Adrian stretched tall and brought his weapon straight up and back, aiming for ‘do’. Hephaestus had exposed his right flank. The blow connected with a sickening thud, churning Adrian’s stomach. Blood gushed from his side, but the massive man hardly slowed. Scarlet spray peppered Adrian’s shirt as the god backhanded him. The golden footwear dragged him to the precarious edge, but he didn’t worry. He trusted the shoes. He wouldn’t fall.
Hephaestus glared at him in bewilderment before dropping his gaze to Adrian’s feet. Understanding dawned. “I remember those wretched things. Hermes’ magicks cannot save you from me.” The snarl transformed into a wicked display of teeth. “Unless you wish to fly away like a coward?”
Adrian’s training took over. He wouldn’t let Hephaestus bait him. A kendokka must remain calm in the face of an opponent. He relaxed, tension drained from his limbs.
‘Men’ strike.
“You,” His katana plowed into the god’s skull, “talk too much.” The clatter of Hephaestus’ dropped axe reverberated through the chill evening. Time stopped. Adrian sighed in relief. It was finally over. The blue steel was embedded to Hephaestus’s eyebrows.
Through the helmet’s enhanced mask he looked to his enemy… The eyes twitched.
Adrian gasped, trying to dislodge the katana from brain and bone. Hephaestus slapped his hands on either edge of the blade. The cliff’s end beckoned. Pebbles tumbled and fell, never to be heard again.
Impossible. Hephaestus yanked, and the blood-drenched weapon began to slide. His strength drove Adrian into space. His gut lurched as he plummeted, taking the god with him into the evergreen abyss.
The sting of pine-scented branches slapped Adrian. The shoes recoiled, and Adrian hovered upside down still holding the katana, Hephaestus’s fingers gripping the steel. Hermes’s sandals stuttered and lost altitude, unable to support the weight of both him and the gargantuan immortal.
Sweat and weakness loosened Adrian’s grasp. He glanced at his rival; Hephaestus’s eyes clouded with disbelief.
“I’m sorry,” Adrian already regretted killing him, but this had to end. He let go.
Hephaestus howled for an extended moment, before an earth-cracking bang ended his rage. Hopefully forever. Adrian wiped his face with his tie. No one took a slice to the head and lived, not even in the movies. Adrenaline leaked away and sore muscles throbbed in time with Adrian’s slamming pulse.
The enchanted sandals deposited him back to the cave entrance where Adrian took stock of his situation and options. The mountain dared him to enter.
He had no weapon. What if there were minions? Or a guardian? Adrian wouldn’t dismiss anything out of fairy tales to come at him. Wait. Where was the axe? He navigated his way with infrared vision until he found the greenish heavy metal stage prop lying where Hephaestus dropped it, and hefted it with his remaining energy. Pleased with its light weight, he brandished it experimentally.
Nice. Lucky for him, the ancient smithy knew his stuff. If he didn’t know better, he could swear it was made of lightweight foam rubber. One problem solved.
But his contused heart grew weary. He peered inside the never-ending vastness of the tunnel. Not even the helmet’s night vision aided him; it offered only residual heat of the waning day.
“Poetry.” He felt the stirrings of despair. How would he find her? New light materialized from…beneath him? No. He looked down. The ground hadn’t lit up, but he still saw the flare. Where did it come from? He stroked his neck, even as warmth bathed his skin.
The amber. Of course. The gems were ensorcelled. Aphrodite said thoughts of Poetry would lead him to her.
“Yes.” Adrian hissed his excitement. For the first time since arriving at Poetry’s apartment Adrian believed he could win.
“Come on, fancy feet,” he said with a laugh. “Follow the pretty rocks.”
# # # “Why can’t you just do this yourself?” Strife kept her volume low, but the corridor’s emptiness amplified her words. She shivered despite her stolen lab coat, and wished more than once that she were safe and warm in Ranjan’s arms. “No one can see you but me.”
She’d discovered that fact when, upon entering the hospital, a nurse attempted to send her away. She strolled right past Ares and addressed Strife directly.
“Visiting hours are over,” the nurse had said. “You’ll have to come b…” Her words were cut off as her master backtracked and casually snapped her neck. The same fate befell both desk clerks and a doctor. Not one human spotted him under his invisibility.
