By Jove

by Marissa Doyle

“That shouldn’t give it this power over you.” She sighed. “Oh, Theo. I told you to be careful of him.”

  “Well, I was unconscious when he started pouring it down my throat. I didn’t have much choice.”

  “Then next time, have some of my ambrosia before you get to that state. I don’t think it will have the same effect as his.” She tapped her lips with one finger, staring at her shoes and thinking. “I suspect it’s time I did a little research. Speaking of which, what were you doing, just now?”

  “He—he talked about Grant. He threatened to tell him that I had betrayed him again. And that Grant might not want me to rescue him because of it—”

  “Utter rot. Don’t believe it for a minute. Go on.”

  Olivia’s straightforward rebuttal was comforting. Theo continued, “And he said that he wasn’t sure Grant would be able to understand him in his current form, and that it hadn’t been a bad idea, for short notice. So I thought that maybe something in here had given Julian the idea for what to do with Grant. I think I’ve figured out where we all were standing when Grant disappeared that night.”

  “You think Julian was standing here? And that he saw Proteus?”

  “Yes. Or at least, I think so. But what about Proteus could have given him any ideas?” Proteus, the old man of the sea, a prophet, and… “A shapeshifter?”

  “That’s Menelaus and Proteus,” Olivia said, pointing. “When Menelaus was returning from the Trojan War, he was shipwrecked on Proteus’s island. When he tried to capture the old man to ask for his help, Proteus turned into all sorts of dreadful things—a lion, a snake, a tree, a burning torch—” She stared at Theo, her eyes wide.

  “A burning torch,” Theo repeated. Prometheus’s—Grant’s—device, carved into his ring. “Does that mean Julian turned him into something?”

  “It might.”

  Theo got up from the chair. “But we’ve looked everywhere, at anything that might make any sense,” she said, pacing and staring at the floor. Abruptly, she stopped. “Olivia?”

  The other woman hurried over to her and looked where Theo pointed. Equidistant from where Theo had estimated Julian stood but on its other side was another scene. This one was simpler: a man and a woman, standing in a doorway. The woman gazed adoringly up at the man as she pressed something into his hands, something round—an apple? No. Larger and rounder, like a ball.

  “Theseus,” she said softly to Olivia. “It’s Theseus and Ariadne. She’s giving him the ball of string before he goes into—”

  “Into the labyrinth,” Olivia finished. They stared at each other.

  …

  Theo’s dreams were not pleasant that night. Once she finally got to sleep, that is. She and Olivia had sat in the Great Room til late, discussing the pictures.

  “But we don’t even know if that’s what Julian was looking at when he decided what to do with Grant. He could have been looking at Amphitrite, and changed Grant into a fish,” Theo had argued.

  “Do you really believe that?”

  “No. I don’t know what I believe.”

  “So is it Proteus, or the labyrinth?”

  But where was there a labyrinth anywhere? And what could Proteus have to do with any of it?

  So when Theo got up to teach her class Monday morning, she was tired and heavy-eyed, not to mention late. Though she usually tried to get breakfast first, there hadn’t been time. So, cringing, she went upstairs to get some coffee from the pot in June’s office.

  As always, June was there. Theo tried not to look at her as she sidled toward the coffeemaker with a mumbled “Good morning.”

  “You left your mail here on Friday,” June barked, startling her into nearly dropping the pot.

  “Oh. Er, yes, I did. Sorry. Thank you.” So kind of the old harpy to remind her. But would June know what had happened after she’d passed out? Theo stole a glance at her face as she pulled the papers and envelopes from her box. Oh, yeah. She knew. She stuffed her mail in her bag and beat a hasty retreat.

  Olivia was late for lunch that afternoon, so Theo pulled out her mail to read. Among it was a plain white envelope with no address. It was the note she’d seen on Friday, right before she’d fainted. Theo opened it and pulled out a small square of paper.

  It is painfully obvious that you are in need of a good dose of ambrosia. Do not, however, accept any from Julian’s hand, especially in his wine. Some of his ambrosial wine also contains varying amounts of water from the river Lethe. I will let you draw your own conclusions.

