The Immortals

by Jordanna Max Brodsky

  She stood slowly, as if struggling from sleep. The God of Healing lay motionless on the bed, Leto still clutched in his arms. Eyes closed, tears streaming across his lips. Finally, Paul pressed a kiss to Leto’s forehead. He rose from the bed with his mother still clasped in his arms like a swaddled child. He looked at Selene then, and she read the silent question in his eyes. What do I do now? What does one do with a dead god? She reached to take Leto from him. She needed no supernatural strength to hold her mother’s frail form. Gently, she laid her on the bed and arranged the purple veil over her hair. She would not cover her face. They’ll cremate her, Selene decided. And I will break the old prohibition. I will bring her ashes back to Delos, where we were happiest, and scatter them from the summit of Mount Kynthos so the gentlest of goddesses might overspread the world once more.

  After a long moment, she spoke. “I’ve seen photos of Delos as it stands today.” Paul stared at her blankly. “The yellow glow is gone,” she continued softly. “The walls are bare gray stone now, the roofs long burned away, the upper stories collapsed. Our temples are only broken columns and foundation stones. A torso and a hip of your colossal statue, left behind among the weeds by looters. It’s all gone.”

  “Is there not already enough grief in this room? Why remind me of how far we’ve fallen?”

  “Because you want to bring it back. Don’t you? Return to an age of unlimited power. Divine omnipotence. And you’ll do anything to make it happen. Even if it means denying everything we stand for.”

  His eyes narrowed. “What’re you saying?”

  “You couldn’t save Mother. I think I could have forgiven you, if you’d done it all for her. Whether you intended it or not, you’ve strengthened me instead. But I’d give it all back. Every ounce of strength, every second of speed, I’d give it all back after tonight if I could have her with us again. But first, I’d use it for one more thing—to bring you down.”

  She picked up the javelin from the ground and leveled it at Paul’s heart.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “I don’t care that it’s not a divine weapon. I’ll find a way to kill you before you hurt anyone else. Before you drag this city further into chaos. You don’t have your bow now, do you? You should’ve known better. Should’ve brought it to defend yourself.”

  “I haven’t used my bow for more than target practice in a hundred years!”

  “I saw the silver arrow, Apollo, the night you and your sycophantic bandmates murdered Jenny Thomason. You admitted it! Stop lying to me.”

  Like a cloud passing before the sun, the God of Light’s eyes darkened. He reached toward the chair behind him. Selene grasped the javelin a little tighter, ready for a battle worthy of epic. Sing, Muse, she thought. Sing of the duel between twins. Let heaven shake with the cries of Sun and Moon. Let the stars weep as Phoebe and Phoebus, Bright Ones, grow dim.

  Chapter 40

  THE EPIC HERO

  Shortly after Detective Freeman had arrested Theo, Brandman arrived at the Grand Central police station. He pulled up a chair next to the bars of Theo’s holding cell and sat down. The younger detective stood beside him, her hands planted on her hips.

  “Knew we’d catch you sooner or later,” Brandman said. “We’ve had an APB out on you all day.”

  “What’s this all about, Detective?” Theo asked, trying not to rattle the bars in frustration. “Captain Hansen said I was cleared of suspicion.”

  “That was before this.” He pulled a photo from a file folder on his lap and held it up so Theo could see. A footprint in soft earth. “Size twelve. Bass brand, Albany model. Inner right heel worn down. Found next to Helen Emerson’s body. Perfect match to a pair of shoes found in your office, with corresponding mud in the soles.” Theo felt his stomach clench. “And we’ve got the forensic reports back from the Mount Sinai Hospital basement.” He held up two evidence baggies. “Hair from the Sammi Mehra crime scene,” he said, waving one bag. “And matching sample from the comb in your apartment.”

  “You searched my apartment? My office?” Theo tried to swallow, but his mouth had gone dry.

  “We got warrants this morning,” volunteered Freeman. “Right after we learned that you’d gone to Natural History yesterday and threatened one of the employees—while in possession of a stolen prehistoric tooth.”

