“I thought you said you weren’t Greek,” Alena whispered as she held on to him.
“I also said we’ve absorbed a lot of the culture,” Ares returned as he continued his dance and she laughed, feeling happy, safe and secure, as she perched on his shoulder some seven feet from the sand below.
3
The new bride and groom did not stay long at the reception held in their honor. Ares had other plans; he was taking her away from this island and this entire area of the world for a while. Taking her to some place where the sun had yet to set and looking forward to a long proper honeymoon—if she were in the mood to oblige him, that was. Although she glowed at his side and beamed up at him with much love, Ares still wondered how long his wait was going to be and how well he would suffer through it. Dressed in modern street clothes, him in jeans and a light sweater and her in blue jeans for the first time in ages, they disappeared from Ares’ beach only to appear on another shore.
Alena gasped at the sight before her and held her hand to her heart.
“Do you know this place?” Ares asked, already knowing the answer.
“It’s the harbor.” She looked up at him with wide eyes. “We’re in Boston.”
Yes, it was Boston Harbor and it had changed a lot since the last time he was here, which had been during the American Civil War. Ares didn’t get to the United States very much; whenever he ventured off his island he preferred the Middle East—so easy to just say a few wrong words over there and get things boiling. He liked South America, another place where people were easily riled. Americans were a strange lot, quick to anger but not necessarily to react outside of bickering with themselves. He did spend a good deal of time in the American West after the Civil War. That was great fun and he’d had a grand time as he found an appreciation for smaller battles such as the OK Corral. Gunslingers were quick tempered and easily pitted against each other for amusement.
The last time he’d been here in Boston, small wooden structures dotted the shore while great wooden ships with billowing sails or steam engines came and went from the harbor. Now mighty skyscrapers rose high into the blue sky as they reflected the sunlight from above and the water below off a million windows, sending bright streams of light dancing in the air. The boats making their way along the river were made of steel, most of them without sails, and some large enough to be considered floating cities. “I thought we’d start our life together with you showing me more of yours,” Ares suggested. “I think you’ve seen enough of mine for a while.”
“It’s mine, too,” Alena reminded him and then turned back to the water and the city beyond. A few weeks ago, if she’d suddenly found herself standing here out of the blue she would have cried out that she was home! Standing here now with him, Alena realized it really was true; anywhere Ares was that was her home and this place was a lovely memory. One that she could come and visit whenever she wanted. Unlike Olympus and the island, Boston was bustling with life; boats were coming and going from the harbor, ringing their bells as the foghorn blew off in the distance. Cars whizzed over the bridge and even from here she could hear the faint sounds of music coming from some café. After the places she had been lately, this seemed like another world. “Did you bring any money?”
“Did I…of course I brought money. American dollars.”
“Good, let’s go to Quincy Market. I’m hungry and, well, I haven’t gone shopping in a decade.”
Ares frowned and let out a sigh. “I think Quincy Market,” whatever that was, it couldn’t possibly be the same Quincy Market as when he was last here, “will have to wait for tomorrow. We have some place to be.” Between his fingers appeared two tickets with a very familiar symbol on them. “Bought and paid for,” Ares assured as he held them in front of her, watching her eyes go up and down with the logo of two crossed red socks. “Something called box seats.”
“Box…” Alena plucked them out of his hand and looked at the seating. Right in front of the first base line. They looked authentic to her. “How did you get these? Where did you get these?” According to the tickets the game, against the New York Yankees no less, was scheduled to begin at noon. “What time is it?”
Happy that he could make her face light up so brightly, Ares chuckled all the way to Fenway Park, where he enjoyed several beers and hot dogs. Popcorn was tasty but it got stuck between his teeth and he did not like that. The crowd was exhilarating, their exuberance was highly infectious, and even though he didn’t have much of an idea as to what was actually going on in the beginning, he was quickly swept up by the game. So did Alena.
