The Immortals

by Jordanna Max Brodsky

Theo stayed under the waterfall for about five seconds, his teeth clenched together the entire time to squelch the rising holler that would no doubt bring hordes of park police to their little hideaway and put him right back into custody—this time for indecent exposure. He splashed back out of the pool hissing, “Shit shit shit shit it’s cold cold cold.” Selene was laughing now—not her usual dry chuckle, but the splendidly absurd, unbridled honk he’d heard only once before. She held out his incriminating briefs. He pulled them on with even less grace than he’d yanked them off, then crouched down beside the low fire she’d made.

  “We’re not going to burn down Central Park, are we?” he asked as he dried himself hurriedly with his shirt.

  “Trust me. I’ve done this a thousand times.” She shrugged out of his overcoat and handed it back to him. He pulled it on gratefully, enjoying the faint scent of cypress that enveloped him.

  “You’re like a homegrown Prometheus, huh?” he teased. “Bringing fire to man despite the gods’—or should I say the park commissioner’s—proscriptions.”

  She chaffed her hands over the flame. “Prometheus did what he did for love of mankind,” she murmured, suddenly serious. “I’m not sure why I do what I do.”

  “What do you mean by…” He wanted to understand. She was being cryptic, as usual.

  She swung her head toward the trees. “Do you hear that?” she asked, her voice low.

  “What?” he whispered back.

  “There’s a rabbit in there.”

  “You’re not going to kill it, are you?” he asked, alarmed and fascinated at the same time.

  “I don’t have a bow anymore, remember?”

  Theo thought it was grief that tightened her mouth this time, not anger. “But you can hear a rabbit?” No matter how he strained, he heard nothing but an indistinguishable rustle of leaves in the wind.

  “I can hear the raccoon returning to its den in a log by the stream,” she said softly, her eyes fluttering shut. “I can hear a rat rustling in the undergrowth. I can hear a hawk winging its way above our heads.” Theo looked upward. He saw only the dark outline of branches against the dim glow of the light-polluted sky. “I can hear the slow crawl of worms through the mulch. I can hear the small cry of leaves as they wither and die and glide gently to the earth. I can hear the pull of the moon on the water.”

  Theo couldn’t decide if Selene was insane or inspired. He let his eyes fall shut and tried to listen as she did. Yes, there was the small sound of an animal in the brush. If he concentrated very hard, he could distinguish between the wind blowing through the branches and the wind blowing through the leaves upon the ground. There—a bird cheeped! And the waterfall, of course; he could hear the white rush of the water. And a softer sound, the burble of the stream that fed it. For an instant, he felt his awareness swing outward—he was beyond himself. At once as large as the universe and as small as the insect crawling across his bare ankle. Then the roar of an airplane overhead snapped him back to his own shivering form. He opened his eyes. Selene was staring at him. The sudden warmth of her gaze made him tremble all the more.

  “Your turn,” he said, suddenly bold.

  “Hm?”

  “Ritual purification.” He nodded back at the waterfall. “Your idea.”

  Her skin grew, if possible, even paler. Her silver eyes narrowed.

  “Right now,” he said softly when she didn’t move, “you remind me of your namesake. Homer said the Moon Goddess was mild, but I’ve always thought she’d be fierce. Fierce and lonely.” He left the challenge hanging and forced himself to say nothing more. He stayed silent and calm, the way he imagined one might stalk a bird of prey who at any moment might lash out—or fly away.

  “You can’t…” she began finally. “You can’t look.” He’d never heard her stammer before tonight. Maybe he was rubbing off on her just as she was on him. He was pretty sure he came out ahead in that trade.

  “I promise,” he said, turning his back.

  He heard her baseball cap fall to the ground. Then the whisper of her shirt against her skin. He tried to give her some privacy—to not imagine each layer as it fell from her flesh—but he couldn’t help it. The hum of a zipper and he knew her pants were off. He couldn’t hear her walk away, but the pine scent disappeared, followed by the quick splash of footsteps into the pool.

