Enemies: The Girl in the Box, Book Seven

by Crane, Robert J.

  “The King and Queen of the Underworld,” Hera said dryly. “I felt bad for her, you know. Demeter didn’t deserve to lose her daughter because Hades was a depraved maniac who was utterly insatiable and unwanted by any reasonable woman.” Her eyes narrowed as she regarded the sculpture. “Still and all, Persephone was quite a shrewd lady. Rather than be dominated by that beast of a man, she managed to wring some concessions out of him, got him to curb his bloodthirsty ways—at least for a time. And when the moment came that she realized what he meant to do, she killed him herself.” Hera’s smile went broader, and I could see the measured respect in it. “I would have done the same.” Her face darkened for a moment. “Hell, many’s the time I wish I had. Then again, Zeus was a bastard and a murderer but nothing on the scale of Hades.”

  “What did he do?” I asked quietly, taking in the lines of the sculptures, the king and queen sitting in their places and looking down on me. The statues were taller than I was, even without the plinth they rested on. Where I stood, I could almost imagine being in some shadowy cave, in the darkness, being stared down at by the two of them. Now faceless. I wondered if the sculptor had been in their presence when he had made the statue, or if it had been simply inspired by them.

  “Hades?” Hera asked. “He got it in his mind that humanity was unworthy of continued life. So he went from town to town, drawing out the souls of everyone he met. He was on a mission to walk the earth until he had killed every-damned-body on it.”

  I took a step closer to the statues. I wanted to reach out, to run my hand over the smooth marble of the surface, but the signs made it obvious that I shouldn’t. I could almost taste my desire to connect with these figures from the past, but for what reason I didn’t even know. “Why?”

  “Because a mob killed his eldest granddaughter in Troy,” Hera replied. “What was her name?” She paused, her fingers on her chin. “Hell if I can even remember; it was so long ago. Anyway, the girl stole something while she was out of her mother and father’s sight. Harmless enough, right? She was twelve or so, took some trinket not thinking anyone would notice. But she got caught, and the stallkeeper grabbed her, and he and another man held onto her until they died.” Hera watched me carefully, waiting for my reaction.

  A tingle ran over my scalp with the slow understanding. “Persephone was a Persephone-type.”

  Hera smiled. “Indeed.”

  “And Hades could steal souls,” I said, almost whispering. I looked back to the statues, and this time my hand did reach out and touch the base of his leg, felt the smooth marble beneath my fingertips.

  “Some of their children came out as Persephones,” Hera said. “I didn’t think any of them came out like Hades. Most of them came out different, hybridized, as it were, with his power, but restrained and mixed with the limitations of hers. You had to be able to touch directly to the flesh to be able to use it, rather than work at it from a distance, as he could. They had quite a few children, you know, over the next thousand or so years.” She smiled lightly. “They weren’t very welcome among our kind. Shunned, really, by all but a few. Some had children with humans, some bred within their own ranks. Not many of our kind were as brave as Janus, marrying one. Some got killed by mobs like the one that killed his little girl. Some were wiped out by Zeus after Hades died,” Hera said darkly. “A large majority of them, actually. Now there are only three succubi left that we know of, and only two confirmed incubi.”

  “You said you didn’t think anyone came out like Hades.” I looked up at the statue of my forebear.

  “I didn’t think they did,” she replied. “Apparently I was wrong. We all were. Because it’s beginning to look a hell of a lot like there’s a Hades-type out there working for Century.” She glanced up at the statue. “And if that’s the case, let me tell you something—there’s only one type of meta that is immune to that power and therefore only one that can kill him.” She smiled at me again, but this time it was grim, and there was no joy in it. “Would you care to guess what type that is?”

  Chapter 28

  “So you need me to stop a Hades,” I whispered. Then, louder, “Why not just use James Fries?”

  “What?” Hera asked, puzzled.

  “If Omega needed me to stop a Hades,” I said, “why not just use Fries? He’s already on their payroll.”

