by Raye Wagner
“Yeah. So?”
“Let’s just say I’ve known Athan longer than you’ve been potty trained.”
Whoa! “Really?” That couldn’t be right.
Xan threw the eggs in with the vegetables and started folding it all into a scramble. “I’ve known him for almost fifteen years.”
That would mean . . . She moved around to the bar and sat on a stool. “How old is he?”
He met her gaze and frowned. “He really didn’t tell you?”
Hope shook her head, suddenly not sure she wanted to know.
“Well, that’s between the two of you.”
She glared at him. “Don’t patronize me.”
He met her eyes and continued, “I don’t want to get in between whatever the two of you have going on.” He covered his mouth but couldn’t quite hide the smirk. “Or whatever you think you have.”
“I doubt that,” Hope muttered. As soon as it was out, she cringed.
“You can doubt all you want, sweetheart. It doesn’t change the facts.” Xan threw grated cheese in with the eggs. He grabbed a loaf of bread from one of the pantries and then put two slices into the toaster.
Hope watched as he assembled plates for both of them. He handed one to her and took a bite as he came around the bar to sit next to her on the wooden barstools.
“Athan always does what is good for Athan,” he said.
She set her plate down. “You don’t like him.”
“Nope. Not at all. I don’t pretend I do, either.” He stuck another forkful of food into his mouth. After swallowing, he said, “Ask around, Hope. I’m not the only one. When you’re immortal, you need to learn to be able to read people. That includes their motives. It takes a while, but you’ll learn.” He pointed to her plate.
Hope almost clapped with pleasure with her first bite. The breakfast hash was delicious. She forgot all about Xan as she ate. Forgot about Athan. Even forgot about the curse.
“When you’re done”—he interrupted her shoveling—“I’ll show you around the rest of the house, eh?”
Xan’s words brought her back to reality. He’d already finished and was watching her eat. Like seriously watching her. Weird. She took another bite, chewing more slowly. Why was he staring?
“You should meet the other residents when they get back. Some of them will be teaching you,” Xan said. “And we should probably come up with a schedule. Maybe you could take some of the same lessons as Endymion. He’s about your age.”
She shoved the food to the side of her mouth and asked, “Who’s Endymion?”
“Apollo’s son.”
Hope choked and started coughing.
“You okay?” Xan pounded her back.
Hope pushed his hand away. “I’m fine.” She coughed again. “Fine.”
She stood and went to the sink to do the dishes.
“Okay, if you say so.” He shifted back in his seat. “I’ll talk with Endymion about you joining him, although he’s been here a little longer than you.”
The idea of having classes with Apollo’s son made her want to throw up. She grasped for a reason to avoid him and stood immobile while water ran over the already scraped plate.
“Won’t he be more advanced than me?” she asked and then stacked the plate in the dishwasher.
“You would think that, but I suspect you’ll be able to hold your own. Especially on subjects like fighting and strategy. Endymion’s a bit of a gimp.” He grimaced. “That being said, most of Apollo’s sons are able to hold their own, eventually. And they tend to be wicked smart, so you gotta be careful of that.”
She thought of the nameless, faceless sons of Apollo who’d kidnapped and beaten Priska. Was this Endymion one of them? Probably not if he was a “gimp.”
“You’ll meet Obelia. She’s our resident historian.”
“Who’s her mom?” That was what Hope really wanted to know.
“Hestia. Think house and home. She tends to go from one conservatory to the next. Not much for the world since she came inside.” He cocked his head and looked at her pointedly. “I think Athan found her, too. You should ask her about him.”
Hope stopped washing the skillet. How dare he try to goad her like that? “Maybe I will.”
“Maybe you should.” He chuckled, and his dimple flashed an appearance. “I like when you get belligerent and your chin sticks out like that. It’s cute.” He came around the bar to the sink.
She glared at him and scooted away. “I’m not trying to be cute.”