Why did Ares drag her into this? Why couldn’t he leave her in peace? Because, dear Strife, your performance at the flower merchant’s compromised the mission. Not only is Aphrodite alert to your presence, but she will suspect the larger plan. She knows me well.
Ares’ lip curled in distaste. And stop speaking like a simpleton. Your speech is lazy and distasteful. You spend too much time among the humans.
Strife wanted to run screaming from her fate. She recognized her foolishness in killing Aphrodite’s favorite son. When the goddess discovered her, Strife would plead for a merciful death that wouldn’t… would not…come.
You should thank me, Ares said. I shall protect you when she finds us. Strife almost laughed and sucked in sterile, chemically tainted air that irritated her nose instead. Ares defending her. And Hades would leave the realm of death for women and song. She sneezed and cast Ares a doubtful glare as she wiped her nose.
You cannot challenge her alone.
True. But Strife found it more likely that he only needed her to perform the final tasks while Ares battled the woman he once loved… had he ever been capable of that emotion. She no longer believed it to be possible.
Strife never conceived she would experience it herself. The soothing atmosphere of the Cross Cancer Institute’s walls, with its handmade art and sunny paint, mocked her. The guilt for her spinelessness paled in comparison to the bitter flavor of loss.
Ranjan offered her a dream. And she would reward him with death and destruction. She hoped they did not cross another human before they arrived at the cyclotron. She could not bear to watch another soul expire. Not anymore.
Ares’ derisive snort startled her. The New World has made you soft, Strife. For centuries you were a nightmare on the battlefield. Now you behave like a mortal. Ares clucked his tongue. Why would you wish to be one of them?
Why indeed? But in a few short days she experienced more than she had in several hundred years. She had explored a vibrant city, tasted but a few of its delights, and viewed Earth from worldly eyes. She had been seduced by a man who wanted her love.
For the first time since leaving Eden she had truly lived. Maybe humankind, with their brief duration on Earth, realized something her kind did not: the pure joy of existing. The thought that she would never learn that lesson grieved her.
“Are we there yet?” Although Ares could hear her thoughts, she loathed sharing them. Speaking aloud gave her the illusion that perhaps the sound of her morose voice could hide them. False optimism, but a small comfort.
Almost. Ares grinned. Never a good sign. Mayhem went hand-in-hand with Ares’ good humor. The door to the lab is here. He gestured to the left.
The jiggle of a doorknob interrupted the drone of Strife’s footfalls. A dark-skinned man wearing a white jacket matching hers poked his head out from the doorway Ares had pointed out. His pocket tagged him as Dr. Mehra. She thought she had been quiet enough to avoid arousing awareness.
“Hello?” In that instant he reminded Strife of how Ranjan might mature twenty years from now, with a slight paunch and double chin. Bifocals perched on a generous nose. She smiled.
“No one else is supposed to be in this area,” he said, sliding his glasses up. “Are you lost?” “Yes. I, uh…” Strife lost his attention. He stared at Ares with his mouth agape.
“My God.” His hoarse whisper filled the vacant hall. Incredulity and wonder transformed his face from tired doctor to fascinated child. The scent of t
urmeric and curry wafted from his skin.
Ares eyed him with malice. “Guess again.” CHAPTER FORTY
“Poetry.” She raised her aching head at the call of her name. She must be hearing things, that sounded like Adrian.
Demonic eyes peered through the pitch. She gauged the approaching monster at three meters tall. Or maybe it flew. She heard no footsteps. Maybe Hugh decided not to keep her after all. Maybe he’d sent some hell-spawned minion to finish her off. The idea almost made her laugh. Now she’d started thinking crazy.
She no longer cared. Her bloodied hands were cramped from tapping rocks into unyielding links for hours. Death would be preferable to rotting in a dank cave, wasting away from hunger and thirst. Or worse, submitting to Hugh’s warped idea of worship. Whatever that was. She’d rather go out kicking and screaming than find out.
She lobbed a stone at the creature, and hit a random stalactite. She heard it crumble several meters away.
“Poetry?” She mustered the fortitude to stand. This thing wasn’t going to take her quietly. Her chains rasped along the ground, stirring up dust. She sneezed, spitting mucus and dirt.