“YOU SUCK!” she yelled to team currently in front of them wearing jerseys that read ‘Yankees’. “GO HOME!”
“That was a little rude, don’t you think?” Ares asked as he finished off the last of his second dog. Hardly had he ever heard her say a bad word about anyone, let alone unprovoked.
“You’re supposed to do that, it’s a psych-out. You should understand that concept.” The batter hit the ball…crack! Alena stood up in mid-sentence. “BUTTERFINGERS!” she yelled as she cupped her hands to her mouth. “YOU CAN’T CATCH! MISS IT! MISS IT! YOU STINK!” The ball slipped right over the top of the fielder’s glove and he went chasing after it while the batter made it to second base. With the rest of the crowd Alena held up her fist and gave a great cheer as she protruded her index finger in the universal We’re-Number-One gesture. “Besides, it feels good. You try.” Touching his arm just before Ares opened his mouth she added, “Don’t be too mean.”
“I’ll just keep watching you.” And he did for the whole game. Alena loved what she called ‘the crack of the bat’ and each time one of the Red Sox players got up and hit the ball, she jumped to her feet and cheered…along with the few thousand other people in the park. When the ball went over the wall, something Alena called The Green Monster, though it didn’t seem very threatening to Ares, the crowd broke out in a strange chant; Na-na-na-na, na-na-na-na, hey, hey, hey…good bye. It wasn’t like any chant he had ever heard before. During something called the Seventh Inning Stretch, someone started playing an organ and the whole crowd stood up, linked arms and sang a tune. Alena sang along and said it was “Take Me Out To The Ballgame.”
Mortal Gatherings and Rituals were so strange.
Alena and Ares waited around in Fenway Park for a while after the game: Red Sox-9 Yankees-1 and watched the crowd thin out. “You don’t want to battle them,” she advised, “and just zapping out of here would be bad.” She sat next to him and rested her head on his brawny shoulder. “Thank you for a lovely day. I had fun.”
Ares kissed the top of her head as he watched the crowd. Other than to make brief eye contact and give a nod—which was infrequent, no one paid much attention to them—some of those who walked by did have a quizzical look in their eye. Alena’s face was snuggled in the nape of Ares’ neck; all they could see was her beautiful silver hair. It was clear that some of the mortals did not approve of what they saw as a great age gap. They probably wondered if he was after her money or something similarly trite. Unfortunately those were the observant ones. As they passed by the God of War and his new Bride they didn’t see them at all. They were just two more blank faces in this crowd.
Here he sat, in one of the most well known cities in the most powerful country on planet Earth, surrounded by sheep and knowing that in a few short weeks Cernunnos would have obliterated them, he would have subjugated them, and then enslaved them. They were so naïve and complacent. Right now, they were off to their shiny cars, their lives, and their dinners, oblivious to the fact that the man sitting near them could turn them to ash without ever getting up. From the way most of them were smiling and chattering away, Ares thought ignorance must truly be bliss.
On their way out of the park, they passed a vendor. Alena turned to Ares and held out her hand. “What do you want?”
“Money, you said you have some.”
He should have known that, Ares often saw women hold their hands out to their men
this way before legal tender was handed over to them. “After my wallet already, are you, woman? That didn’t take long,” he joked and took a black leather wallet from the back pocket of his blue jeans. Alena didn’t take count; she just plucked a fat wad of bills out of it before skittering off to the vendor, leaving Ares standing behind her looking at his lightened wallet. He stood there watching her make her purchase, he watched the vendor look past her and stare at him only to turn back to her and then dig something out of the case.
“Look, change,” Alena said brightly when she came back to where Ares stood looking absolutely adorable with a brand new Red Sox cap on her head and pennant in her hand. She handed back the money that was left over. “I got you this.” With a sly grin, she held up a jersey that looked just like those worn by the men on the Red Sox team. Ares snatched it out of her hand and tossed it over his shoulder.
“I’ll try it on for you later.”