“Of course not. That’s why it’s cute.” He grabbed a towel, dried the pan, and then put it away under the range.
They finished the dishes, and Hope wiped down the stone counters while her mind raced. She needed to find the library. Anxiety twisted her insides as she tried to think of a way to bring it up without sounding suspicious.
“Come on, Hope. Finish up already.” Xan stood in the doorway.
“Just because—”
“Easy. I’m sayin’ don’t dawdle. It’s been a long time since I’ve given a welcome tour.” He rolled up onto the balls of his feet. His bouncing made him seem very boyish. His dimple was strong, and any earlier coldness had thawed.
“All right.” Hope set the washcloth down. Maybe she wouldn’t have to say anything. Tour of the house. Library. Books. “Let’s go.”
As they stepped out of the kitchen, Hope noticed an old-fashioned land-line phone mounted on the wall. Weird that they would still have one with cellphones, but maybe this was for demigods that didn’t have chips. She’d have to remember that if she ever needed to call someone. As if.
The house was empty, not of furniture, but of other residents. Xan explained that on certain days everyone would leave and run errands together. If they all left at once and stayed in groups, they were less likely to be outnumbered. It made for a long day, but they hadn’t lost any demigods to Skia since the plan had been implemented.
They walked through the hardwood halls, both treading noiselessly. Xan took Hope into a room that appeared to be an armory and then outside into an area that resembled a Greek arena. They peeked into a formal classroom, an electronics lab, a makeshift hospital, the gardens, a distillery, a music room, and then were finally on their way to the library.
Hope loved books and the concept of libraries. All types of books in one area for a person to absorb. A book could take you somewhere, make you see the world through different eyes, transform you. The hallway seemed to extend forever, and then they were there.
Xan stopped in front of a set of heavy doors that extended from ceiling to floor.
The dark wood was carved with symbols of all the gods: pomegranates, doves, vultures, eagles, peacocks, dolphins, grapes, an anvil, snakes, dogs, cornucopia, owls, and much more. Hope reached out and touched the tortoise, then a puppy that looked oddly like the offering she and Priska had made to Artemis.
“Do you want to go in or continue to stare at the door?”
“Go in, please,” she whispered reverently.
As soon as he opened the door, the smells assaulted Hope. Leather, musty pages, fresh paper. This was it. Excitement blossomed her chest. She would find answers here. She studied the endless bookshelves, and determination gripped her. She would break the curse. She would find freedom. She closed her eyes and pictured her mother. Memories of love, support, and faith washed over her. She would do this.
“You all right?” Xan’s voice shattered the memories.
Hope opened her eyes and wiped the moisture from her cheeks. “I’m fine.”
“You like libraries.”
It seemed such an inadequate a thing to say.
“I love them. I . . . I have heaps of memories of my mom and me in libraries.” And so much hope for being in this one.
“Yeah?” He cocked his head and lifted a single eyebrow. “Good for you.”
She crossed her arms. Did he take nothing seriously? “Are you mocking me?”
His eyes held hers, but he said nothing.
“You must not care for libraries much.” She wrinkled her nose. Just saying that felt wrong.
“Nope, not a bit. I don’t get it. What’s so great about a bunch of books? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m all about learning, but to read for pleasure? I don’t get it at all. To each their own, I guess.”
It was practically a personal insult, and she glared at him. “Why am I not surprised by that?”
“What does that mean?” His demeanor had shifted since they arrived, and there was no hostility in the question.
“Nothing.” She didn’t want to fight. In fact, she needed to not fight if she was going to get what she came for. She pushed past him into the library and stopped. She blinked, trying to clear her vision. There was no way . . . The room was two stories—no, three. She glanced toward the back but couldn’t even see the wall. It was huge, amazing, and awesome. And she had no idea where to start.
“It is incredible, huh?”
He was still there. He took her by the elbow and guided her deeper into the room. As the doorway grew smaller, Hope still couldn’t see the back of the room. The smells of leather, paper, and dust grew stronger. Bookshelves filled the space, and the room wasn’t two stories, or even three. She couldn’t see the end of it. This would be a lot harder than she’d thought.