“Poetry, say something. Is that you?” The orbs brightened, burning her light-deprived eyes.
Must be the mother of all flying vermin. Even through her dizziness, she watched the lights hover and land. Subtle flapping preceded the steps she’d expected earlier.
Poetry swallowed painfully. She presented her shaking fists, weaving like a drunken boxer. She had no fear. She just wanted to get this over with.
“Poetry, it’s me. Adrian.” It advanced, and the surrounding radiance became tolerable as her sight adjusted.
Her brow twitched. Since when do mythological beasts wear ties? With gold sandals, helmet and a mask? Wielding a battleaxe. Worst. Super-villain costume. Ever. A cough interrupted her thoughts and the faceplate rose to expose human features. “Adrian?” She didn’t recognize the pathetic croak from her mouth, but she’d know that intense gaze anywhere. Her eyes stung with unshed tears. “Is it really you?”
His grin empowered her to lift her arms. Adrian tossed the weapon aside and leapt into her clutches, squeezing her until she couldn’t breathe.
He’s here. He’s right here holding me. He came for me. “You found me.” Every word gnawed at her throat. “How did you ever find me?” Adrian held her at arms length and cupped her chin. His eyes sparkled with happiness and relief. She fought the urge to pinch herself, despite the damp softness of his shirt beneath her palms. Could this be real?
“Divine intervention,” he said, and folded her into his embrace once more. “Lucky me.” In the intimate silence Poetry bathed in Adrian’s love, and she understood it was love. She went weak with the tenderness of his kiss, the warmth of his affection. She buried her nose in his fresh musk.
All the terror of her ordeal faded. Even her shackles felt feather light. But not for long.
“Adrian?” She pulled away and intertwined her fingers with his. “Can you get me out of here?” He glanced to her wrists as if noticing her chains for the first time. “Oh. Yeah.” Adrian let go and retrieved the blade. “The best way to break bindings from a forge-god is with a forge-god’s weapon.”
She gave him plenty of room, shielding her face from sparks as Adrian cleaved into steel.
“Watch the hands,” she said. “I kind of need those.” She shrugged her ears into her collarbone, flinching with every ringing blow until he freed both arms. Adrian gestured with the remains of the tool. “We can probably remove those cuffs when we get home.” He inspected the ruined metal chunks clinging to the handle. They resembled shards of broken glass. He cast them aside.
Poetry had so many questions. “What do you mean ‘forge-god’? Where is Hugh?” She took in Adrian’s blood drenched get-up, with gold on his head and feet. “What the hell are you wearing?”
“Where do I begin?” He left her field of vision, but she heard stones banging together as he rummaged. “Today has been interesting. Your ex trashed my Bentley. I bought you a bouquet of roses, but someone killed Hermes.” His shuffling ceased with the yip of a zipper. “I met a goddess who says you and I are part of some game she has going with another god and-Hey, look what I found.”
Adrian returned, up to his elbows in a duffle. “Is that water?” Poetry asked. She slid her sandpaper tongue over the dry cracks and flakes on her lips. To think, sustenance sat only meters away all this time. Hugh was a bastard.
Adrian opened the bottle and she snatched it from his fingers. Cool rivers bathed her cheeks. She gulped greedily, drenching her parched gullet. Clarity returned with hydration.
Kevin wrecked Adrian’s car. Jerk. Poetry felt terrible, as if she brought it upon Adrian herself. And who was Hermes? “I don’t understand,” she said, wiping away spills with the remnants of her dress. “You’ve been talking to gods? About us?” Had she heard correctly? Or was her mind playing tricks on her?
He handed her a Granny Smith apple, and she rolled her eyes in pleasure with the first bite. Normally she didn’t care for its sharpness, but right now it tasted like the crisp outdoors she’d thought she’d never see again.
“Aphrodite, yeah. And Freya. Amir told us Hephaestus took you, and Aphrodite said…” “Amir told you Hugh is a god named Hephaestus?” “Actually, he told Freya. She speaks cat.” “Really…” A deity Dr. Dolittle. Why not? “Weird, huh?”
“Let me guess,” Poetry chewed slowly, trying to process Adrian’s bizarre tale. “It’s going to get weirder, isn’t it?”
