by Raye Wagner
Hope scurried back in retreat, away from the wet and slippery marble. She pushed on her wound, willing it to heal faster. But the pain continued to pulse, and when she glanced down, her hand was covered with slick gore, and fresh blood still flowed from the gruesome laceration. Which could mean only one thing.
Four more men, wearing red tunics, rushed from behind a column, one stooping to pick up the immortal blade that had gouged her leg.
“For Ares!” he shouted.
All four of the remaining priests returned, “For Ares!”
Impulsive and rash, she’d not thought they would have immortal weapons, too. How could they have immortal weapons? She thought of Xan out on the temple grounds, wishing there was some way to communicate with him. To come this far only to be defeated by priests? She would not let it happen.
She needed another weapon. Needed one right now. Hope glanced around the hall, searching, but there was a limited supply. Artemis had bows, but unless a crossbow was loaded and ready, the bow was useless at close range. Hope needed a knife, a sword, or even a handgun or two would be nice.
At the base of Athena’s statue were several weapons, but her priestesses stood guard, which left only what was available surrounding the effigy of the god of war.
The floor seemed to roll as Hope ran toward the icon of Xan’s father. She stumbled as her leg gave out, but a vice-like grip kept her from falling. The sharp point of a blade pierced her back, and Hope sucked in a breath.
Her vision tunneled, darkness creeping from the sides, and the roaring obscenities of the priests of Ares became indecipherable noise. Hope fell to her knees, unable to support her own weight as the wound on her thigh continued to pump the life out of her.
Her thoughts became tangential, flitting from Athan, to Xan, to her mother. And then bright light blasted through the darkness. Brilliant, dazzling white forced Hope to close her eyes. The melee was silenced, and uncomfortable heat surrounded her. The air crawled with live energy, making the hairs on her skin stand on end, and instinct warned her to remain still. Very, very still.
The brightness disappeared all at once, and Hope was left blinded in shocking blackness. The air was balmy and warm, and soft flakes tickled the exposed skin of her face and arms. Dread crushed her in its vice, slowly releasing its grasp in incremental ticks. The heavy smell of incense was purged from the air, and with a deep breath, Hope inhaled the bitter taste of ash.
She gasped as meaning filled her with panic. When she tried to bring her hand to her mouth, she realized someone was behind her, holding her flush to his body.
The darkness faded into grays and white, but her vision remained clouded by the powdery residue in the air.
She coughed as the sediment filled her lungs, and a piece of fabric covered her mouth.
“You’d be better served holding it yourself, I think. I wouldn’t want you to misunderstand and assume I’m trying to smother you,” Apollo whispered in her ear.
Terror washed over her. Hope’s thoughts became incoherent panic, and her heart pounded.
The entire gallery of the Olympian Temple was void of life except for her and the god behind her. Ash covered the ground like snow, and there was the glint of a couple of weapons peeking through the grayish sediment.
Hope brought her hand to her face, clutching the cloth over her nose and mouth. The grit made her eyes water, but she could see through the haze that there was almost nothing left. The gifts that had littered the ground at the base of each statue were gone. The priests and priestesses vanished—no, obliterated into the ash surrounding her. As were the parishioners.
She turned to face her savior, and he released his grip. She took several steps back as she stared at the god of the sun.
Apollo was dressed in a short blue chiton that left the bronzed skin of his chest bare. He wore a thin golden necklace with a single charm of a blazing sun resting at the base of his throat. A braided leather cuff stamped with the same image on a golden square was wrapped around his wrist. His golden hair was longer than she remembered, the curls pulled back at the nape of his neck, but several wisps framed his beautiful face. His radiant sky-blue eyes lit with fiery intensity as his gaze held hers.
“They would’ve killed you,” he said with a shake of his head.
Words refused to come. She swallowed, holding the fabric over her open mouth, and continued to stare at Apollo in awe.