“How is this possible? The books go on forever. How do you find a certain topic? Is there a system? Is it organized?”
He laughed. “Power of the Gods. Every book ever written—ever published, I should say—is in here. All the conservatories share this same library. Even Olympus shares this library.” He walked around in a circle, his arms opened wide. “And yes, there’s a system to it.”
“What is it?” She wanted to laugh. She wanted to cry. How would she find anything in here?
He dropped his hands to his sides. “No idea.”
She frowned. How could you live here and not know?
“I’m completely serious.” His eyes brightened with humor, and his dimple popped. His rugged attractiveness was at odds with the vast library.
“How does anyone ever believe anything you say?” She walked past him to the first shelf, brushing her hands over the spines as she read the titles.
“Everyone believes me. Implicitly. What you see is what you get. I don’t have time for pretenses. Although I do like to tease”—he held his fingers a scarce inch apart—“a little.”
She nodded, but her attention was focused on the shelves. She removed a book, and the title jumped out at her, How to Read a Person Like a Book. She re-shelved it.
“Seriously, do you know how it’s organized?” she asked.
He tilted his head and pursed his lips. “Honestly, I haven’t the slightest notion.” He frowned. “Do you want to stay in here for a mite?”
“Yes, please,” she answered, as she walked down the aisle. If she could figure out how it was organized, she could begin in earnest.
“I’ll come get you in a couple hours, then.”
She glanced back to him. “Oh, I’m sure I can find my way out.” Even as she said it, she doubted it was true.
“Nah, you won’t. You might think that, but we’ve actually lost people in here.” He made a gesture with his hands. “Poof. Gone.”
He was teasing; he had to be. But she couldn’t even see the door anymore.
“I told you, every book ever published.” He grinned and waved her away. “Have fun. I’ll come get you.”
She turned back to the books. Hope walked down one aisle and up another, pulling books off at random. She found her way out of self-help and into science fiction, then fantasy. She pulled a hardback copy of a book with wings on its cover. Oh, it was that author who wrote post-apocalyptic angel stories. She’d been wanting to read this one. She kept it and hurried to the next aisle, hoping to find historical records.
Hope rounded the corner and jumped back. Someone else was there. Her heart pounded as she took in the massive figure. He wasn’t mortal. And he definitely wasn’t a demigod.
THE TERRIFYING CREATURE HAD the torso of a man with dozens of arms extending out like legs of a spider. A true giant, the monster was well over twenty feet tall. Instead of a single head, the beast had several thick necks and heads stacked in a conglomerate mass like the compound eyes of an insect.
Hope cringed.
His arms moved in a blur, pulling books down and putting them back up in a slightly different order. Next to him sat a mammoth-sized trolley, and several other hands were shelving books from it. The sheer number of his hands and heads allowed him to be moving at all angles at all times.
She’d heard of such creatures, other monsters created by the gods, but had never seen one. She shifted in an attempt to sneak away.
“Ho there, young demigod.” The creature bellowed his greeting in a chorus of voices halting her retreat.
She swallowed back her nervousness and faced him.
“You must be new.” He stepped down from the ladder and shrunk a couple of feet.
“Uh, yeah.” She shifted from foot to foot then extended her hand, hoping it wasn’t too sweaty. “I’m Hope.”
“Aptly named, young immortal.” He smothered her hand with several of his own. “I am Briareus, the librarian. May I help you find something?”
The words simmered on the tip of her tongue, but she shook her head and stepped back several feet. Something told her not to say anything about her task. “I’m browsing.”
“But you have the look of a reader. I can see it.” Several of his heads faced her, his eyes focused.
“I do like to read.” She held up the book.