  Selene watched the running water flow over the small cut in her arm from Hades’s scepter. Nothing happened. Even the power of the wild couldn’t overcome a divine weapon of such potency. But the wounds from Apollo’s silver arrow presented less of a problem—perhaps because the Smith had forged the shaft in the modern age. When she turned to let the water rush over her abdomen, the flesh knit back together before her eyes, leaving only a long red scab. She sighed with pleasure at the lessening of pain and turned her face into the waterfall. Icy and hard, the water slammed against her cheeks and lips, scouring away the night’s terror. She felt the bandage on her throat come loose and touched the miraculously unbroken skin beneath. She knew Jenny Thomason’s death had made her own healing possible—a cruel irony for a goddess dedicated to protecting young women—but she couldn’t let guilt overwhelm her. She hadn’t asked for her twin to commit such heinous acts. In fact, she’d done everything in her power to stop him. Or did I? she wondered. Did I hesitate? Did I let him escape, without even knowing what I did?

  She ducked her head fully under the torrent, drowning out the accusatory voices in her own head. The water flattened her hair like a seal’s and muffled the sounds around her. Only then, in a protective cocoon of water, did she dare think about Theo, sitting on the rocks less than ten paces away. She shuddered, afraid he was watching her. Then she realized, with an even deeper terror, she actually wanted him to look. Her mind returned again and again to the same image, no matter how she tried to banish it: Theo, his muscles clenched in the cold as he stepped from the water. The flat planes of his chest, the corded veins of his forearms, the tracing of light hair across his stomach. Must I be so alone with my questions? My guilt?

  She walked forward through the fall, leaning her palms against the granite and breathing the damp air between water and stone. The waterfall cascaded down her back like a cloak. Before she could stop herself, she whispered a single command, so silent only the rock could hear: Theo, come to me.

  And then he was there.

  She could feel him behind her, just beyond the wall of water. Slowly, hands at her sides, body uncovered, she turned. He looked like an image from a dream, his outline wavering behind the thick stream of water. He was wearing his pants again, unmindful of the water lapping at his legs, but he’d left his glasses behind. She could see his green eyes shining at her, wide with astonishment.

  Selene passed a hand through the fall, the water encircling her wrist like a foaming bracelet. Theo took it and drew her slowly toward him. She passed through the water and into his arms.

  “I couldn’t help but look,” he whispered.

  She said nothing. How could she blame him for following the command of a goddess?

  He reached a finger to her abdomen, touching the scab very gently. “Someone hurt you,” he said, his voice tight.

  “An old wound,” she lied, shuddering beneath his touch.

  He moved to the cut on her arm. “And this? It’s still bleeding a little.”

  “A scratch from one of the mystai. It doesn’t hurt.”

  He didn’t remove his fingers. Instead, he ran them, very lightly, up her arm, to her shoulder, and down her back. Before she could pull away, he bent his forehead to hers. The tip of his sharp nose rested in the hollow of her cheekbone. He moved closer, folding her into his arms. Together, they breathed. With each exhalation, her guilt receded, the night’s horrors dimmed. With each inhalation, she felt herself melt a little farther into Theo’s embrace. Thanatoi and Athanatoi, past and future—all of it faded away in the heat of his touch. They stood like that for a long moment before Theo moved, just a little, so that his lips were o
nly a breath away. She knew his kiss already, like a prophecy long foretold. It will be soft, as gentle as his heart. He will wait for me, and only when I’m ready will he let me feel his hunger. And once we begin, we will not stop. Unconsciously, she moved her hands along his shoulder blades. Theo breathed in sharply and tipped her chin toward him so he could meet her eyes. The desire she saw there sent an answering tremor through her body. But in the instant he bent toward her, she stiffened and drew back. Hurt flashed across his face, quickly hidden beneath a crooked smile of understanding. He brushed a strand of wet hair from her cheek, then folded her in his arms once more. She rested her cheek against his collarbone so she wouldn’t have to meet his eyes.

  “You’re glowing,” he said, finally breaking the long silence.

  “It’s just the moonlight sifting through the water,” she murmured.

  “Maybe.” He sounded unconvinced. “Or maybe I’m dreaming.”

  Maybe Theo was right. That would make it easier to explain, easier to bear. “We’re both dreaming,” she said softly, her lips moving against his neck in the closest thing to a kiss she could allow. “So there’s no reason we can’t stay right here.”