“Oh, I was hoping you’d say that.” Alena sighed and wrapped an arm around his waist as they made their way out of the gates.
The happy couple wandered around the streets of Boston for hours, lost in behaving like any other normal Mortal couple on their honeymoon. Hand in hand, arm in arm, or with arms entwined around each other’s waists, they walked along taking in the sights, and they stopped often to kiss and to laugh. Alena pointed out things to him including the Preparatory Academy where she’d once taught. It was a typically fine, grand, old New England Prep School where (rich) people from all over the world sent their children to learn. From the street she was able to point out the window to her classroom to him and the door she had used to make her escape. The one that lead her to Africa and then to his island.
Although she shouldn’t have been surprised, Ares pointed out several sights of historical significance to her and related fantastical tales of the Revolutionary War and the Founding Fathers to her. They window shopped, actually shopped—well, Alena did, Ares stayed outside the stores while she bought a few more things, among them a long jacket as the night was getting cold and a new pair of heeled boots. She was tired of only coming to his sternum as they walked.
“You’re going to fall over in those,” Ares said, looking down at the rather eye-catching but understated boots on her feet. From the front they looked almost practical, but from the side the six-inch stiletto heel and shiny brass buckle met his eye. He looked down at her but not too far down this time. One more glance downward before they began walking again and Ares thought he might like to see what these boots look like without the jeans.
They had a candlelit dinner at a quiet little bistro overlooking the water where they held hands across the table and made plans for their future even as they discussed their pasts. It seemed each had questions; Ares wanted to know about the buildings and the boats of today while Alena prodded him for the answers of yesterday.
The air was crisp and clean; Alena loved New England in autumn. It was late September now, in another week or so the trees would start to put on the best show of the year. They would fall to the ground and make that wonderful crunching sound when she walked over them, releasing their earthy scent into the air at her feet. There would be fires burning, apple pies, hot chocolates, and hot toddies.
“Are you all right?” Ares asked, gazing down at her as they wandered. “You look so far away.”
“Fine, just a little melancholy I guess.”
“How long did you live here?”
Alena had to think about that for a second. “A hundred, maybe a hundred and ten years. I came here just after the turn of the 20th century.”
“You stayed here all that time?” By his calculations, that was nearly half of Alena’s lifetime. No wonder she cheered so heartily for the hometown baseball team.
“It’s a good sized city, easy enough to hide. If you just move now and then from one end to the other, move your accounts around to different banks, shop in a new place, no one notices you’re still here when you should be long dead,” she said dreamily. “I liked it here.” She reached across the table and traced her fingers along his face in the candlelight. “It was a good life but now I have a better one because I have you.”
The night was growing longer; she looked tired. Even though the sun had gone down here only an hour or two ago, it was well past her normal bedtime. Ares decided it was time to retire to their accommodations. It wasn’t far from here, just a few blocks. Walking down the well-kept street with it neat rows of three-story townhouses and their excellently manicured lawns, Ares noticed a sign in one of the yards. That was odd that someone would put up a sign here in such a posh residential neighborhood. His sharp eyes honed in on it and, at first, he didn’t believe what he read so he read it aloud. “Miss Maggie MacLeod’s School for the Performing Arts.”
“What?” Alena had been lost to her daze once more but his words pulled her out of it and she looked around to see they were walking down the very street where she had once lived. “Oh, they did it,” she said as she gazed at the green and gold sign hanging so tastefully in the front yard. Alena stopped walking in front of the waist-high wrought iron gate and stared at her old home. Under the streetlight, she explained to her new Husband that, once upon a time, he hadn’t been the only one with money. She’d had a great deal of it and the good life she’d lived had been less than humble in many areas. She liked good clothing, fine wines, fine art, good restaurants, and fast cars. She also knew she was a hunted woman. Alena had made provisions that should she die or should she disappear one day then her money was to be put into a trust and used to open this small school to benefit girls who might otherwise not get the chance to attend such a place. Miss Maggie’s School, if all went according to plan, took only low-income students and most of them on full scholarship. The top floor of the townhouse with its view of the harbor from what was once her bedroom should be the living quarters for fifteen girls, with the two lower floors being their classrooms where they would study music, theatre and dance.