Trepidation spread across Adrian’s face. “Ares has been causing the riots and bombings. Aphrodite and Freya are going to confront him.” He wasn’t joking. Had Adrian lost his sanity while she’d been gone? Maybe this was just an elaborate hallucination her overwrought brain dreamed up, complete with sensory details and legends from ancient Greece and Scandinavia.
“I had no idea how to find you. But I did, thanks to this necklace.” He lifted it with a thumb and the glimmer played along cave walls. “I only had to think of you.” Adrian leaned forward and planted a gentle kiss that stung her abused mouth.
That didn’t feel like her imagination. Adrian made a shoulder check before taking her hand. “You ready to leave?” Poetry took her first uncertain steps from her prison. Pebbles, cold and pointy, poked the soles of her bare feet. Small price to pay for liberty. She was weak but determined to walk.
“Let me.” Adrian placed her arm over his back, trying to carry her. “No,” she said, taking his hand. “I need to leave on my own.” Then she could believe this rescue for herself. Only then would this be reality. After about fifteen minutes of hesitant inching, a worrisome thought occurred to her. “Where is Hugh? I mean, Hephaestus? Did you…” She didn’t want to ask, but the blood on Adrian’s shirt begged the question. “Did you kill him?”
Poetry sensed weary tension in Adrian’s taut muscles. “God, I hope so.”
No sooner had the words left his lips, than they heard an unearthly roar. Startled bats swooped and dove over their heads. Poetry peered through the gloom to see the starry sky. And the hulking shadow that barred their exit. “Shit.” Adrian’s grip grew clammy. “Asshole won’t stay dead.”
The beast she’d once called friend stomped toward them, his unbalanced tread thudding throughout the cavern. He panted like a vicious dog.
“What do I do?” Poetry stole a glance at Adrian. He’d gone white and shook as though he would come apart. Sweat spotted his nose and chin. “I already killed him once.” His resignation and hopelessness frightened her more than Hephaestus’ approach.
She smelled fresh mountain air, so close. They’d almost made it. But weaponless and exhausted, they were easy pickings.
Poetry resented it. To just die like sitting ducks after everything she’d endured, after Adrian’s victory in the name of love. It wasn’t fair. The god’s gore-encrusted face materialized like a butchered jack o’ lantern. Gathering her courage, Poetry pried her fingers from Adr
ian’s. She wanted payback before checking out. She surged ahead to deliver a final act of defiance.
A satisfying thud filled her ears as her foot connected with Hephaestus’ testicles. It halted him in mid-charge, and he hit the ground with a moan. Apparently immortals had vulnerabilities too.
“Ohh…” Adrian’s hands shielded his groin. She gawped in amazement. She didn’t think that would work.
“That’s for kidnapping me, you prick.” Hephaestus curled into a fetal position. Poetry prepared to boot his unprotected back, but Adrian dragged her toward freedom. “He’s down. We gotta go. Now.”
He hoisted her legs around his hips. She buried her head in his back and held tight.
With a flurry of wing beats they swam to meet the clouds. CHAPTER FORTY-ONE “Was that necessary?” Strife choked down tears and regurgitated turmeric, thinking of the poor man who had the misfortune of having his head roasted at Ares’ touch. She could still smell the acrid odor of charred flesh and hair.
He could see me. As if that alone justified his actions. But that was Ares; eye contact with the almighty war-god meant death. Are you just going to stand there sniveling? He admired a contraption of metal, bolts, and wires enclosed in a plexiglass room. Or must I do everything myself?
Strife would prefer the latter, but it was a rhetorical question. Disobedience was not an option.
“What is your bidding, Master?” Flip the switch. He pointed to the control panel on the wall. It housed a large red handle, presumably for powering the isotope processing apparatus.
Ares sounded so casual. Never mind that thousands of humans would die by those words. Strife remembered when his impudent remarks would cause her to squirm with glee. She once loved mayhem. Now it tortured her heart.
Strife shuffled to the other side of the sterile room and yanked the lever down. The lights flickered. No going back now. This was her lot in life. Her existence.
The mechanical cylinder, the cyclotron, spun into action. The hum rapidly built to a crescendo. It exuded tremendous energy for such a small engine. No wonder they kept it enclosed.
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