by Raye Wagner
Table of Contents
Copyright Page
Dedication
Apollo’s Creed
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Index of Mythological Figures
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Ignited Preview
Demigods and Monsters
by Raye Wagner
Copyright © 2016 Rachel Wagner
All rights reserved
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, media, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.
Edited by Rekha Radhakrishnan, Jen McConnel, Kelly Hashway, and Krystal Wade
Book Design by Jo Michaels
Cover Design by StudioOpolis
The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by fines and federal imprisonment.
Dedication
For my siblings: Nate, Jay, Luke, Sam, D.J., Mari and Pete
Somehow we finagled our way to be a part of each other’s stories.
Apollo’s Curse
On this night, and in this land
Hear the curse, how it will stand.
Your body and your beauty be
Touched and marked eternally of me
And when your family is complete
Then Death will visit on swift feet
And rob you of the joy divine
The joy that should be yours and mine
Until we wed, and love, and more
This shall stand forevermore.
GLASS SHATTERED, FOLLOWED BY a thud. In one fluid movement, Athan slid his hands under the pillow, grabbed the matching silver blades, and sat up. The thin sheet fell from his shoulders, and he shifted to the edge of the bed.
The night was dark and thick with humidity. The ceiling fan continued to whir despite the escalating tension in the small motel room. Through the broken window, the sour stench of rotten humanity wafted from the street. Athan waited to hear what, if anything, else was coming.
He’d been following a lead, a mere rumor from an acquaintance of a friend. The message came via text a week ago and spoke of a golden girl at Athena High in Seattle. Thought to be a demigod, the girl didn’t blend in with the rest of the senior class and made no attempt to. By the time he’d arrived, the mysterious girl had disappeared. Vanished. No forwarding address. No next of kin listed on the records, no emergency contact. Just gone. The apartment was vacant despite the rent being paid through the end of the six-month lease. Even more frustrating, the girl had withdrawn from school weeks ago. Any trail she’d left was now cold. Bitterly so.
Desperation made a foolish companion, and he wore his recklessness like a heavy cord, tangling his intuition and instinct into a messy knot. Regardless, he’d spent the next several days talking to students, searching popular hangouts, even going so far as to call the conservatory. Unfortunately, he’d gotten voicemail. Not too surprising. Most demigods carried their own cell phones. It was rare to use the conservatory’s line, and even more rare for someone to call it. Perhaps it would be worth a brief visit to see if there was any news of Hope, or rather the Sphinx. The thought of a visit to the demigod residence made his stomach roll. But if it led to finding Hope, it would be worth it.
No sound came from the small sitting room on the other side of the bedroom door. If there were visitors, they weren’t human. He stood and crossed the room.
As he reached for the handle, the door crashed open, and a thick, pale hand grabbed his wrist in a crushing grip.
Athan ducked as black steel swept over his head. He tilted away from the hulking figure and kicked his heel into the Skia’s stomach. The soft give told him he’d missed the ribs. Not that the dead needed to breathe, but a punctured lung might’ve slowed the monster down.
Crouching low, he swung his leg close to the ground in a smooth arc. The minion from Hades anticipated the move and closed the gap with a knee to Athan’s face. The taste of copper filled his mouth, and warm blood ran down his chin. He spit a mixture of saliva and blood and then swung his jeweled dagger at the Skia restraining him.
Before he could connect, his wrist was released and he received an upper cut to his solar plexus. The air rushed from his lungs as he fell backward into the coffee table. The cheap furniture splintered to the ground.
He rolled to the side, onto his hands and knees, allowing one gasping breath before forcing himself to his feet. The small amount of light coming in through the window was enough to confirm what he’d suspected. Pallid skin, onyx eyes, the telltale leer. Minion of Hades. Zeus Almighty! Would he never catch a break?
He wiped the blood from his chin and faced the Skia. “You know I’m going to send you right back to Hell.”
The only response was a wheezing crackle.
They circled the debris, measuring each other, anticipating the first move that would begin the dance of death.
Athan kicked a piece of the broken table at the Skia, but the monster skirted away. He kicked another and another, and the creature slapped each down before it made contact with his body.
This was not going to be easy. The man was tall, taller than Athan, which would affect his reach, and judging from the two blows he’d taken, the demon knew how to fight and he was strong.
He weighed his daggers, wishing for a distraction.
A heavy thumping sounded through the thin ceiling.
“Hey! Keep it down!” The deep male voice from above was loud and angry.
The Skia’s head tilted up.
Athan threw the dagger in his left hand. Anticipating that the Skia would move left, he spun that way and hooked his leg hard, catching the moving figure in the crook of his knee. Both of them crashed to the ground. The Skia swung his black knife, and Athan felt the pressure of the deadly blade on his leg. Gasping, he lurched up, drove his blade deep into the Skia’s chest, and rolled away. Bright light pulsed from the wound. Then the Skia began to hiss and fade.
