who feared no god, would not come until he had left. For hours, he watched me as I worked. As I strolled about to take pictures (continuing the ruse he employed on the mortal plane), Detective King watched and waited. He did not interfere, yet he did not depart. Soon after our conversation, the temple’s grounds filled with tourists from a bus company. We both ignored them, and I stayed until dusk.

  My fate, for now, was that of a free woman, and I walked back to my rental car without asking for permission. He trailed behind me, all the way to the hotel.

  Later, when I arrived for dinner at a small café housed on the bottom floor, Detective King nodded. After dinner, one that found us both eating alone, he followed me to a bar. And to another after that one. What were a few streets to a man who had traveled over seas and lands, by airplane and car, to pursue me? In another lifetime, he had chased me for months, changing form too many times to recall, an obsession that finally ended in a single night of passion.

  Oh how true the adage of history repeating itself.

  “At least buy me a drink,” I sighed as I slid onto a bar stool next to him.

  Not that long after, as we both sipped on a locally made brandy, he said, “The new, edgy look suits you.”

  He had changed his clothing and wore all black. I had not, although the cape had been replaced by a lacy shawl.

  “I don’t even know your name.”

  “It’s Raiden. My mother is Japanese. My father met her when he was stationed in Okinawa.”

  Disregarding his reply and feeling the liquor, I said, “You know nothing will come of this, right? You’ll go back to Columbus, and I’ll stay in Europe.”

  One night. That was all this would be.

  After downing the rest of the amber-colored drink, I asked, “Do you even know who you are?”

  Unlike Mickey, who would never remember, Raiden King laughed and said, “Of course I do. And you’re lucky it was me who got your case.”

  “I don’t want to talk about Columbus,” I warned.

  “Neither do I.”

  There was no love between us. Not that night, not the nights that had come before. Not the ones that would come later. It was a fate we both expected, an enjoyable and wild one admittedly, but one without commitment. Zeus’s passion burns hot, feverish and destructive. Yet, after he is spent and satisfied, it cools and you are forgotten. Replaced by his next conquest and case.

  However, it would not be without consequence.

  Raiden left my room around noon the next day, without much more than a kiss on my cheek. True to our words, neither of us talked about William’s death or what might come next. If he planned to return to arrest me, he did not mention it. Six weeks later, when I learned that I was pregnant, I did not mention that either. Raiden and I were not meant to be and had never been, no matter the century. His absence at the hotel bar the next night was my only indication that he had returned to Columbus; neither of us had thought it necessary to say good-bye. Would we see each other again? Without a doubt, even if we wore different skins.

  The only people from Ohio that I still talk to are Alexis, Toby, and my lawyer. Griffin and I have stayed close, too, and he did not seem surprised when I told him about the baby. He is close to remembering, I think. Although the longer he stays in New York, the more his connection to the past will dim. I have warned him about how elusive memory is, and he promises to visit me soon.

  Some weeks later, I returned to the temple. This time, I waited until after Helios had ceased riding for the day. Even Selene stayed hidden that night, granting Nyx and me some privacy. When my mother arrived, it was without fanfare or announcement, without mist or fog. Here, so close to where we both had been born, we could travel with ease and without concealment.

  “In the end, you did as you must, daughter,” she told me.

  Neither of us pretended that her words were untrue.

  “Will you return to Olympus?” she asked.

  At night, the temple’s marble shone with a hint of its history, glowing white against my mother’s dark shadows.

  I closed my eyes and thought of how it once appeared. The terrace that it sat upon was built with gray and yellow blocks of marble, while the white marble was saved for the more visible sides of the temple itself. Three steps raise the temple higher, with the lowest one being constructed of dark stone, a sharp contrast to the creamy, expensive marble. In two of the uppermost corners of the temple, heads of the Gryphoi roar. On a marble seat, one of those griffins has been carved into the side, indicating to all who came which throne was reserved for me. And the columns that rose so high that I thought they could reach Olympus, how could I forget those? But it was the statue of Nemesis that most came to see.

  A masterpiece of marble so life-like that I could not believe the young Agorakritos had carved it without assistance from Hephaestus. How my chiton drapes and folds across my body, each pleat carved for antiquity. My hair, of course, is pulled up and a metal crown of dancing golden stags holds it in place. In my left hand, I held an apple branch, and, in my right, a cup. At the base of the statue – the pedestal that I stand tall upon – is the scene that I will never forget: Leda, my daughter’s foster mother, brings my Helene home to me. That Agorakritos knew of my daughter, despite my attempts to keep her hidden and protected, worried me greatly at first. Many children of Zeus have suffered because of his choices; I did not want Helene to have the same fate. Her tale, one longer and more winding than ever my own, is her own to share. My friends, keep an eye out, I think you will be able to read her story soon, too.

  These days, I think of the brilliant sculptor with fondness and appreciation, for few artifacts exist showing the two of us together. Agorakritos has allowed me to think of those days with her and shows me that I do not need to keep her hidden. The Moirae will find her no matter my attempts.

  It is with the knowledge of Helene’s true parentage that Nyx asked me of my plans.

  With my hands across my womb to shield the growing child, I told her, “I will raise the girl myself this time. She is all I have left in a world that has forgotten me.”

  “They have forgotten us all,” my mother whispered sadly, causing the shadows to twinkle darker.

  With that, the night goddess faded, but I did not doubt she would return once the child was born. That day nears, my friends, and my belly is round with her. She will be raised in Greece and will know of her history, although I cannot tell her everything. If her father returns, we will run once more, escaping Zeus’s reach as we have done for thousands of years. I will not allow him to corrupt her or imprison me.

  This mortal skin, the one Dandelion wears, is lovely and strong. Maybe I will enjoy being her in the coming years and not need Nemesis as much.

  For now, I am free, although Mickey has promised to visit soon. Perhaps coming here will help him remember. Although I have insisted that he only come if he sings the amended Moon King lyrics.

  Glory to the moon. Glory to the sky. Glory to the stars and glory to those who let the new gods die.

  Glory to those who let the new gods die.

 

 

&nbs
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