by C. Gockel
But the city of Athens has secrets.
Her host family calls them "tramps." In Greek, they are called vrykolakas, or "vryks," which sometimes gets translated to "freaks." They are the vampires of Athens, created centuries ago by the Maenads. They live in caves beneath the acropolis without economic resources and according to rules imposed on them by the Olympians. First and foremost, they are forbidden from turning humans into vampires. The human will not turn unless all of the blood is drained, so a vampire is allowed to drink up to one pint per month from a willing mortal. Some mortals are willing because a vampire bite will infect the body for six hours, and during that time, the mortal has the powers of the vampire: flight, invisibility, strength, speed, x-ray vision, and mind control. Such great power can become irresistible, though dangerous and addicting to mortals...
As Gertie uncovers the unfathomable secrets of this ancient city, she is drawn to the beauty and deep thoughts of a boy she first met on the bus into Athens—Jeno. Her host family and another boy she later learns is a demigod warn her to stay away from him, but her curiosity gets the best of her and she unwittingly becomes a catalyst in an uprising led by Dionysus, the god of wine and lord of
1
The Boy on the Bus
“I hadn’t realized you packed that coat,” Gertie’s mother complained as Gertie and her parents were leaving their room at the Hotel Excelsior in Venice. “It’s not one of your best.”
It was a gray puffer coat that tied at the waist and had a soft flannel lining.
“Then it’s a good thing you won’t have to look at it,” Gertie muttered.
Her father glared at her but didn’t comment. Instead, he went ahead of her through the lobby to the front desk to check out.
On the way to the ferry, in the back of the limo, Gertie sat across from her parents and said, “It’s still not too late to change your minds.”
“We’re not having this discussion again,” her father said. “End of story.”
“Don’t worry, Gertrude. You’ll have the time of your life.”
Somehow, Gertie doubted that.
“I know I did,” her mother added. “I’m jealous of you, actually.”
Gertie frowned. “You’re welcome to go in my place.”
Her mother leaned forward and patted Gertie’s knee. “Everyone’s frightened of trying new things.”
She flinched, unused to being touched. “I’m not,” she lied. “I just like my own bed.”
“It will be there for you when you get back,” her father said. “You’re seventeen, now. It’s time for you to venture away from the nest.”
“Happy Birthday to me,” she muttered beneath her breath.
Gertie tried to ignore the fact that they were more excited for her to go than she was. She’d never heard of two people more eager to become empty-nesters than her parents. And it wasn’t like she was the last in a long line of siblings. She was an only child—an independent one at that. Why couldn’t she stay in her room and be left alone?
She wasn’t surprised when they didn’t get out of the limo and walk her to the ferry. Instead, they had their driver do it. They had offered plenty of excuses—it was too windy out for her mother’s asthma and too sunny for her fair skin. Plus her father had a heart condition. And so on and so forth.
Once she was onboard and inside her cabin, she sat on the bed and cried. She hated her parents for making her do this. They had told her to enjoy the scenic boat ride along the Adriatic Sea, but she was determined to spend it all indoors. She rummaged through her bag, found her e-reader, and read until she fell asleep.
It was dark the next day when she got off the ferry in Patras to board the bus to Athens. So much for seeing the sights.
The wind blew strands of her blond hair into her mouth, her eyes, and the sweaty crease of her neck. It wasn’t cold—was actually quite warm—but she was glad to have her coat as she pulled her bags behind her.
Gertie expected more people to be riding the bus, but there were only three: an older couple sitting together in the front seat and a boy her age near the back. He was cute and was looking at her with interest. She sat two seats in front of him, without returning his gaze.
“People like you don’t usually ride the bus at night,” he said after a few minutes. His Greek accent was thick and sexy.
She glanced back at him. “People like me?”
“Young and wealthy.”
“Well, if you want to rob me, go for it.”
He laughed. “I don’t want to rob you.”
“The bus driver seems to think so,” she said. “He keeps looking at us in his mirror.”
“He’s bored and has nothing else to do.”
She didn’t reply, but pulled out her phone and logged on to Goodreads.
“You must be pretty hot,” he said after a while.
“I beg your pardon?” She felt a blush coming on.
“In that coat. It’s eighty degrees.”
“Yeah. I didn’t have room in my luggage.” She spoke without turning back to face him, while scrolling through Goodreads on her phone. She wanted to update her status on where she was in her book.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“Athens.”
“I guessed that much. Are you going to visit relatives?”
“Nope.”
“Then you must be one of those visiting students,” he said, moving to the seat behind hers.
He smelled like soap.
“Yep. You nailed it.”
“I did what?”
“I’m sorry. That’s just an expression.” She glanced back at him. His face was so close, that she could see the big round pupils in his dark brown eyes. His dark curly hair fell around his face, nearly touching his shoulders, which were bare except for the one-inch strap of his blue cotton tank. The muscles in his arms were solid and well defined. If he weren’t so cute, she might be uncomfortable.