  Chapter 33

  SHOOTER OF STAGS

  Selene had lain beside the stream in Central Park until sunup, not sleeping, just marveling in the feel of Theo curled behind her, his arm thrown across her side, his fingers intertwined with hers. Even now, as she walked back to her house in the hazy light of dawn, she could still feel the cold stone against her bare thigh and the caress of his breath against her neck.

  Heat flushed her body so suddenly that she halted in the middle of an intersection. Dimly, she registered a honking taxi swerving around her. Then, just as abruptly, a cold knot tightened her chest, spreading out its tendrils of icy panic. Where is the Punisher now? she wondered. Who have I become that I invite a man to watch me bathe rather than punish him for even daring imagine such a thing? Until last night, only one man had ever seen her naked—a memory made sharp by the poet’s retelling.

  The waterfall’s mist casts rainbows across the forest pool, deep in a sacred grove. After a long, hot hunt, the spray beckons, irresistible. I discard my tunic on the rocks. Beside it rests the carcass of a she-bear, my arrow still lodged in the flesh of its throat. I kneel and cup my hands in the foaming water, washing away the dust from my face and arms. One pull on the ribbon around my forehead and my hair tumbles free to tickle the small of my back. With a contented sigh, I wade through the shallow pool to stand naked beneath the pounding water. No stag’s breath or hare’s step heats my blood—only oblivion awaits beneath the water’s white roar, mercifully dulling my senses. I throw back my head and open my mouth. The water tastes of wildness. Of purity. I drink deep.

  A fish brushes my calf. Unable to resist, I bend to snatch it. But as I move my head from the waterfall’s roar, I hear it—a branch snapping in the underbrush. The fish slips unharmed through my fingers. I remain bent over, staring at the water, my face hidden behind a curtain of black hair for another moment. Listening.

  There it is. The absence of sound. A held breath.

  When I fling back my hair and stand erect, the held breath becomes a strangled gasp. There is a flutter of movement between the branches of a juniper.

  Acteon.

  He’s tracked me for days with his six matched hounds. The best-bred pack in Boeotia, he brags. Many mortal men seek the Huntress, but none have kept pace. Until today.

  I step through the swirling water toward the juniper tree. “Show yourself, son of Aristaeus and Autonoe.” My voice carries above the rushing water like the baying of hounds. No mortal can resist the command it carries.

  Acteon steps from the thicket. When last I glimpsed him racing across the plain, he’d been a youth with the straight back and bright eyes of one trained by the centaurs and favored by the gods. No longer. Shuddering with shame, shoulders hunched, he stands before me, his lids lowered.

  “Now you turn away,” I say, my voice hard. “But from the shadows, you dare to look upon me at my bath. Is that not so, thanatos?” The thought disgusts me, enrages me. Deep within my breast, it even scares me. “No man may look upon my flesh and live.” I raise a dripping arm in accusation. “Only the animals may see me unclothed. Don’t you know that? So despite your beard and your spear, you must not be a man after all.”

  He looks up. If he’d kept his head lowered in submission, perhaps he could have avoided his fate. Perhaps. But he meets my stare, and for an instant, defiance flashes in his eyes. I snarl like the she-bear. Then I flick my wrist.

  Antlers grow like forked saplings from the young hunter’s head. His sandals fall from new-sprung hooves. A short tail waves furiously from the small of his back. He opens his mouth to scream. Only a stag’s bugle emerges.

  With a sharp whistle, I summon Acteon’s hounds from their hiding place amid the trees. The dogs dart across the earth, tongues lolling with excitement. I read their thoughts in the lift of their tails and the sheen in their eyes. They will bring down this new-made stag for the glory of their master. The lead hound leaps upon the animal’s back. Another closes its jaws around the stag’s throat. The beast stumbles and falls beneath the onslaught. I watch, unmoved, as Acteon’s eyes, still clear and blue despite his metamorphosis, meet mine. Within his new skin, his mind is still a man’s. I cannot read his thoughts as I can an animal’s, but there is no mistaking the horror in his gaze.

  My heart stone, I step from the pool and pick up my chiton before the spreading blood can stain the white linen. I leave the glade without a backward glance.