  “Because stopping this Hades is not what we were after you for,” came a voice from behind me. I spun to find Reed and Breandan already turned, facing the source of the voice, hands raised and ready to throw bad luck and wind at him.

  Janus stood behind me, Eleanor, Kat and Karthik with him, arrayed in a rough pentagon with Janus at the head, his arms folded in front of him, crumpling the neat lines of his suit. “I am not looking for a fight,” he said, offering open hands in our direction.

  “You may get one anyway,” Reed said, his face twisted in anger.

  “Reed,” Kat said, soothing, drawing his attention. Her hair was curled in a way she’d never done it while she was at the Directorate, and she wore a suit with a skirt. She looked older, more professional, and for the first time she seemed like a century-old presence and not a kid playing teenage games. “There’s no need. We’re not here to hurt you or anyone. We just want to talk to Sienna—and you.”

  “I’m listening,” Hera said, interjecting herself into the mix. She gently brushed past me, her hand resting on my arm for a moment longer than necessary as she passed, in a reassuring way. She placed a hand on Reed’s shoulder, and I saw him lower his a second later. “What do you have to say, Janus? Care to pick up my story of Hades where I left off and fill in the details of your personal experiences with the matter?”

  I saw a flash of anger buried deeply in Janus, but when he spoke, it was about something else. “The cloister outside Cork, Ireland, has been wiped out.” Janus’s face was worn, tired. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. “Our people are moving quickly toward the one outside Connaught, but based on what they found outside Cork, it will likely be too late.”

  “Assuming they could even stop a Hades,” Hera said.

  “It’s Connacht,” Breandan tossed in. When everyone turned to look at him, he blushed. “Well, get it right, you bloody English.”

  “They cannot stop a Hades,” Janus agreed, turning his attention back to Hera. “I have sent for James Fries to hurry to London, but unfortunately he is somewhat … unresponsive to my messages.” He sent me a look—not accusing, but pointed. “I can only imagine it has something to do with the fact that I ordered him to remain in a position where he once more got himself shot.”

  “He earned that all by himself,” I said.

  “Perhaps he did,” Janus agreed.

  Reed turned to me. “You shot Fries?”

  “Only a couple times,” I said. After a moment’s thought, I added, “Maybe three.” A pause. “On a couple different occasions.”

  His expression turned grudgingly respectful. “I guess you have changed.”

  “Yeah,” Kat agreed, “you’re really becoming your mother’s daughter.” Her words were acid, and I wished I had a gun to shoot her with right then. I sent her a nasty look instead.

  “There are people in danger,” Janus said calmly. “People are going to die.” He was watching me, those eyes like ice. No, not ice. I could see some melt in them, other emotions. Fear.

  “You’re afraid,” I said, watching him.

  He didn’t even blink. “Only a fool wouldn’t be, at a moment such as this. They are hunting every one of our kind to the end of our lives. A type of meta we didn’t even know still existed has re-emerged, and it is the worst kind of news for us. They will destroy every last one of us.”

  “But this still doesn’t explain their intentions for humanity,” I said. “After they’ve killed all the metas, how are they going to exercise that newfound dominance without every government in the world bombing them into atomized dust? This whole play makes no sense. Fine, stage one is wipe out the competition so you’ve got th
e monopoly on meta-human powers. But I’ve yet to hear what stage two is.”

  “As much fun as it might be to speculate about this stage two, to sit around and spitball, I think you call it—about what comes next, it is ultimately irrelevant.” The frustration bled through in Janus’s voice. “We need to stop the first stage, or else the cultural legacy of all meta-kind comes to an end.” He paused, and looked slightly chagrined. “I don’t think meta-kind is a word, but you get the point, yes?”

  Hera was the first to speak. “I understand your gist. First things come first.”

  “Yes,” Janus said. “Thank you. We must halt this genocide. I am all in favor of helping to keep the humans safe from Century’s predations, but the only method we have of determining their next phase at present is either base speculation or waiting to see what they come up with after finishing their task of wiping us all out. And as effective as the latter would be, I submit that none of us would be here to see it.” He clenched a fist and hit it lightly against his other palm. “We need to act now, to save as many of our people as possible.”