When she looked into his eyes, she found it difficult to pull away. He was mesmerizing.
Her phone vibrated, stirring her from her stupor. It was a text from her mother, asking if she had landed yet in Patras.
“On bus to Athens,” she texted back.
When the boy said nothing more, she rummaged through her bag for her e-reader and returned to the world of her book.
Not thirty minutes had passed when she felt the boy lean on the back of her seat and ask, “What are you reading?”
“Interview with the Vampire, by Anne Rice.”
He gasped.
She spun around to face him. “Have you read it?”
“No, no. Is it good?”
“So far, yes. I’m loving it.” Then she added, “I’ve always been fascinated by vampire stories.”
The corners of his mouth quirked. “Is that so?”
“What’s so funny?” She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t believe in them or anything; I’m just interested in the mythology.”
“I see.”
She didn’t like that he was laughing at her, so she turned around in her seat to face the front and continued reading. It was difficult for her to get back into the novel after that. She kept seeing the boy’s face in place of the words.
Only a few minutes had passed, however, when the boy leaned forward and asked, “So what interests you? About the vampires?”
“A lot of things.” She glanced back at him. “Their superpowers, for one: invisibility, flight, mind control…”
“Don’t forget x-ray vision,” he said, giving her a once over.
“Yeah. Right.” She laughed. “You’re thinking of Superman.”
He laughed, too. “What else?”
She turned in her seat and rested her back against the bus window so she could face him. “I guess the idea of conquering death is interesting to me.”
“Are you afraid of death?”
“No. Not really. But I suppose I’m curious about it.”
“In what way?” He leaned closer.
&nbs
p; “Well, don’t you wonder if there’s life after death? Do we go to heaven? Or do we go to sleep? Or do we just stop existing? Not that it matters. I just wonder, that’s all.”
“If it doesn’t matter, then why do you wonder about it?”
“It matters. I just meant we’re going to die regardless of what happens.” She twisted the belt of her coat. “Like my grandma. She just died. And so I wonder if she can still hear me and stuff, you know?”
He sat back in his seat and studied her, like he was assessing her.
She blushed. “What?”
He shook his head. “So what else about vampire mythology do you find interesting?”
“I don’t know.” She twisted the belt in the opposite direction. “The combination of power and powerlessness, I guess. It makes them tragic.”
“Powerlessness?”
“They can’t help what they are. They don’t usually choose to become vampires.”
“But they prey on humans, yes?” he asked.
“In the story I’m reading right now, a vampire is trying to live on the blood of animals, but it’s very difficult for him.”
“Thee moy.” The boy cringed. “I can imagine.”
“I once read that vampires are a reflection of us. We created the mythology to represent ourselves.”
He leaned forward again, his arm almost touching her. “Explain.”
She bit her lip, searching for the right words. She must have been thinking hard, for she drew blood. The boy leaned in, and for a moment, she thought he would kiss her.
The bus hit a bump, and she fell back against the window, hitting her head. The boy eased back in his seat. She rubbed her head and turned to face the front.
“You okay?” he asked from behind.
She nodded without looking at him.
“So tell me,” he said, leaning on the back of the seat. “How are vampires a reflection of humans?”
“Deep down inside, we’re all monsters.”
“You really think so?”
She nodded. “And yet we have so little control.”
“Power and no power.”
She glanced back and gave him a subtle smile. “Exactly.”
He said nothing in reply, so she turned to her book. After several minutes, she was finally able to get back into the story. A few times, she wondered about the boy behind her, but she didn’t see any reason to try to talk to him. She would be leaving this country in one year, to never return, so what was the use of making friends?
She could hear her mother’s voice in the back of her head reminding her that she had no friends at home, either, but it wasn’t Gertie’s fault that everyone at her private school in New York was fake.
At some point, she must have fallen asleep. When she opened her eyes, she saw the boy leaning over the back of the seat looking down at her with a mouth full of fangs and blood.
She cringed and opened her eyes—for real this time. She glanced back at the boy, but he was gone.
2
The Host Family
When she arrived at the station in Athens, she found a boy holding up a sign with her name written on it: Gertrude Morgan. She almost didn’t see the sign, because the boy holding it was so beautiful. He was flanked by another boy about his age—eighteen or nineteen, but shorter—and a girl, either the same age or younger.
The girl had studs in her nose and cheek and had spikey, short hair. All three wore summer shorts, flip flops, and t-shirts with graphics of what appeared to be bands. Gertie realized the outer two were related, both having the same brown hair and brown eyes and petite build. They looked nothing like the boy in the middle, who towered over them and was breathtaking, like a Greek god.
“Gertie?” the girl asked as Gertie came to a halt in front of them.
“That’s right.”
She was astonished when the girl nearly plowed her down with an embrace. “I’m Nikita! It’s so great to finally meet you!”
Nikita was the name of one of the members of her host family. She and Gertie had been texting and emailing the past two weeks about the trip—what to bring and what to expect. Surely this girl wasn’t one and the same.
“You’re Nikita?”
