by Raye Wagner
His thoughts went to Xan, but Athan couldn’t accuse the son of Ares of the same entitlement. Whatever flaws he had, that was not one of them. But Obelia, Thenia, Kaia, Endy, and all the other sons of Apollo he’d ever met had been the same. Even Dahlia had some of the same sense of privilege. Skata. Remorse was a bitter pill to swallow, and he seemed to be choking them down at an alarming rate.
As he walked down the hall, past the tapestries and ornate sculptures, his self-reproach turned reflective. If the demigods felt superior, it was because of the example of their immortal parents. It was as if Athan’s view tilted, and he realized the world wasn’t flat. He’d always looked up to his father, as if Hermes were the ideal father, husband, and even god. But Hermes wasn’t perfect. Far from it. That kind of thinking wouldn’t help him here, so he pushed those thoughts away, too.
In the center of the temple, accessible by one door, was the inner sanctuary. There, by the door, sat the high priest.
“Thomas.” Athan greeted the revered leader of Hermes’s shrine. “I wish to address my father in the inner sanctuary.”
Dressed in a pale gray three-piece suit, the older man adjusted the pink bow tie around his thick neck and glanced up. His silver hair was slicked back, accentuating his girth. Thomas’s eyes widened, and he shoved his phone into the inner pocket of his suit, the light reflecting off the gems on his fingers. He struggled out of the plush chair, his mouth dropping open to gasp for air, and his fleshy jowls jiggled with the movement.
Athan despised the older man. He epitomized every notorious depiction of the followers of Hermes. Thomas was a liar and a thief, and Athan wondered why his father put up with the greedy bootlicker. Athan averted his gaze so he wouldn’t have to watch the sycophant’s laborious waddling.
“Of course, Master Athan. I’m sure he’ll be so pleased to see you.” Thomas wheezed between the words, the exertion of moving his massive body taxing his physical capacity. “Have you brought a suitable offering?” With a piercing gaze, the priest studied the son of Hermes as if able to see where Athan might be hiding anything of value. “You did bring one, right?” the fat man asked, holding out a fleshy hand. “May I take it for you?”
If there was any question as to how the high priest accumulated his wealth, his proposition cleared it up.
Athan stared at his father’s priest, who was pushing forward with greed emanating from his very presence. Repulsed, Athan stepped back from the encroaching toady. “No, Thomas. I’ll give him the offering myself.”
The man’s shoulders sagged, but then he narrowed his beady eyes and rubbed his hands together. “Of course. I understand. Right this way, young master.”
The door clicked open, and stale air escaped from the inner room. Athan walked into the pitch darkness a few steps and then waited for Thomas to light a candle. Despite the darkness, Athan tried to make out the statue of his father that should’ve been on the other side of the sacred space. Several seconds passed, and Athan turned to ask the priest for a light.
The older man stood just outside the heavy door, an evil grin plastered on his pig-like face. “You naïve imbecile. Hermes will never come. And you forgot I am his right hand. I am the one with the power in the mortal realm. The gods of Olympus don’t care. Goodbye, Athan. You can ask for aid from the Lord of the Underworld.”
Athan’s heart lurched as he grasped the meaning of the priest’s words. He sprinted toward the door, but blackness engulfed him before he could reach the exit.
“Skata.” Athan slumped to the floor and crawled until he bumped into the wall. He leaned against the cool stone, and his next inhalation smelled of wet stone. With a groan of frustration, he tried to puzzle out why his father’s priest would act so vengefully. Athan refused to believe his father would condone such behavior. And over a simple offering? It made no sense.
Athan waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, but there was no slit or space around the door for light to leak through. There were no windows in the room. There simply was no light.
“Hera and Zeus,” he muttered. He would have to wait for his father to come, or until another priest relieved the gigantic ass outside the door to the sanctuary. Maybe Thomas wasn’t stealing offerings from Hermes. Maybe the priest was just accepting bribes.
Athan leaned against the wall and waited. Seconds ticked into minutes, and in the blackness, they felt like an eternity. Feeling alone, and with a heavy heart, he bore his soul.
