Winter of the Gods

by Jordanna Max Brodsky

  “Selene and I aren’t talking about getting married.” Right now, I pretty much never want to speak to her again. But even before, we never discussed it. Is that weird? he wondered for the first time. Most people his age, when they finally met the right person, wanted to settle down. Yet another sign that maybe their relationship had been doomed from the start. We’ve never even said “I love you” to each other. He looked up at the elevator display again, hoping it might stop so another guest would get on and put a halt to their conversation. Clearly in no hurry, Philippe propped one bare foot against the wall and cocked his head at Theo.

  “You know my story, I assume,” he said. “Cupid and Psyche.”

  “Sure.” An old myth made famous by the Romans and memorialized in paintings, sculpture, and poetry for nearly two thousand years.

  Philippe raised a narrow brow skeptically. “But do you know the true story?”

  Normally, Theo would’ve jumped at the chance to hear a myth retold from the perspective of the god who’d lived it, but tonight he found it hard to muster much enthusiasm for a love story. He’d barely slept after they got back from Flint’s lair, and he’d spent the day trying to care about his students and their final exams while he yearned to be with Selene instead. He spent every day yearning to be with Selene. And yet she’d pushed him away as if he were no different from all the abusive men she’d punished over the millennia. He was tired, angry, and more than a little heartbroken.

  Philippe followed him blithely out of the elevator and into the lobby, ignored the receptionist’s pointed stare at his bare chest, and plopped himself down in an armchair, clearly expecting to be listened to. Theo let himself sink into an adjacent divan. He didn’t, after all, have anywhere else to go.

  “You know that Psyche was a mortal princess of unparalleled beauty,” Philippe began, “worshiped by some misguided fools as the new incarnation of Venus herself.”

  “Yeah.” Theo stifled a yawn, wondering just how much trouble he’d get in for lying down on the lobby floor and going to sleep.

  Philippe went on, oblivious to his audience’s exhaustion. “Mama didn’t take too kindly to Psyche’s hubris—as you can imagine—so she sent me to punish the girl. I’d been around a long time, of course, but I spent most of that time as an infant, with an infant’s impulse control. By now, I was a youth. I probably looked about thirteen, just starting to realize I could make love, not just make others love, and Psyche wasn’t much older than that. And once I saw her, my heart just seized, I don’t know how else to describe it. I couldn’t look away.”

  Theo remembered the first time he’d met Selene. Her silver eyes, her perfect pale features, the way she strode across a small stretch of parkland as if she ruled the whole city. She’d tormented his dreams from that moment on.

  “Psyche’s father went to an oracle, who told him she was destined to love a hideous monster. They led her to a rocky crag and abandoned her to her fate. I saw her there, so scared, so beautiful, and I sent Zephyrus to lift her into the air and bear her to a splendid palace deep in a secret grove. That night, with the curtains drawn against the Moon’s eye, I went to her bed, the gentlest of lovers. I told her we would be happy together—as long as she never looked upon my face.”

  Theo couldn’t help a disgruntled snort. “That’s the part that never made sense. Why not just tell her who you were? It all sounds a little perverted and manipulative to me.” Maybe Selene’s right and manipulation does run in the family, he mused. And she’s the worst culprit of all.

  At that, the receptionist finally appeared at Philippe’s side. “I’m sorry, sir,” she said with a polite, frozen smile. “Shirts and shoes are required in the lobby.”

  Philippe looked up, surprised. “Of course, ma chérie, let me just see if I have something …” he exclaimed, his French accent growing markedly more pronounced. He reached into the pocket of his pants as if to retrieve the world’s smallest pair of footwear, then withdrew a tiny dart about the size of a man’s thumb instead.

  “Ouch!” The woman leapt backward as he stabbed her swiftly in the thigh. “Sir, I must ask you to …” Her gaze suddenly went soft, the outrage melting from her face. Her eyes drifted over his spiky hair, his smooth chest, his bare feet. Not with lust, but with adoration. A small smile pulled at her lips, then she simply returned to her desk. Every few seconds, she snuck a dreamy gaze in Philippe’s direction.