  A Friend

  “Is that piece of paper a snake? You look as if it just bit you,” Olivia said. She sat down across from Theo. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

  Without saying a word, Theo handed her the note. Her face felt stiff.

  Olivia whistled as she read it. “Well, that would explain things. Lethe! No wonder you forgot everything but Julian when you drank his wine.”

  “He d-did drug me,” Theo stammered angrily. “He swore he hadn’t—”

  “So he lied. Is that so surprising? What I want to know is who this ‘Friend’ is.”

  Theo struggled to bring her breathing under control. “So do I.” Lethe, the river of forgetfulness! So that was what had made her forget everything—not only Grant, but herself, her life, her wants and dreams. It was almost worse than what he’d done to her physically. He’d stolen so much from her. She’d found herself again…and now she would find Grant if it killed her.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “The way I see it, it has to be either Arthur, Marlowe, or Renee. The rest are too much in Julian’s pocket, or wouldn’t dare defy him,” Olivia said, a few afternoons later in the Great Room.

  The question of the identity of the “friend” who had sent the note to Theo was occupying almost as much time as searching was. At least it seemed that way to Theo.

  “Well, it’s not Renee,” she said, irritably rubbing her eyes.

  “Why not? She likes you.”

  “Yes, I know. So she wants me here with Julian, so we can go shopping together for the rest of eternity. Do you know, she scolded me yesterday for refusing to look Julian in the eye and smile when we meet in the halls? ‘Since he’s probably going to win, don’t you think you ought to be a little nicer to him?’” she mimicked bitterly.

  Olivia winced and said, “Okay, so not Renee. Then Arthur or Marlowe. Which do you think?”

  “Honestly, Olivia, I don’t really care. I want to get out and look for Grant, not sit here and speculate about the author of anonymous notes.” Theo rose and started pacing up and down the width of the room.

  “We’ve done as much looking as is practical without further clues. If we can find out who this friend is and talk to him or her, we might get further faster,” Olivia explained patiently for the sixth time. “I think you need to get them each alone and question them.”

  “Question whom?” said a cheerful voice. Marlowe had strolled into the Great Room. “Hello, Theo. Oh, uh” —he dropped his voice— “hi, Olivia.” He looked around the room then asked, “How’s it going?”

  Theo looked at Olivia. “Well, er—”

  “Now’s your chance,” Olivia said under her breath. “But not in here. Go sit outside or something.”

  Marlowe willingly followed Theo out into the April sunshine. Students milled about on the greens, and windows in all the buildings were opened to admit the first warm spring air. Theo led Marlowe over to a cedar bench set in the ornamental plantings around the foundation of Hamilton Hall. Swelling azaleas and tiny purple scilla and crocuses clustered around their feet.

  “Spring at last,” Marlowe said happily. “I always go a little crazy in the springtime. It’s what comes of being agriculturally connected, I suppose. All those shoots and tendrils straining toward the sun wreak havoc with your attention span. But I can’t say I regret it.”

  A little crazy? “Crazy how?” Theo asked.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Restless. Impatient.”

  “Rebellious?” she s
uggested.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Restless and impatient enough to leave anonymous notes in my mailbox warning me about Julian’s wine?” Theo watched him carefully.

  Marlowe’s face became very still. “What about Julian’s wine?”

  “Someone left a note signed “A Friend” in my mailbox a few days ago, warning me that Julian was lacing his wine with water from the river Lethe and giving it to me so that I would forget things. Like Grant.”

  She was unprepared for his response. “What?” he nearly shouted, and jumped up.

  “So it wasn’t you, I guess.” She slumped on the bench.

  “Julian’s doing what to wine? Dammit, this is what I was talking about before. Messing with my creation. How dare he?” He glared at her for a moment, then sighed and threw himself back down beside her on the bench. “So that’s how he made you forget Grant, huh? I wish I’d known, so I could have warned you.”

  “It’s okay, Marlowe.” She reached over and patted his hand. “We’d just like to know who is trying to help me, so we could talk to them.”

  “So would I, my dear, so would I.”