  “But I wasn’t in Riverside Park until after you’d already finished investigating the scene. I went to pay my respects that afternoon, that’s all. And I never stepped foot inside the hospital.”

  “Uh-huh. And what about this?” Brandman removed a paper from the folder. Theo recognized it with a sick sense of dread. Helen’s note from the box under his bed. “Seems your relationship with the deceased wasn’t quite as long ago as you claimed. One more fling, huh, for old times’ sake, and then she said good-bye for good. Makes sense you’d be looking for revenge after she played with you like that.”

  “That’s crazy. I—”

  “And then, of course, there’s this.” He pulled one last sheet from the folder. The mangled shreds of Helen’s photo from his office desk drawer, now carefully smoothed and taped back together by the detective with the same care Theo had once shown reconstructing papyri fragments.

  “I know how that looks, but—”

  “Occam’s razor, Professor. Or should I say, lex parsimoniae?”

  “I haven’t even told you about the Corn King…”

  “You’re drunk, Professor. I can smell it on you. And before you start blaming a Corn King or a Watermelon Queen or anyone else, save your breath. I’ve had enough of your theories. You’re getting sobered up, then I’m bringing you before a judge. End of story.”

  “Let me speak to Captain Hansen. She’ll listen.”

  “She’s out with a small army of cops, following your latest lead,” said Freeman.

  “Extra patrols in Times Square, Lincoln Center, the Public, Radio City, and every other goddamn theater in the city, looking for your cult,” Brandman added. “But I say they’ll turn up somewhere in Harlem at a church service or down at the South Ferry terminal or smack dab in the center of City Hall. Anywhere but where you say they’ll be.”

  “I’m not part of the cult.”

  “No? Then how did you know they’d be at some TV studio?”

  He could’ve told Brandman about his relationship with Selene. Taken some of the focus off himself. But even after she’d just walked out on him, he refused to violate her wish to remain anonymous. He’d vowed to be worthy of her trust. Nothing could change that. “I’ve told you how I found it. Research. Context. Putting the puzzle pieces together and seeing the pattern.”

  Brandman stood and took a step toward Theo, fists clenched. Theo didn’t flinch. Before the cop could say anything more, Theo moved close to the bars so he could look down at the shorter man. “Detective Brandman, I know we’ve had our differences, but we both want to stop any more killings. You can question my motives all you want, but you have to admit I’ve been pretty good at finding these guys. Last time, I was too slow and they murdered Jenny Thomason. This time, I intend to find them before it’s too late.” Theo looked Brandman straight in the eye. Somewhere in this cynical, distrustful cop was a man who’d spent his life trying to serve the people of New York.

  “Jake…” Freeman began. “He might be—”

  “Forget it. I’m not letting him back on the streets.”

  And then, just as Theo decided all hope was lost—a knock on the door. A uniformed cop handed Freeman Theo’s cell phone and whispered something in her ear. At the same time, Brandman’s phone rang.

  He turned his back on Theo and answered the call. “Brandman here. Yes, just picked him up. Course I’ve got a warrant, Captain. And DNA evidence placing him at the Emerson and Mehra crime scenes. And don’t forget that Jenny Thomason’s blood was all over him at Rock Center. And you believe that… No, I haven’t—yes, he’s—right away, ma’am.”

  Ending the call, the detective swung ba
ck toward Theo. “Wipe that smile off your face, Professor. You’re not cleared yet—not in my book. But it seems Professor Martin Andersen called up and told Geraldine Hansen that you couldn’t have murdered Sammi Mehra because you were with him the whole night at his apartment, discussing Helen’s case.”

  Theo almost opened his mouth to protest but then snapped it shut again. If Martin wants to save my hide, who am I to stop him? Maybe he feels guilty that the rest of the department has been bad-mouthing me to the police.

  “Captain Hansen’s in Times Square,” Brandman went on, “checking out the Duke Theater, where they’ve got a production of Oedipus Rex going on. She wants you there. So let’s see your hands.” Theo obeyed, sticking his hands through a horizontal slot. Brandman cuffed him.

  “Hey! I thought Hansen told you to set me free!”