“Skata.” Athan pulled his leg close. His pajama bottoms were ripped where the Skia had tried to slice him, but the skin was unbroken. He exhaled his relief and tension all in one breath. That had been close. Too close.
He staggered to his feet and picked up the knife from the carpet where the Skia’s body had dissolved. A few more steps and he retrieved the second blade from the kitchen where it was lodged in the wall. The adrenaline coursing throughout the fight began to wane, and his body shook.
No time for a meltdown. He had to leave
. He grabbed his duffle bag and threw his clothes and toiletries inside it. He slipped his shoes on, not bothering to tie them. No time. Opening the door into the dingy hall, he spotted a heavyset man with a red face headed his way. Athan backed into his room and locked the door, hoping to delay the man long enough to get away. Crossing the room to the broken window, he acknowledged his luck at being on the ground floor. Using the curtain, he pushed the broken glass away from the sill.
A heavy pounding came from the front of the motel room. He yanked the window open and pushed out the screen. The angry beating urged him to hurry. The splintering of wood announced his human visitor right as Athan dropped the duffle to the dirt. Another second later, he pulled his body through the cramped opening. As soon as his feet hit solid ground, he ran toward his car on the other side of the lot, pushing the key fob to unlock and start the car. He needed to be gone.
He slid into the driver’s seat and put the car in gear. As Athan merged onto the street, the sounds of sirens drew closer. He cursed his own stupidity. So focused on looking for Hope, he’d left a trail a mile long and a mile wide. It was a wonder Skia hadn’t attacked sooner.
The ringing from the console pulled him from his morbid thoughts.
“Athan Michael.”
“It’s Peter Stanley.” The butcher Hope had befriended in Goldendale, the one that just happened to be a demigod son of Hephaestus.
“Peter. Nice of you to call.” Athan couldn’t help the sarcasm leaking into his voice. “And at three in the morning. What’s got you up at this fine hour?”
“Oh, did I wake you?” He knew he hadn’t. It was clear in the mocking tone of his voice.
Athan sighed. His frustration wasn’t with the butcher. No sense in taking it out on him. “No. Sorry, rough night.” He released a long breath. “What’s up? Everything okay there in Goldendale? Have you heard from our friend?”
“I’m not calling just to chat. You’re not that charming.”
Athan snorted. “I’m well aware.”
“She and Haley just talked. She’s still in Seattle.”
It was something. “Did she mention where? I’ve been in Seattle for a couple months, and the closest thread I’ve picked up was a week old.”
“Sorry, no. But she did say she’d met someone that knew me.” A heavy pause. “And you. Do you think she could be at the conservatory? They have someone new. Thenia called and asked for a phone chip a couple weeks ago,” Hephaestus’s son whispered.
It better not be Hope. The demigods would crucify her if they discovered her true nature. Priska would know better. She wouldn’t let her. Hope couldn’t be so stupid. “No.”
“If the other demigods found her, wouldn’t they take her? It makes sense. And it would be safe for her there.”
Of course it made sense. Until you knew what she really was! “Um, yeah. Right. I’ll check it out in the morning.”
“You could go now and find out.”
Athan glanced at himself in the rearview mirror. His lip was busted, and his eye was puffy and purple. His chest was covered in his own sticky blood, and his plaid flannel pajama pants were ripped and stained. There was no way he was going right now.
“I need to clean up first and maybe grab a few hours of sleep.” He paused but couldn’t think of a reason not to tell the other demigod. “Skia attacked, and I’m a bloody mess.”
Peter laughed as if Athan had shared a joke. “Well, you’d best get yourself all spiffed up then. After all, you never get a second chance to make a first impression, or, in this case, a first second impression.” He chuckled again. “Good luck, son of Hermes”
Without a goodbye, the line went dead.
Athan thought about his options, but this was the best lead he had. And hopefully, hopefully, Xan wouldn’t be there.
“WHEN WE GET THERE, let me do the talking, okay?” Priska’s gaze darted to Hope and then back to the road. “You’re only going to get one shot at this here—”
“I know.” Hope blew out her breath, trying to expel some of the anxiety coursing through her. The plan had seemed like such a good idea last night. Now she wasn’t sure. No. She was sure. She was just scared. Did Priska really believe they could summon a god? Hope wanted to believe it. Because she didn’t know what else to do.
Apollo’s curse made it impossible to love anyone without putting them at risk, and her. She thought of her mom’s death and Paul’s fear. Hermes’s words to Athan, warning him. Didn’t that speak volumes? And on top of that, there was the whole morphing into a monster, and demigods and Skia hunting her. She was ready to do whatever it took to get rid of the curse. Ready to take whatever chances were necessary. She wanted her life back.