  I swallowed deeply. “I’ll go to Ireland.”

  Janus shook his head. “I think it is too late for that. You will need to go to Scotland, immediately, or risk the loss of that cloister while trying to play catch up near …” his voice trailed off for a moment, “ … Connacht.” He nearly mangled the word in his accent.

  “Oh, yeah, that’s right, throw the Irish to the wolves,” Breandan said mildly. “You may not be an Englishman, but damned if you haven’t got the same attitude.” He watched us all for a beat. “Kidding! Only kidding. It’s what needs to be done, I get it.” He turned to me. “I’ll go with you.”

  I frowned at him. “You’ll be safer here. I’m going to go face-to-face with a man who throws death like you toss luck.”

  “Well, then you could use a little luck on your side now, couldn’t you?” Breandan gave me a grin, his mustached face born down by a little weight that was peeking out from behind the facade.

  “I’m going too,” Reed said, tossing a look at Hera, who raised an eyebrow at him.

  “Might as well make a foursome,” Hera said, looking dryly at Janus. “If you don’t mind having me around.”

  Janus smiled then dropped his eyes slightly. “It has been quite some time since we have been on the ‘same side.’ I don’t mind at all.”

  “Good,” Hera said, and I caught the hint of something much deeper going unexpressed between the two of them. I could feel Wolfe’s grin inside me, but he said nothing.

  “We have a helicopter waiting,” Janus said, gesturing back toward the door through which we had come. “If you’ll come with me?”

  “You parked a helicopter on a London street?” I asked, leading the way. He touched me lightly on the back for just a second as I passed.

  “No,” he said with amusement as he fell into step beside me. “We have it back at headquarters. It is fueled and ready to make the trip to Scotland.”

  I took a few steps before I spoke, the footsteps of our party echoing through the quiet gallery. “So … who’s the Primus now?”

  There was a subtle change in Janus’s face, a hint of discomfort. “I don’t know. The Ministers have yet to make a decision. The entire organization is in utter chaos. I have had to take the initiative to get this mission off the ground while they … debate.”

  I looked at him as we walked. “How did you find us?”

  It was Eleanor Madigan who answered. “We have a facial recognition software program that scans the results from the surveillance cameras around London. It caught you getting out of your car outside the museum.”

  “I’m suddenly very thankful I haven’t posed for many pictures,” Hera said from just behind Janus. “I’d hate to think you were watching my every move.”

  “We actually were,” he replied, “up until this crisis. Now, we’re understandably short of manpower for such a task.”

  “And here I thought Alpha was Omega’s number one enemy,” Hera said as we crossed into the Egyptian exhibit. I could see the white courtyard ahead of us, with the massive tower in the middle of it. “I suppose this is a time of shifting priorities, a time when maybe we can finally let some old feuds die out.”

  As we entered the courtyard, the light flooded down from above, the smooth lines of the dome leaving faint shadows on the floor where the beams crossed. It was starting to darken outside as the day reached its close, but the clouds had dissipated and left a clear sky above. The crowds had almost disappeared as well, as the last few museum patrons were beginning to file out. One of the nearby coffee kiosks was giving off the most wonderful smell, making me want a cup for myself. I halted as Janus did the same, stopped by someone standing in front of him.

  “Or not,” Janus said simply.

  They were arrayed around us in a semi-circle—eight people, with Bastet near the fore. The three of them closest to her wore dark suits, dressed interchangeably the way agents had been clad in the Directorate. But the other four …

  The other four were impeccably dressed, two women and two men. Not young like the “agents” who flanked them but older, more august. One was a woman of stunning beauty, who in spite of looking like she was forty was a knockout. She could have modeled on any catwalk in the world and probably outshone competitors twenty years younger than she was. Another woman looked a little haggard, her hair a mess with streaks of purple highlights, and she fiddled with a smartphone while watching us with one eye.