“Father, I know you don’t like Hope, but I love her.” He choked on the emotion thrumming through his chest. “It’s not her fault Apollo cursed her grandmother. And I don’t understand why she can’t be free to choose who she wants to love. Why would you willingly side with Apollo? It’s his fault Mom died, and you wanted to get even. I don’t understand. Why won’t you help?”
He thought of Hope staring down the god of the Underworld, her eyes flashing fire while she argued with Hades, twisting her bargain to free Priska so it included him. Hope was brilliant. Athan’s heart swelled with gratitude and love, and he reverently whispered, “She saved me.”
He opened his mouth to continue but gasped when he heard his father speak.
“She damned you,” Hermes said, his voice thick with emotion.
A soft blue flame, not more than a pinprick, danced through the darkness before settling on the ground a few feet away. It wasn’t much, but the single flame expanded, warming the air and illuminating the barren concrete room.
Hermes sat next to Athan, a frown marring the god’s perfect features. “You went to save her from the Underworld. You are too kind. You sacrificed yourself, your immortality, your very allegiance . . . blindly. And for what? So she could escape. It was pure luck that the Fates helped get you out of there, or you’d be as good as dead.”
Athan shifted to face his father. “That’s not what happened—”
“That is exactly what happened.” Hermes clenched his jaw then let out a slow, deep breath. His shoulders relaxed. The anger drained from his features, leaving a weary husk of the vibrant god Athan knew. With a dull expression, Hermes stared at his son. “I know you care for her. Your actions prove that. But she is not good for you.”
With warmth and light surrounding him, Athan shuddered. How was he to get his father to understand how important this was? How important Hope was? Athan’s gifts of flattery and persuasion had fled with his immortality, but Athan squared his shoulders. His gift of words wouldn’t have moved his father anyway. Instead, Athan simply asked, “Will you transport her to Olympus?”
His heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest, and his stomach flipped and churned with his anxiety in the moments after his question. This was the only way Athan could help Hope. And he desperately wanted to help her.
The blue flame sputtered. The darkness in the corners swelled and receded in the waning and waxing light.
“I will not.”
The flame went out, and the room was plunged into pitch black once again. Despair dropped around Athan’s neck, settling its burden in the middle of his chest.
But not even a heartbeat later, the room morphed and Athan and his father sat in overstuffed chairs by a cheery fire in a rustic log cabin. A braided rug covered the worn wood floor between them and the fireplace, and an ornate coffee table laden with hors d’oeuvres was set. The two steaming mugs perfumed the air with the comforting smell of Earl Grey.
Athan stared at the plate of spanakopita, wanting to throw it at his father. Clenching the arms of the plush chair, he glared at his dad and asked, “Why not?”
Hermes held Athan’s gaze for several seconds that stretched uncomfortably between them. The god pursed his lips, leaned forward, and took one of the stuffed pastries. Extending it to Athan, he said, “You eat, and I’ll talk.”
Athan took the proffered snack. He’d always loved spanakopita, the savory Greek pastry reminding him of his childhood and his mother. But as he bit into the crisp phyllo, the normally salty, creamy cheese was noth
ing more than dust. He swallowed the bite and raised his eyebrows at his father. “I’m eating. Please have the courtesy to explain yourself.”
Hermes chuckled, but the laughter was only noise. There was no joy on his face. Leaning back in his seat, he stared into the fire. “Last time, I transported Hope to the Underworld. She asked me to, begged me, and I knew how much you liked her. I owed her nothing, but I didn’t refuse the favor. Look,” he demanded, waving at Athan. “Look where it got you.” Hermes’s voice rumbled, the frustration clipping his words. “I help her, and you suffer for it.” Anger, scorching and blistering, flared from within, and the god pounded the arm of his chair. “I won’t do it. Nothing you say is going to change my mind.”
Still pinching the second bite of spanakopita, Athan stared at his father in awe. “That’s not fair. She didn’t make me do anything.” How could Hermes not see? “I’m not suffering. Don’t say that.”