  Theo gasped and turned. Julian stood behind them, arms folded.

  “You should really be more careful where you choose to hold confidential conversations, my dear Theodora. You never know whose windows might be open on such a lovely afternoon.” He gestured negligently behind him toward the brick façade of Hamilton. Looking up, she realized that their bench was precisely below his open office windows.

  “So you wish that you could have warned Theodora, do you? Are you quite sure that you didn’t, my dear son? You always have been an incorrigible boy. I’m not sure that I don’t believe you did.” He slowly moved around to face them.

  Beyond him, Theo could see students sunning on the grass, leaping through the soft air to catch a ball—being normal and human and mundane. Couldn’t they sense the towering, angry shadow that surrounded the handsome man standing by the bench?

  She stole a glance at Marlowe and saw that he was all too aware of it: fear had made the face behind the luxuriant dark beard go pale.

  “Of course,” Julian continued smoothly, stepping closer to her, “my Theodora should know better than to believe everything she reads in anonymous notes. Would you happen to have it with you so that I could see it?”

  “No,” she said, eyes narrowed. “And as it was a private communication, I don’t think you have any right to ask for it anyway.”

  He smiled a humorless smile. “You forget one thing, my dear, one thing that it would be good for you to learn now. I do have the right. I have the right to do more or less anything I choose to do. Like this.” He pointed at Marlowe and muttered “Ampelos!”

  Theo jumped up, crying out and reaching for him, but it was too late. In Marlowe’s place a sturdy vine was shooting out of the earth, twining around the bench as she watched it, leafing out as it grew. In a moment it had occupied the space Marlowe had, grown over the bench in an eerily man-like shape.

  “No!” She turned to Julian. “You—you—”

  “Bastard? Is that what you were going to say? No, not technically, I’m afraid.” He looked down at the vine next to Theo, still writhing and sprouting leaves. “My, my. We are a little unkempt, aren’t we? I shall have to send the gardeners around to give him a trim.”

  “Julian!”

  “Oh, don’t worry. Marlowe only has to stay this way until Commencement. This is just to keep him from interfering until then.” He took her arm and turned her to face him. “I told you before, my dear. I will win. I won’t permit anything that might jeopardize that. Of course, I’d be happy to restore Marlowe to himself immediately if you would only yield now.”

  Theo tried to twist out of his grasp. “No.”

  “But poor Marlowe. And poor Grant, too. I don’t think he’s terribly comfortable in his present state. At least he didn’t seem that way at my last visit to him. Don’t you want to spare him the agony?”

  “Agony?” Theo jerked away that time, but Julian’s hands shot out and pulled her back. She squirmed in his embrace. “This can’t look very good,” she panted as she fought him. “Faculty members forcing themselves on students.”

  “Oh, no one can see us. I already made sure of that.” He tightened his arms slightly, and Theo found that she couldn’t move.

  “I’m getting impatient, my dear. But it’s been so long since I’ve had anything to be impatient about that I’m rather enjoying the sensation. Fight me, if you must. It will make my victory all the sweeter.” He bent his head and kissed her slowly, still holding her immobilized against him.

  “Why is Grant in agony?” she demanded when he finally ended the kiss and released her. “What have you done to him?” Involuntarily she wiped her mouth on her sleeve and was gratified to see him wince.

  “Single-minded, aren’t we? I don’t choose to tell you right now, however.”

  “If you’ve hurt him—”

  “Did I say I had? There are more kinds of pain than just physical, remember. Often they’re even more effective.” Laughing, he neatly caught her balled fists and kissed each one. “I shouldn’t tease you this way, my poor darling. Oh, Theodora. Why can’t we go back to the way things were that golden week together?”

  “Because,” she said icily, “they were never real to begin with.” She wrenched away from him, and with a sorrowful glance at the vine on the bench, went to find Olivia.

  …

  The following morning Theo stood in front of her class, dully assigning the day’s homework. Teaching had turned from joy to chore without Grant to compete with. Though her students still carried on the rivalry with his class, unaware of course of what had happened, all the fun had gone from it as far as Theo was concerned.