“That isn’t literature.” Several more heads focused on her, and hands froze midair. “That’s like cotton candy, little one. It will never fill you.” Several heads bobbed their disapproval and then went back to their task. “Tell me what else you like to read, and let’s see if we can find you something of substance to take back to your room.” He lumbered closer, his pace slow enough that he continued shelving books until he reached her.
Involuntarily, she stepped back again.
“Don’t worry, young Hope. My hands are not for hurting.” His eyes dropped. “Not anymore.”
Dozens of eyes watched her, and her head spun as she tried to meet his gazes, one after another. There was a story about the hundred-handed, and she should know it. “Who created you?”
“Mother Gaia and Uranus.” The sound of books sliding in and out of shelves continued, making a melancholy melody. “But Uranus hated us and had us thrown into Tartarus.”
It sounded familiar. “But Zeus freed you?”
Several heads bobbed assent.
“He needed help overthrowing the Titans. And, of course, we were happy to help.” He sighed again, a chorus of exhales from his many heads, and his shoulders slumped. “But we have outlived our usefulness for fighting, and my brothers are gone.” He gave another small sigh, and from so many heads, it seemed to echo. “Now I’m a librarian.”
“You don’t like it?”
“Oh no. It’s not that.” The gaze from several sets of eyes darted around the shelves, and the one head facing her swallowed repeatedly. “I love books, but I miss people, activities, interaction.” His voice dropped to an almost whisper. “Would you believe there aren’t many that enjoy a good book?”
Hope could believe it. Besides that, Briareus would probably scare all but the bravest, or the most desperate. If she could get him to trust her maybe . . .
“Not a lot of readers here, huh?”
“Sadly, no.” He paused momentarily. “But you, you are a reader. Please, may I help you find a good book? Tell me what you like, and I’m sure I can make a good recommendation.”
So she did. She told him about her love of Jane Austen, the Bronte sisters, Emily Dickinson. They talked literature as they walked down one aisle and then another and another. Hope kept her distance at first, but as the conversation continued, the cautious gap disappeared.
“
Can I ask you a question?” Hope probed.
“Of course, young demigod.” Briareus bowed.
“Is there . . . Where is . . .” She took a deep breath and stared at the floor. “Is there a section here about monsters?”
Time froze.
Now in the deep recesses of the library, the shelves and books lay covered in dust. Light filtered back from the windows, the air now musty with abandonment. She glanced up at Briareus and saw anger contorting his many faces. He leapt, and her breath was pushed from her lungs as he pinned her to the floor. Several of Briareus’s hands held her arms, legs, head, and torso in a vice-like grip. Two hands squeezed her throat.
“You dare mock me?” he yelled. “You call me monster, but look at you! A bastard child, completely rejected by your family.” Several more heads spun toward her, and his breath assailed her, hot and foul, smelling of rotten meat.
Her mouth formed the word no, but it wouldn’t come out. The pressure at her throat made it impossible to breathe. She gripped and scratched at his hands.
He laughed. “Do you think your mother loves you any more than mine did?” He squeezed harder. “I know your kind. You killed my kin. And now you want to know more about monsters? No one cares for us. No one!”
She wanted to tell him that she did. That she was just like him.
He leaned over her, dozens of eyes blinking. “Do you think if I kill you, anyone will care, little demigod?”
Dots swam in her vision, and she thrashed in vain.
“It’s no use. No one is here. No one will hear you. No one cares.”
His grip tightened, and her vision tunneled into darkness.
A shout.
A pinpoint of light broke through the darkness. The light spread ever so slowly. There was shuffling, the clatter of something falling, a thud.
Books were strewn in front of her, a blurry mess as her eyes struggled to focus. Another thud. And warmth splashed her. Were those . . . fingers?
She swallowed back bile.
An arm lay inches from her face, yellowed fingernails at the end of curled fingers. She tilted her head and saw Xan fighting Briareus. Another thud and another arm, dark hair against pale skin, fell next to her. Black blood pooled from the severed limb, seeping across the wood floor. Hope sat up, and her head swam.