The girl frowned. “This is Hector, our friend. And that’s Klaus, my brother. I’m pretty sure I told you all about him. He’s been dying to meet you.”
“Okay, Nikita,” Klaus said. “You don’t have to make me sound so eager.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Gertie said, still a little shocked. They didn’t look like the private school kids back home.
“Our parents and little sister are waiting in the car,” Nikita said. “Can you boys help her with her bags?”
The two boys took her rolling suitcases—one apiece—and Nikita took one of her shoulder bags, and then they followed the boys through the station to the sidewalk outside. Gertie found herself studying the lines on the back of the taller boy named Hector.
When they reached the car, Gertie had another shock. It was a two-door coupe meant for four passengers, but there were already three inside.
They weren’t inside long. Just as Nikita had done, the man, woman, and child, all thin and petite and dark-haired like their other family members, climbed out and hugged her. The mother even kissed her on her cheek.
“We’re so glad to have you join our family,” the mother said, cupping Gertie’s face in her hands. “Look at you, Gertoula! You’re so beautiful, koreetsi mou!”
“It’s Gertie,” Gertie said.
“Of course, Gertoula! I mean Gertie.”
“Mamá puts oula and itsa and aki on the end of everyone’s name. Even Babá’s!” Nikita explained. “She calls him Babáki mou!”
“Yes, Nikitsa, koreetsi mou!” her mother said, and turning to Gertie, said, “So you call me Mamá, too. Yes?”
“And I’m Babá,” the father said affectionately. Then he picked up his little girl, who seemed seven or eight years old, and said, “And this is Phoebe.”
“Mamá calls her Phoeboula, so don’t get confused,” Klaus said.
“Hello,” Gertie said to the girl.
The girl smiled, but said nothing. Then Gertie remembered what Nikita had said in her text about the fire three years ago. Their baby brother had died. Phoebe hadn’t spoken since.
Babá and the boys put her luggage in the trunk of the coupe before piling into the car. Phoebe sat in the front seat, without a seatbelt, and Nikita climbed on her brother’s lap.
“Should I call a cab?” Gertie asked.
“No, no!” Babá said, holding the door open for her. “There’s room for you.”
Hector climbed out. “Take my place. I need to head home anyway. I’ll take a cab or the bus.”
“No, Hector. I promised you baklava,” Mamá insisted.
“I’ll come by for some tomorrow,” Hector said. He waved goodbye and then raised his hand for a cab.
Gertie climbed in beside Klaus. Nikita shifted from her brother’s lap and squeezed between them. No one wore their seatbelts. Gertie wasn’t even sure the old coupe had them.
The car smelled like onions, mold, and sweat, but Gertie resisted pinching her nose as they drove through the streets of Athens from the bus station. Mamá and Babá spoke animatedly about their country, the American school, the ruins, and many other topics during the thirty minute ride. When they pulled up in front of a dilapidated apartment building, Gertie thought they were playing a joke on her.
It wasn’t a joke.
Babá and Klaus dragged the heavy suitcases up the three flights of steps to the apartment. Apparently, there were no elevators. When Mamá opened the door and flipped on the light, at least a dozen roaches scrambled for cover.
“Get them!” Babá called.
Nikita dropped Gertie’s bag and rushed in behind her brother, stomping like wine-makers in a vat of grapes. Phoebe joined them, enthusiastically, like it was a game.
“Good! Well done!” Babá said as they scooped up the
dead bugs with their bare hands and threw them in the garbage can across the room.
Gertie was afraid to step inside.
“Come in! Come in!” Mamá said. “It’s not much, but it’s very comfortable. No? Let me take your coat. You won’t need that here but maybe a few days out of the year.”
Gertie kept her coat. “That’s all right. Thank you.”
The furniture was shabby, but tidy. The kitchen across the room was neat but very outdated. The lighting was poor, which Gertie thought was probably good.
“I’ll show you where to put your things,” Nikita said. “Let’s go.”
“And then come back here for my baklava, so Gertoula has a proper welcome,” Mamá said.
As they turned down a narrow hall, Nikita said, “That’s my brother’s room, and my parents have a room down the hall. There’s the bathroom, and here is my room, where you’ll be staying.”
Gertie’s face paled. A family of five shared a three-bedroom apartment? The living area and kitchen were tiny, so Gertie had hoped there were bedrooms to escape to. How did everyone fit?
“You can have Phoebe’s bed. She’ll sleep on a cot with Mamá and Babá while you’re here.”
“I don’t want to be any trouble,” Gertie managed to say.
“You must be joking!” Nikita said. “We’re all so happy to have you. It’s all Mamá and Babá have been talking about. It’s been the American girl this and the American girl that for two weeks!”
“I don’t understand why they are so happy to have me,” Gertie said.
Nikita shrugged. “They are very proud of our country and relish the opportunity to show it off to a young, impressionable American. In other words, they have plans for you every day between now and the start of school. Tomorrow, we go to Crete, Babá’s favorite island.”