  “Please complete the exercises at the end of the chapter on page 256, and read, er, chapter twenty in the Gesta Romanorum reader and be ready to discuss it on Friday. Valete.” She started to pack up her books as the class filed out, and wished she could go back to her room and sleep instead of go on to her rhetoric class with Dr. Waterman.

  “Excuse me, Miss Fairchild?”

  Theo looked up. It was one of her students, the perky one who always sat in the front row. “Yes, Kelly? Can I help you?”

  The girl shook her head. “It’s not that. It’s just that I was the first one in class this morning, and I found something on the floor. It belongs to you, I guess, but I didn’t have a chance to give it to you before class started.” She held out a small white envelope.

  Theo could see her name written on it in a familiar hand, and Kelly, the classroom, and worry about her next class vanished as she held her hand out for it. She heard herself thank the girl, watched herself scoop up her things and rush into the next classroom, saw Olivia look up in surprise as she shoved it under her nose.

  “I think it’s from A Friend. Read it. I can’t,” she said, and collapsed into a seat to watch Olivia open it and concentrated on not levitating as she was prone to do these days in moments of excitement.

  Olivia scanned the note, written on a small square of paper identical to the last note. “Ah,” she said with a smile. “Very interesting. All right, Theo. Go to class, and meet me—hmm—meet me for lunch as usual in the lounge.”

  “But—” protested Theo, letting go of her seat and starting to rise. She hooked a foot under the desk and yanked herself back down. “But what does it say?”

  “I think it best if I take care of this. You’ll know after lunch. It couldn’t be this easy, but we might find something useful.”

  “What?” Olivia was being perfectly maddening.

  “You’ll be late if you don’t go now. Trust me. I’d rather you didn’t get caught burgling the museum.” She handed Theo the note and swept out the door with a fiendish glint in her eye. Theo read:

  You might find something of interest in the locked gem cabinets in the museum, third bank over, second from the bottom drawer.

&nb
sp; A Friend

  “And I’m supposed to sit in class for two hours while you sneak up there and rescue Grant?” she panted, catching up to Olivia in the hallway.

  “Grant won’t be up there. And yes, you’ll go to class and be patient for two hours. You live in a different time scale now, Theo. To an immortal, two hours is less than nothing. Go. I’ll see you at lunch.”

  Rhetoric and Composition had never taken so long, despite its being her favorite class. Dr. Waterman seemed to sense her mood and went out of his way to engage her, which made her feel worse, somehow. She knew that if Dr. Waterman could help her, he would. If only he could—but then an image of Marlowe’s horrified face as his feet took root came to mind. She had poured a bottle of water on him that morning with a whispered apology and was going to ask Olivia for some ambrosia to sprinkle on him as well, as extra protection against root rot and aphids. She wasn’t sure she could handle it if anything similar were to happen to Dr. Waterman.

  Olivia was late, of course. Theo poked at her salad with a fork and stared hard at the door until she breezed through it with a broad grin on her face. Or rather, on Grant’s face. The dimples made Theo’s throat ache.

  “Well, that was fun!” Olivia fell into a chair, still grinning.

  “What was fun? Did you find whatever it was? Did anyone see you?” Theo pushed her salad aside and leaned forward expectantly.

  “No, no one saw me. At least, not me. I’m afraid I did rather startle a couple of students in the library when I landed on the window sill—”

  “‘Landed on the window sill,’” Theo repeated faintly.

  Olivia held her arms out and flapped them. “Yes, landed on the window sill. I should have peeked in first but I didn’t think anyone would be there this time of day. But I took care of that and did my mouse trick next—it’s very strange going from owl to mouse, you know. Does funny things to your sense of perspective, going from predator to prey—”

  “Olivia!”

  “Oh, sorry. Anyway, the museum was deserted. Lights hadn’t even been turned on yet. A few students have supposedly been complaining about Kirby’s being up in the museum, so Dr. Bellow’s been spending more time downstairs. Getting to the gem drawers was no problem. And” —she held up a clenched fist and reached it over to Theo— “here we are.” She dropped something from it into Theo’s outstretched hand.