Hope had left Goldendale three weeks ago, after overhearing Athan and his father, Hermes, talking about capturing her to use against Apollo. Hermes had given his son an ultimatum, and Hope wasn’t going to stick around and see where Athan’s loyalties lay. It was a risk she couldn’t afford. Two days as a Sphinx had given her time to think, and when she’d morphed back into human, she drove into Seattle to stay with Priska. Hope wasn’t going to be a pawn for the gods. But she wasn’t above asking for a little help either.
“Do you have the puppy?”
Hope rolled her eyes. Where would it have gone?
They’d spent hours searching through breeders’ ads online until they found a purebred Labrador retriever at the right age. When Priska had said they needed an offering, Hope balked at the thought. The idea of sacrificing a puppy was abhorrent, but Priska explained, with an exasperated shake of her head, that they weren’t going to kill it. The dog would be a token gift for the goddess, something that would show she’d done thoughtful preparation before seeking a petition. Yesterday, Priska flew to Colorado to pick up the eight-week-old pup.
“Angel’s right here.” Hope held up the sleeping fur ball. The puppy cracked open an eyelid and licked her hand.
“Don’t get attached. We’re giving it away in thirty minutes. Maybe sooner.”
They exited the freeway and followed the off-ramp back around. Five minutes later, they pulled up to a white stone temple. The grounds surrounding the structure were lush and green with statues of minor gods scattered throughout. The concrete bases of the statues were littered with tokens: food, coins, an envelope, a brush. A brush?
Hope stepped forward to get a better view of an offering to a young male holding a bow and arrow, and the puppy scampered on her heels. There was a plate with a cinnamon roll on it, the frosting dripping down its sides. It smelled good; the spicy sweetness perfumed the air and made her stomach growl. Eros better hurry up and get that, if he wanted it. And if he didn’t, would it be offensive to take a nibble?
“Don’t get too close, or you might offend by not leaving a gift,” Priska pointed out.
Hope drew back from the marble statue of the god of love. Angel yipped, and Hope scooped up the floppy dog as it beelined for the food.
“Not for you.”
Priska disappeared between two of the columns of the large temple, and Hope rushed to catch up.
Hope had never been inside a temple before. She’d been sheltered from so much of the world while she and her mom hid. Seeking a divine audience went against everything she’d ever been taught.
She felt like a tourist as she absorbed the surroundings. Humans had left offerings in hopes that the gods would take notice of them. If only the gods had never taken notice of her or her family. Life would have been much simpler if Apollo had never butted in when he wasn’t wanted. Her great-grandmother had refused the god’s advances, and he’d killed her and cursed her offspring. The root of all her problems came back to Apollo’s curse.
She crossed the threshold and stopped. Twelve giant-sized marble statues, one of each of the major Olympians, lined the walls. Offerings littered the steps leading up to the daises of each god. These offerings were more than mere tokens. In front of Athena was a large planting container, and in it an eight-foot tree. Several
cases of what she guessed was wine sat in front of the statue of Dionysus.
Circling through the open room were several men and women dressed in traditional chitons. The flowing robes were of different colors, and the priests and priestesses only talked with those who wore their same color.
Priska spoke to a young woman wearing midnight-blue trimmed in silver. Of course. Hope went and stood behind her aunt.
“Artemis hasn’t responded to anyone this year.” The priestess appeared older close-up, maybe in her twenties. Her dark hair was pulled into a simple braid, and she wore no makeup.
“I understand. But it’s important for us to make our own plea, and it needs to be in private. Is there anyone in the inner sanctuary?” Priska stood with her shoulders back, chin held high, and gave the priestess a direct look.
The woman’s posture stiffened. “The inner sanctuary is sacred. I’m sorry. I’m happy to take your gift there, but you are far too old to be allowed to make an offering to the Virgin goddess.”
She was implying there was no way Priska was still a virgin and, therefore, unworthy to go into the inner sanctuary. Hope wondered if there were such rules for each of the gods, and were they all so hypocritical?
Priska raised her eyebrows. “What is your age limit here?”
“Sixteen. Unless you are an Arktoi.” She bowed her head. “If your companion would like to act as your surrogate . . .”
Hope suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. She was seventeen.
“That won’t be necessary. Is there a restroom nearby?”
The holy woman pointed to a doorway behind several hallowed icons.
“I’ll be right back.” Priska’s posture softened as she addressed Hope. “Stay here, please. And keep Angel on a short leash.”
Hope nodded at her aunt, then turned back to the woman in blue. The silence stretched into awkwardness.
“How long have you been here?” Hope asked, more for something to say than actual interest.
“Five years in May.” The priestess tilted her head to the side and examined Hope. “Are you thinking of becoming an Arktoi?”