  For Selene, the world had always been divided in two. Male and female. Sun and moon. Day and night. Thanatoi and Athanatoi. Her icy rage had kept the two separate, balanced, safe. But the moment Theo had pulled her through the waterfall, those lines had blurred.

  She began to jog, then to run, hoping that if she ran fast enough, she could escape the questions that tormented her. She felt as if the ghost of her past life and the vision of her possible future both ran behind her, their steps heavy and insistent. If she slowed for an instant, one would catch her, and she couldn’t bear to succumb to either.

  Legs blurring with speed, she sprinted toward the familiar, lonely house and the dog who awaited her there. That’s all I’ve ever needed. A hound at my side and prey to hunt. Love has only ever brought me heartache. I need anger. Hatred. Vengeance. These are the emotions that bring strength to the Relentless One.

  It wasn’t hard to summon such rage. She need only think of Jenny Thomason and Sammi Mehra and Helen Emerson. She banished Theo’s green eyes from her mind; instead, she saw her twin’s golden-brown gaze looking down upon his victims as their lifeblood drained away.

  I will not think of past or future, she determined. Only the hunt. As she pounded up the stairs of her brownstone, Selene looked up at the slowly lightening sky. Even as the sun rose, the moon, a faint white crescent, looked on. Brother and Sister together, she thought, watching the Earth below. She paused on the stoop, not even winded. This was the hour in centuries gone by when Apollo and I crossed paths guiding moon and sun across the heavens. Tonight, we’ll meet once again. This time, I will be prepared. I will be strong. This time, he will not escape.

  When she walked into her apartment, Hippo nearly bowled her over. Burying a hand briefly in the dog’s fur, she allowed herself a single moment of comfort in Hippo’s uncomplicated love. Then she pulled off her jacket and shirt and checked herself in the mirror. She put a small bandage over the unhealed cut on her arm. There was no trace of the wound in her neck, and the large scab on her abdomen already seemed a little smaller than it had after bathing in the waterfall. What have you done, Brother? she wondered. Do you even know that you’re healing me as you seek to destroy me? Maybe, despite their long separation, the twins’ destinies were so inextricably linked that Apollo’s cult benefited his sister whether he wanted it to or not. She traced the smooth flesh beside her eyes where the faint
crow’s-feet had once appeared. The scowl line, too, had disappeared from between her brows, although whenever she thought of her twin, it came right back. If I kill you, does all this go away? Do I return to my slow demise, or do I rush toward senescence like Mother?

  She leaned against the hall table, steadying herself. Her lips curled in self-loathing. How many fears can I allow to overwhelm me? Have I already forgotten my vow to be strong? Then her stomach rumbled with a raw, physical ache that pulled her from her self-pity and sent her toward the kitchen. As her body strengthened, her appetite continued to grow. After a quick meal of three defrosted rabbits, Selene could think straight again.

  She called her twin’s cell phone. Unsurprisingly, he didn’t pick up. “I don’t know what kind of sick game you’re playing,” she hissed into his voice mail, “but I’m warning you right now, I will hunt you down. You may have gotten away last night, but don’t think you can hide from me again. You will be punished for what you’ve done, no matter what womb we shared.”

  But despite her strong words, she had no idea where the Bright One was. And now that he’d revealed himself to her as the killer, she knew he wouldn’t casually drop by during hospital visiting hours. He wouldn’t be easy to find. Still, she had no choice but to start looking.

  She withdrew the broken half of her bow from her pack and called Dash. Again, no answer. “Things are going from bad to worse,” she grumbled to his voice mail. “Add ‘new bow’ to the list of things I need from the Smith. And don’t ask why.”

  She threw a few kitchen knives into her bag. Behind her winter coats in the hall closet stood an old javelin she’d picked up years ago. It wouldn’t kill Apollo, but it might slow him down. The ancients hadn’t called her Hurler of Javelins for nothing.

  Chapter 34

  THE FACE THAT LAUNCHED A THOUSAND SHIPS

  When Theo awoke to the harsh morning light and the prodding toe of a park gardener, Selene was gone. He’d never thought he’d sleep, not with Selene naked and unkissed in his arms, but lust had finally succumbed to exhaustion sometime before dawn. She’d left his coat tucked carefully around his torso. A strange touch of solicitude for someone who’d abandoned him, again, without a word of explanation.