“It is an unpardonable offense.” He took a step forward but froze when she stepped back.
Hope closed her eyes to the unbelievable reality surrounding her. She felt like she was having an out-of-body experience. The entirety of what he’d done was too surreal to even comprehend. Yet small carbon fragments of each of the humans floated in the air around them. “All of them?”
She couldn’t believe he’d killed them all. Possibly over a hundred people gone in only a few seconds.
He shrugged, a small frown marring his perfect features. “I panicked. There was little time to even act, or it would’ve been too late to save you.”
“Holy Mother Gaia,” a man said from behind her.
Apollo glared at the newcomer, and Hope, still numb with shock, turned to see who had joined them.
Hermes strode forward, the ash swirling and eddying at his feet. He wore a tailored, beige three-piece suit with an olive-green tie that matched the flecks of fire in his hazel eyes. With a slack jaw, he shook his head as he tugged at the knotted fabric at his neck. “What have you done?”
Apollo shrugged, but his expression hardened. “She is mine.”
“Your insanity is incomprehensibly destructive, Brother.” Hermes glanced at Hope, but his look was unreadable. His focus returned to Apollo. “What in the name of Cronus were you thinking?”
Hope itched to flee. She dropped her gaze and cringed at her singed and bloody clothing. Her thigh was healed, but the skin was a massive rough and uneven patch of scar tissue.
“She is mine,” Apollo repeated. “No one, and I mean no one, will harm her. I don’t care if there is war. She is mine.”
Hope stared at the god who had cursed her family. His fanatical declaration made no sense, but it was clear, as evidenced by the colossal amount of death surrounding them, that he was sincere.
Hermes shook his head. “If you are not careful, your obsession will destroy you.” He frowned as he surveyed the destruction around them. His attention returned to his brother, and he said, “You need to get out of here.”
Apollo shook his head, and the ash that had settled on his hair dispersed in a gray cloud around his face. “I’ll not leave her unprotected.”
“You fool!” Hermes crossed the distance separating the two gods, his fists clenched. “I’m giving you your only chance.” He pointed at Hope. “And hers, too. The others will start arriving soon, and they will want answers. Not even Zeus will be amused by this raze of our temple. Leave now, and I’ll do what I can to clean up your mess.”
Apollo turned to Hope, and his furrowed brow softened. “We will meet again, soon, my love.”
He stepped toward her, but she drew back. With a frown, he blinked out of existence.
Hermes grunted. He strode across the room, almost to the statue of Artemis, reached into the thick layer of ash, and pulled out the silver knife with the green gem. He now had Athan’s other immortal blade, the one that had been buried in the priest’s shoulder. Hermes wiped the blade then tucked it into his belt. With his back still to her, he said, “You will get him killed.”
“What do you care?” Clearly there was no love lost between the two gods. Hope clenched the matching blade in her hand, and she glared at Hermes’s back.
The bronze-haired god sighed. “Not Apollo. Nothing you do could ever harm him. He’s a god.” He faced Hope with worry etched in the fine lines around his eyes. “I was referring to my son. Your persistent impulsivity is hazardous to everyone around you.”
He waved his arm through the air, and the remaining airborne flakes danced on the bre
eze. His gaze went to her hands, and he raised his brows.
Hope slipped the matching blade into its sheath at her back. If Hermes asked for it, she would be forced to relinquish it, but she wanted to keep it, the only token of Athan she had. And then the meaning of Hermes’s words registered, and she stared at the god. “Athan’s okay?”
Hermes straightened, lips pursed into a flat line. He wore his concern so much like his son, it was almost painful to see.
“Bloody shite!” Xan ran through the columns and skidded to a halt when his gaze met Hope’s. Then he looked around the temple with his mouth agape. “What in the name of Hades—?”
“Son of Ares.” Hermes nodded at Xan. After a deep breath, the god squared his shoulders and tramped through the powder to Hope. Grabbing her by the arm, he yanked her toward Xan. “You need to get her out of here. Right now.”