Judging from this street, the houses, and the big, fast, shiny cars, all of which was very upscale, Ares would have to guess that Alena’s money had been considerable. To go from living in this cushy neighborhood to running ragged in an African refugee camp was an unimaginable juxtaposition.
A black car pulled up to the curb behind them and parked. A man got out in a hurry. “Maggie? Maggie, is that you?” He had been driving home when he saw her standing on the street with goliath.
“Hello, Earl,” Maggie said quietly and was instantly sorry that they had been spotted. “How are you?”
“How am I? Is that what you have to say?” Earl, an older man in his late fifties or early sixties with a portly build threw his arms around her and hugged her tightly. Ares recognized him as the man in the photograph in Alena’s wallet. “My God Maggie! Where have you been?” He stepped away from her a small ways. “And, um, who’s this?”
Alena took a breath as her Past confronted her Future. “Earl Holbrook, I’d like you to meet…Ari.” At the last second Alena decided that ‘Ares’ was a very uncommon name and she tried to think another one up quickly. All she could see in her mind was Aristotle Onassis and her brain swiftly remembered they used to call him ‘Ari’. “Ari, this is Earl, the principal of the Academy where I worked.” The two men shook hands tentatively. “Ari and I are on our honeymoon, we were married…earlier today.”
“Married?” Earl looked up at Ares who was looking down at him and then gave Alena another hug. “I see you landed yourself a big one. Young, too, what’s he? Thirty? Twenty-nine?” he whispered before stepping for the last time and in a louder voice extending his congratulations and best wishes for a bright future. “Come inside for a moment, I know the girls would love to meet you, Maggie. You’ve changed their lives.” Earl had been very surprised when he was called to a meeting at a lawyer’s office four years after Maggie disappeared and told she’d put him in charge of this trust of hers. The provisions clearly stated that if she was gone without a trace for m
ore than four years she was to be considered dead. Four years had passed; Earl couldn’t believe that, either. It was so unlike Maggie to be irresponsible and yet from all accounts she’d just run out of the school one day and never come back. It was a mystery.
Alena looked down at her feet and blushed. “That’s good but we’re not staying, Earl, we’re just here for a day or two.” She looked up at him again. “Please don’t tell anyone you saw us. You’ll do that for me, won’t you?”
Earl could do that, except his wife, he had to tell Donna about this. “Just assure me that you’re all right, you’re not in any trouble. If you are, I can help.” He gave Ares a snide glance, not trusting the big man at the small woman’s side.
“Same old Earl, always willing to jump in and help out a friend.” She smiled for him. “I’m fine, never been better.”
“You look fantastic,” Earl complimented. She looked very happy indeed standing there in her fashionable high-heeled brown suede boots, tight fitting blue jeans, white turtleneck and a long flowing suede jacket which matched her boots—both of which were undoubtedly from Coldwater Creek, Maggie’s favorite store—and gave the ensemble just the right amount of dressed-up/dressed-down class. That was Maggie, sort of a Boston-Hippie/Chic style. The necklace glittering around her neck here under the streetlight must have cost a small fortune. He had no idea what happened between the last moment he saw her and this one and it was clear she did not want to divulge the information. Earl was of good breeding and upbringing; he knew when to back off and not to pry in the personal business of a lady. “I’d still know you anywhere, Maggie.”
The smile on her face grew wider as she wrapped her arm around Ares’ waist. “You will give Donna my best, won’t you? But no one else.”
“If you promise to drop me an email now and then letting me know you’re alive,” Earl asked hopefully. He looked up at Ares. “She’s a wonderful woman; I hope you know how lucky you are.”
The Heart of War Page 59