“You say that, but I can see, Son.” Hermes frowned. With a shake of his head, he continued, “I’ll not add any further to your mortal anguish. She is beneath you. Even now I see your torment. Let her go. End your pain.”
With every slight, Athan’s fury boiled. He refused to believe Hermes couldn’t understand. This was willful ignorance. Athan stood, tossing the half-eaten triangle to the table. His entire body seethed with resentment toward his dad. “I. Love. Her. Gods, Dad. I keep telling you I love her, and it’s like it doesn’t register or something. You loved Mom—at least you say you did.” His frustration settled into a helpless, hopeless lump at the back of his throat. “If you loved her, then you know what it’s like to love someone like I love Hope. Yes. I went to the Underworld for her. And you, you went to Apollo for Mom—”
“And it did no good!” Hermes leaped from the chair and grabbed Athan’s arms. The fire roared with the god’s outburst and, just as rapidly, died down. He released Athan with a long exhale and sat down again. This time, the pain in Hermes’s gaze pled for understanding. “Listen to me. Apollo is ruthless. And Zeus backs him. Every single time. I do not want you in that kind of jeopardy, and I can’t watch you all the time. Why won’t you listen? I would not have him kill you, too.”
The god of thieves and communication dropped his head into his hands, his shoulders slumping in defeat.
The heavy silence was uninterrupted by the gas flame which continued its cheery dance, almost mocking the somberness in the small room. Athan stared at the flame, wishing it would reveal an answer to the perplexing enigma of his father.
Hermes’s muffled voice wound its way through the gaps and crevices of his own hands, as his head remained bowed. “Whatever you think will happen if she breaks the curse, it isn’t even close to the truth.” Hermes met Athan’s gaze with a look of wild-eyed panic. “More than one god has a vested interest in the sideshow this girl is running. She is a plague that leaves destruction in its wake. You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”
Hermes stood and paced the room, crossing back and forth in front of the fire.
Athan watched his father and tried to digest the meaning behind his words, behind his actions, but it seemed disproportionate. Irrational.
Hermes returned to his seat, collapsing onto the soft leather. “If she goes to Olympus, she could fundamentally change . . .” The god of travelers, commerce, and thieves pursed his lips in a very human gesture. “She’s a disaster. At best she would bring chaos and ruin. Please, don’t ask me to help her again.” He scooted to the edge of the chair and grabbed Athan’s shoulders while looking him straight in the eyes. “You are my son. I will do everything I can to help you. I will do anything for you. I love you.”
But the parental love was insufficient to fill the gaping hole in Athan’s heart. He loved his father, but he loved Hope too. Helplessness and frustration flooded the son of Hermes, and Athan willed his racing heart to calm, but the simmering anger would not go away. Why could his father not see refusing to help Hope was refusing to help Athan?
With a deep breath, Athan made his decision. He pulled away from his father’s grip.
“If you will not help her, I will turn my back on you. I have said this more times than I can even count. I love her. I would have her be my wife and the mother of my children. I will spend my entire life, however short that is, trying to help her break the curse. And when she succeeds, I will cheer for her, regardless of where I reside.” Athan narrowed his eyes, his lips thinning into a straight line. “If you are going to make me choose, I will choose her over you. Every time.”
Pain flashed across Hermes’s features. The god’s hazel eyes filled, and for the first time that Athan could recall, his father spilled silent tears. “My son. My hands are tied.”
A cool gust prickled Athan’s skin as the air shifted.
Hermes stood, and the cabin room dissolved around them, the colors running like water paints until only a gray canvas surrounded them.
Athan blinked, and the space continued darkening until he recognized the musty room of the sanctuary. Alone, he stared at a flickering blue flame, and then he noticed the dim sanctuary was no longer empty. A statue of his father was now in the center of the room, and Athan walked to the base of the carved stone and looked up at the image of the god, heart filled with both love and anger. But Athan had made his decision, and he believed in it. He would find a way to help Hope.