Xan nodded and waved Hope forward even as he moved toward her.
She stumbled with the first step, and the scar on her thigh pulled with the movement, sending a wave of nausea with the discomfort. Xan rushed to her side and slipped his arm around her waist.
“Oh gods,” he murmured, squeezing her closer.
“You must hurry. You have only minutes, if that, before they appear. This type of destruction will bring the wrath of the gods.”
Xan didn’t wait for further instruction. He scooped Hope into his arms and ran down the stairs and through the gardens, the scenery a mere blur as he raced to the car.
Agony pulsed with her heartbeat, radiating from her thigh up into her belly and chest. Nausea roiled through her, and she clenched her teeth.
Seconds later, she heard the beep of his car. He dropped her into the seat and closed the door before she had time to think of how he was going to even get the car open. The car started, and Hope flinched when she fell forward as he pulled out of the parking space. Breathing through her nose, she tried to settle her stomach as they raced out of the parking lot.
She pulled her seat belt across her chest, slamming into the door as they took a sharp corner. Her heart raced as Xan’s panic filled the enclosed space of the vehicle. Then terror struck her square in the chest.
“Oh gods,” she mumbled.
He sped down the road, his jaw set with a determination she knew well. She could almost hear the wheels turning as he calculated their next move.
“Bags and hames,” he muttered, pounding on the steering wheel. A few moments later, he glanced her way and asked, “What the bloody hell happened in there?”
Shame and embarrassment at her impulsivity and its cost made her heart sink. Tears filled her eyes as shock and its accompanying adrenaline waned. Her hands trembled. Hope curled into a ball and gave him the rundown of what had happened in the temple.
His shoulders sagged, his entire frame sinking in defeat. “What a feckin’ eejit!”
She deserved the censure, but it still stung. “I’m sorry.”
He shook his head. “Not you, lass, although you were bloody stupid to shoot a priest in a temple. That’s breaking all the rules, even if the gobdaw deserved it. But you didn’t cause harm except to his pride, so you had a right to defend yourself. And I reckon I should be glad he stepped in, or you’d be dead, but . . . Bloody Hades, what a mess.”
It was almost unfathomable that they should be grateful to Apollo and Hermes, but as the seconds ticked by, she grudgingly admitted they had saved her. The feeling flitted away as another worry continued to eat at Hope. “Your bow is still there.”
The color that had been slowly coming back to his face drained as soon as the words were out.
“There were other immortal weapons there, too,” she rushed to say.
He nodded, pointing at her leg. “At least one.”
“Right,” she whispered. She hoped there were more, at least enough to conceal his presence. “It’s not fair. You weren’t even there.”
“Aye.” He scratched his chin, the cuffing sound of his stubble the only normality in their world. “Let’s hope no one notices.”
The words sounded empty, flat, and Hope shifted in the seat, trying to avoid the discomfort of guilt. “Maybe they won’t care so much because of what Apollo did.”
He ran his hand through his hair. “Perhaps.”
But he sounded like he knew the weight of what would happen, and he was powerless to stop it.
The rest of the drive was silent, and until they turned down the familiar street to the apartment complex, Hope hadn’t been sure where they were going.
“We can go home?” Her instinct was to run, but she was unsure where they would even be safe.
Xan released a slow, deep breath, and his grip on the steering wheel loosened. “Aye. With that statue of Hecate you have, it’s probably the safest place.”
“The statue really does work?” She pushed away all the other thoughts and feelings. She’d have to deal with the guilt, fear, panic, and so much more, but she couldn’t handle it now. So she’d allow herself to feel later. She’d mourn later. She’d worry later. Right now, she would live in the moment, in the very second that surrounded her. “That statue really does protect you from Skia?”
Xan tilted his head, and his gaze slid to her. Questions floated in the space between them, before he returned his attention to the road. “What exactly do you think the statue does?”