  “She did.” Brandman unlocked the door and led Theo out. “But I don’t trust you, Schultz. Somebody’s lying here. Remember those puzzle pieces you keep talking about—well, they don’t fit. Not anymore. So you’ll stay in cuffs until I say otherwise.” He began to march Theo out of the room, but Freeman stopped him with a hand to his shoulder.

  “Jake,” she said quietly, “seems Schultz’s phone’s been buzzing like crazy. Someone’s trying to tell him something.” She handed Brandman the phone.

  “Let me see that,” Theo said, sure it was Selene.

  Brandman ignored him and scrolled through the text messages. “From Everett Halloran,” he said aloud. “‘Try the Liberty Theater on Forty-second Street. It’s been abandoned for years.’” He scowled at Theo. “What’s this all about?”

  “He found it? It was his idea in the first place,” Theo explained. “To look for a hidden theater. Come on, Detective, you don’t really think I’m guilty, do you, if Helen’s fiancé trusts me? Now let’s stop wasting time and get to that theater.”

  “Captain Hansen said I should take you to the Duke, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do,” Brandman said, slipping Theo’s phone into his pocket. “If she wants to go on a goose chase with you, let her.”

  From the backseat of Brandman and Freeman’s car, Theo watched the lights of Times Square flash up ahead. Even with the detectives’ siren blaring, they made no progress. Traffic stood still around them. “What’s going on?”

  “Your buddy Geraldine has blocked traffic into and out of Times Square,” Brandman replied. “That hasn’t happened since September eleventh. Everything’s a goddamn terrorist attack to these people.”

  “But we’ve got to hurry. The rituals begin at night. It might’ve already started.”

  Brandman honked his horn, but the cab driver in front of them only turned around and waved his hands in frustration. In a traffic jam like this, there was simply nowhere to go. The detective pulled at his mustache for a moment, then turned off the car, leaving his lights flashing. “Freeman, stay with the vehicle.” He got out and opened Theo’s door. “Come on, we’re walking.” He held Theo by the elbow and propelled him down Forty-second Street. Before long, they ran up against a crowd so large it blocked the sidewalks entirely. “She’s going to get people hurt,” Brandman muttered. He tried to force his way through the crowd, but to no avail. He detoured downtown a block and dragged Theo through the south entrance of the Times Square Hilton.

  “Shortcut,” he explained.

  Brandman was almost through to the Forty-second Street lobby exit when Theo skidded to a halt, staring at a photo on the wall.

  “Detective! Wait!” He gestured to the photo. Teal walls, battered red seats, a faded, ancient show curtain hanging from the peeling proscenium. The photo looked recent, but the theater was clearly very old. The caption underneath read, Liberty Theater. “Where is this?” Theo begged the hotel doorman. “Please, it’s urgent.”

  The doorman pointed to the wall on which the photo hung. “It’s right there. Behind the wall. They can’t destroy it because it’s landmarked, but it’s been boarded up for years, and now it’s covered by Madame Tussaud’s Wax Museum next door.”

  “Come on.” Brandman pulled Theo’s arm, trying to drag him away.

  “Hold on!” No way he was going to be this close to the hidden theater without checking it out. “Has anyone gone in tonight?”

  “Well, yes, actually,” said the doorman. “A team of architects and contractors. They’re going to turn the theater into a restaurant next year. They came to look around.”

  “Five men?”

  “Four. And a woman,” added the doorman.

  Brandman stopped pulling on Theo. “Goddamn it.”

  “How do we get in?” Theo demanded.

  “It’s not open to the public, sir.”

  Before Theo could grab the doorman and shake him, Brandman flashed his badge. “Show me the entrance. Now.”

  “Right there.” An innocuous double door. It could’ve been a custodial closet.

  Brandman placed his ear to the door. “Drumming,” he whispered. “Very faint.” He requested backup on the radio.

  “We’ve got to get in there now!” Theo insisted.

  “Not until backup arrives with—” A shrill scream emerged from inside the theater. Brandman drew his gun from the holster inside his suit jacket. He met Theo’s glance. “All right, I’m going in.” He put his hand on the doorknob, then looked back at Theo, annoyed.