  One of the men was horribly disfigured, his face bearing a sort of general scarring that looked as though his skin had been scraped off and healed. One of his eyes was white and sightless, the other brown and fixed on me.

  The last man was dressed well but pale, terribly pale, making me look like a well-tanned sun baby by comparison. He almost faded into the walls but he was muscular to the point of ridiculousness.

  Janus turned to me, almost ruefully, and hesitated for a moment before he spoke. “I am sorry. I didn’t know they would be coming.”

  I looked at the group arrayed against us and ignored Bastet’s grin. “Oh, wow, a B-52’s cover band,” I cracked. After a pause in which there was no laughter, I asked, “Who are they?”

  Janus gave a nod to the woman who I had thought of as a model. “Aphrodite.” Then the one with a smartphone. “Eris.” He turned to indicate the scarred man. “Hephaestus.” Finally he came to the pale man. “Heimdall.” He let himself deflate, visibly, and I felt the first hint of worry.

  “Nice to meet you all,” I said, with utter reserve. “I suppose it’s not every day you meet some of the old gods.”

  “Not just old gods,” Hera said, and every word she uttered was tense beyond anything I’d heard from her thus far. “Not even just THE old gods.” She hunkered down slightly, into a stance I could only think of as defensive. “What you’re looking at here is nothing less than the ministers of Omega. The powers behind the throne.”

  “Well, they certainly do look like the suction behind the toilet.” Still, no one laughed. I looked at them with new eyes, understanding now the nervous fear that crackled from Bjorn and even Gavrikov, the sort of tense discomfort that came from knowing that I was horribly overmatched, that they had ill intent for me and I didn’t know what it was.

  “She’s coming with us,” Hephaestus said in a low, gravelly voice, his scarred face surveying us. “Move aside, Hera, and we can make this quick.”

  Hera gave me a look that was indecipherable, inscrutable, and I realized she was weighing things in her mind. Why would a woman who had lived for thousands of years throw her life away, outnumbered three to one in a meta battle with old gods? She was frozen, and her look ticked from each of the Ministers, one by one.

  “You’re coming with us anyway,” Hephaestus said to me, and his lips stayed even. I would have expected a smile, but maybe his face was too scarred to allow for it. “There’s no need for any of you to die in the course of this.” He gave me a solid
look, that white, sightless eye almost glowing as he looked at me. “We will kill them if you make us—Hera, your brother, even that Irishman. Right here, while you watch.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “And not give it any more thought than you’d put aside for snuffing out Erich Winter. Come with us, and we’ll spare them all.”

  I should have felt angry, furious, but there was nothing within, just a gaping void. This wasn’t the first time I’d had others used as hostages against me. Zack was empty of suggestion, as was Bastian. Whatever, Kappler said. Gavrikov and Bjorn were quaking in their metaphorical boots.

  Go with them, Gavrikov said.

  You do not want to cross them, Bjorn said. They are not to be trifled with.

  “You’re afraid,” I said out loud, loud enough that everyone could hear me.

  “Damned right I am,” Breandan answered into the shocked silence. “There’s like … twelve of them! And I’m not that much of a fighter.”

  “Were you talking to me?” Hephaestus said. That blind eye kept on me, staring.

  “No,” I said. “Mind your own damned business. I’m trying to have a conversation here.”

  You should be afraid, Bjorn said. They can destroy you, right here. Right now.

  “You know, it’s funny,” I said and no one spoke. “I should be afraid, staring all of you down.” I looked from Aphrodite, smiling a benevolent smile like a pageant queen, to Eris, who had yet to look up from her phone, over to Heimdall, who almost faded into the white background, then back to Hephaestus, his marred flesh like a beacon turning my gaze back to him. “But I’m not.”

  I wasn’t lying to them. For some reason I couldn’t define, I was steely calm.

  And then it got defined for me. Real fast.

  Kill them, Wolfe said. Kill them all.

  Chapter 29

  I ran at Hephaestus without thought, came at him low, at high speed, before any of them had a chance to react to my suicidal maneuver. I suspected he was fast; he was one of the old gods, after all. Old being the operative word.