Hope tried to remember what her mom and Priska had told her, but the memories had faded with the pressing present. There was only one thing she was certain of. “It will keep Skia out of your home.”
Xan smiled, an indulgent, patronizing smirk that reminded Hope of when they’d first met. She chuckled as she punched his arm. “Don’t be a jerk. What else does it do?”
“Hecate is the goddess of what humans call witchcraft or magic. She’s very, very powerful, but she’s stuck in the Underworld. She has . . . priestesses, or attendants maybe, much like Skia, who have some of her spirit in them, and they can come to the mortal realm.”
Hope listened as she processed what the implications could be. “Do her attendants kill demigods like Skia?”
Xan shook his head. “I don’t think so. I’ve never come across one, and there isn’t a lot of information about them, either. But I can tell you they have power like demigods, only the powers are Hecate’s.”
Hope tried to remember what those powers included, but witchcraft and magic were broad nonspecific terms, and the only other thing she could remember was that Hecate was the goddess of crossroads.
“Her powers lie at crossroads, at the in-between. She can aid decisions that have the power to turn fate one way or another, but only if there is an intersection or junction already present. She and her minions have power with herbs and poisons that can aid in health or hurry death. She has been known to help mortals achieve prosperity or cause their complete financial ruin. She instills or implants her powers into objects with specific purpose. Or at least that is the best theory I’ve found. She used to be a psychopomp, like Hermes, but Olympus had her bound like the other gods.”
“Is Dahlia an attendant for her?”
Xan cleared his throat. “I don’t know, but my guess would be that Hecate would want her.”
Hope thought of the demigod who had befriended her when she’d gone to the conservatory. If being an attendant of Hecate would allow Dahlia to come to the mortal realm, Hope wanted to believe Dahlia would seize the opportunity.
“She’s a twisted goddess, though. Twisted and a titch sick in the head, I think. But she’s exceedingly powerful. Anyway, these statues of her have immense protective power. It will protect everyone within the walls of the structure it resides in of any harm, unless predestined by a greater power. It would protect you from anything except the curse, I reckon.”
“And you?”
“I’ll be safe from anyone except my father, and even him unless I’d done something he’d expressly forbidden.”
They pulled into the parking lot of their building. “What about Athan?”
Hope nodded. Maybe it wouldn’t even matter. Hermes had only said enough to reveal that Athan was still alive. Not that he was ever coming back. “So if we were to stay inside, the gods couldn’t harm us.”
Xan flinched. “Hecate’s bound now, so the power could be lessened. I don’t think one or two gods could overcome the power. But if all of Olympus came calling, I’m not sure the statue would be enough.”
As they crossed the parking lot, he grabbed her hand. “Let’s not borrow trouble, all right? Let’s get you cleaned up and get some rest. I’m going to need to think through what our options are now.”
Hope didn’t want to say it, just in case it would jinx them, but she didn’t think they had any.
Athan opened the door to the apartment, and Hope leaped from the couch, screaming as she ran to him. Throwing herself into his arms, she buried her face in his neck, her entire body trembling as she clung to him. He kissed her hair, breathing in her scent of sunshine, but coughed on the stale stench of ash. He’d ask her later what she’d been up to. For now, he rested his chin on her head, relishing the feel of her in his arms.
She pulled back and stared into his eyes, her own gold ones filled with tears threatening to spill. “Oh gods, you’re here. You’re really here.”
Hope brushed his face with her fingers, her warm skin keeping contact with him a constant reassurance of his presence. She hiccupped, choking on tears that wouldn’t be restrained.
His heart clenched, and he cupped her face. “I’m here. It’s okay. I’m here. Nothing happened.”
He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, then her soft lips, the entire time wondering at her un-Hope-like display of emotion.
As if to reinforce his puzzlement, Hope choked on a sob and buried her head in his chest. “I thought he’d taken you away. I thought . . .”