  “You can leave me out here,” said Theo. “Hook my handcuffs to a pipe or something while you face a bunch of angry cult initiates all by yourself. Or you can take me in with you and let me help translate whatever Ancient Greek they’re spouting.”

  Brandman growled. “If you make a sound, or warn them in any way, I will put a bullet through you, do you understand?”

  Theo nodded. “We’re on the same side.”

  “We’ll see.” Brandman nodded to the doorman. “Do not let anyone through this door except the NYPD, got it?”

  The cop opened the door and slipped inside, gun in one hand and Theo’s elbow in the other.

  When Selene’s phone chimed, she nearly laughed. How typical: an epic battle of ancient deities, interrupted by the most mundane of twenty-first-century intrusions.

  “Are you going to get that?” Paul asked.

  Selene didn’t answer, just circled around the bed toward him, unwilling to hurl a javelin over their mother’s prostrate form. Paul held a guitar case in one hand.

  “Is that where you keep your bow?” she asked, judging how fast he could open it.

  “It’s where I keep my guitar.” He held the case like a shield in front of him. “I’d rather it not get stabbed, but better it than me.”

  “Don’t bother playing innocent. You tried to kill me last night.”

  “Why would I try to kill you? We’re day and night. Civilization and wildness. One without the other is meaningless.”

  “I’ve lived without you in my life for a long time now. A more permanent parting won’t be too hard to take.”

  Paul flinched. “Is that how you really feel? After everything we’ve been through together? I’ve only ever tried to protect you.”

  “Yet you’ve brought me nothing but grief.”

  Paul’s eyes flicked to the woman on the bed. “Thank you for waiting until she was gone to say that. She couldn’t have borne it—you know how she always wanted us to reconcile.”

  “Only because she didn’t know what you really are.”

  “And what am I? God of Light who no longer controls the sun? God of Music who loses his voice after the third week on tour? God of Healing who can’t even save his own mother?” Tears sprang afresh to his eyes. “Even when all my other names were meaningless, I was still the Son of Leto. And if Mother were still alive, I would fight to save myself, for her sake. But now, if I’m not even the Delian Twin anymore…” He shrugged. “I’m not sure what point there is to any of it.” He lowered the guitar case slowly. “So go ahead, Artemis.” He closed his eyes, but the tears still came, streaming down his cheeks like rain. “Put me out of my
misery. I’m sure that javelin will do the trick—I’m not really divine, any more than you are.”

  Selene tested the weight of the shaft. Her phone chimed again.

  Paul groaned and cracked opened his eyes. “Please get that. It’s ruining the solemnity of the moment.”

  One eye still on her brother, she reached for her phone with her left hand, intending to turn it off. Then she saw who’d sent the text.

  The cult’s at a theater hidden behind the Times Square Hilton and they’ve got another woman, it read. I’m going in after them, but if I don’t make it out, then it’s up to you. Don’t let them win, Selene. Do that for me, at least.

  Selene stared at the text for a moment longer. Then she looked up at her brother. He stood with his guitar case hanging by his side, his eyes still puffy and red, resigned to death. “You’re not the killer,” she said softly.

  “I can’t believe you thought I was. I am my mother’s son, you know.”

  Darkness swallowed Theo and Brandman as they entered the theater’s lobby. Drumming rolled swiftly from somewhere nearby, stirring Theo’s already racing heart. Brandman had consented to give him his phone back, although he still hadn’t removed Theo’s cuffs. Theo wondered what Selene would do when she got his text. On the one hand, he didn’t want to drag her into danger. On the other, he desperately wanted her to show up with a new bow and kick some ass.

  The chanting began. Brandman tugged on Theo’s arm. “What’re they saying?” he breathed into Theo’s ear.

  He translated the Ancient Greek in a whisper: “We sing to celebrate the Maid, that she might bring forth new life from the earth.” Then a soft, high-pitched singing began. A woman’s voice, tremulous and thin. “That’s not Greek anymore. I don’t know what it is,” Theo murmured. “It doesn’t even sound Indo-European.”