The blue fire floated upward until it rested in the outstretched palm of the statue, illuminating the benevolent smile of Hermes. It was a look Athan knew well. And the ache in his chest grew.
A click from behind was followed by the door to the sanctuary opening, and bright light spilled into the room.
“Master Athan?” The timid voice coming from the doorway belonged to the valet. “Your father said to come get you. Are you ready to go, sir, or would you like a few more moments here?”
Athan gazed up at the statue, and the blue flame winked out of existence. He turned his back on the effigy and strode toward the light. “I’m finished now. Thanks for coming to get me.”
He stepped out into the hall, and the faint stench of charred meat lingered with the smell of incense. But the odor was stale, at least several days old, and the air smelled musty, like the doors had been closed, and the priests hadn’t opened the windows in weeks. Athan glanced toward the living quarters of the resident priests, and the scorch marks on the wall made him freeze. There was a faint outline where the high priest usually sat. “Where’s Thomas?”
“Gone, sir.” The young man swallowed, and his gaze flitted nervously around.
But it wasn’t lost on Athan that the priest kept looking at the blackened wall. It didn’t take a genius to put together what had happened. “Was he the only one?”
Another shake of his head. “No, sir. All of them. Your father . . . He’s very protective of you.”
Athan led them down the hall, away from the inner sanctuary. He had no idea how long he’d been trapped in the in-between of the gods, and he was anxious to get back to Hope, but the destruction around him was impossible to miss. Several of the tapestries were gone; others were singed and frayed. The now exposed marble wall showed evidence of the extreme heat Hermes had used to purge his temple. Athan had never seen that side of his father, and fear battled with his awe. The young valet was the only one left, and Athan wanted him to stay. With a deep breath, Athan clapped the young man on the back and glanced at his plated name tag. “Two lessons for you, Jonathon. Don’t steal from my dad. Ever. If you’re going to serve him, be loyal to him.”
Jonathon swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “And the second?”
The evening sun hovered on the horizon, its orange glow sinking behind the Olympian mountains. The gas lanterns flickered on, and the young priest jumped with the sudden illumination.
Athan pointed to a streak of black framed by singed tapestries. “You already know the second.”
Athan hadn’t come back.
The first two hours passed with nervous anticipation
. The next two hours were all nervous concern. By nightfall, Hope wanted to go to Hermes’s temple herself, but Xan had talked her out of it. He’d reassured her that Athan would be safe. He was the only living son of Hermes in the area, and the records were very clear that the god doted on his children.
But the following afternoon, after a long, distracted workout, Xan was in the shower, and Hope snuck out the front door for a run. When she got back two hours later, she struggled to put into words the destruction she’d seen.
There had been a lone priest, no older than she, with wild eyes and rumpled clothes, who’d told her of Athan’s arrival and pointed to his sedan in the small lot. The other cars parked in a section prominently marked as reserved were slick or sporty vehicles, seven in total, which had once belonged to the priests. Hermes had obliterated them with Olympian Fire. That was what the young man had said, and his terror had created a physical barrier between them. Hope thought of Apollo burning his sons to ash, and now Hermes had done the same to his priests. When she’d asked why, the remaining priest had said that Hermes wouldn’t tolerate abuse of his son.
She’d come home, a hollow pit in her stomach. She refused to believe Hermes would let the priests kill Athan, but he was mortal now, and death was swiftly delivered to fragile humans. And the lone priest made it clear that the other priests had harmed Athan . . . abused him. The thought made her sick.
Xan had tried to reassure her, but after two more days, he’d only sat next to her, rubbing her back while she cried herself to sleep in Athan’s bed. There were no more false platitudes offered.
She’d shifted, but her heavy heart wouldn’t let her fly, and she continued to mourn in the sparsely furnished room that still smelled of Athan. She’d locked herself in, refusing to let Xan enter, and by the time she morphed back into her human form, she’d steeled her heart. She would still go to Olympus. She’d honor Athan’s sacrifice, assuming he was dead, and tell the gods they were cruel and selfish. Most importantly, she would break the curse.