  “See. Perverted and manipulative,” Theo said with a raised eyebrow.

  “Oh, I know. I’m very bad. Do you think I should get her to bring me a smoke, as well? Too much? Oui, bien sûr.”

  “So Selene was right … you still have your powers.”

  “Not much supernatural about this.” He brandished the dart before slipping it back in his pocket. “It’s mostly a chemical aphrodisiac.”

  “Mostly?”

  Philippe just winked and then continued with his story. “Every night, I returned to Psyche’s bed. They were the happiest days of my life, living in anticipation of her touch. Her laughter was like the flutter of butterfly wings—unexpected and rare and utterly beautiful. But I guess I wasn’t enough.” He gave a casual shrug, although his eyes were suddenly somber. “Psyche was lonely. She begged me to allow her sisters to visit, and I gave in. The other women were jealous, of course, and they told her she must have a monster for her lover. Why else would I have kept my identity hidden? So one night, while I slept in post-lovemaking bliss, she carried over a lantern, saw my face, and voilà! She was very impressed.” Philippe didn’t smile despite the lightness of his words. “She stood there so dumbfounded that her lamp slid from her hand and spilled hot oil all over my naked body. I was … shocked. I’d never been hurt like that before.” Theo couldn’t tell if Philippe meant physically or emotionally. Likely both. “Idiot that I was,” he went on, “I ran to my mother for help.” He shook his head. “Stupid. Stupid. I’d never seen Mama so livid. I’d refused to punish Psyche, fallen in love with her instead, and kept our affair hidden. You know the next part … Psyche wandered through the wilderness, where my mother set her a series of impossible tasks—all of which she accomplished anyway—and then when my lover finally reached the end of her strength, I took her to Olympus to become my true bride.”

  “And you both lived happily ever after.” Theo took up the familiar tale. “Jupiter grants Psyche immortality and makes her the Goddess of the Soul. It’s all very allegorical. Our hearts and our psyches—united at last by true love and commitment.”

  “You’ve been with Selene for how long, and you still think our lives are just allegories?” Philippe didn’t seem offended, just surprised.

  “Sorry, I just—”

  “The poets got the ending wrong, mon ami. I took Psyche to Olympus, I told the King of the Gods that I already considered her my wife. I asked him to make her immortal … and he said no.”

  “Why?”

  “I’d never shown Psyche my face because I didn’t want her to love me for my appearance. I didn’t strike her with a dart. I didn’t tell her any of my names. Cupidos means ‘desire.’ Eros means ‘love.’ How could a mortal resist that? So instead, I let her believe I was hideous. And I knew that if she still fell in love with me, that love would be real.”

  “And she did. So what was the problem?”

  “The King of the Gods didn’t believe it. He said Psyche didn’t trust me—that’s why she brought in the lamp despite my explicit instructions. Only once she saw my face was she able to overcome all the obstacles Mama put in her way to win me back. If she still thought me a monster, would she have bothered? I didn’t want to listen, but I finally decided that he was right.”

  “How about just giving her the benefit of the doubt? Seems a bit ungenerous.”

  “Cupidity. They made that word from my name. Not ‘desire,’ but ‘greed.’ And I’ve always been avaricious when it comes to love. People think I’m just a hedonist because I want it everywhere and always, no matter its shape or size. But real
love, true love—I want it to be perfect. I want it to be idéal. And if Psyche couldn’t give that to me … then maybe she didn’t deserve to live an eternity at my side.”

  “I haven’t asked for immortality,” Theo said stiffly, fairly sure that such a thing was impossible anyway. “So are you saying I don’t deserve Selene?”

  Philippe stared at him intently. “I’m saying you don’t deserve each other. See, the poets say Psyche and I were married on Olympus at a feast with all the gods in attendance. The story’s so often repeated that if you ask Selene, she might even remember it that way. But the true memory is one I’ve clung to—the only one I know is my own.” The muscles of his chest clenched as he fisted his hands. “Psyche left Mount Olympus. She aged—she grew sick and feeble. I flew above her on my rainbow wings and watched, trying to harden my heart to her suffering. Finally, when she’d withered into an old woman, I decided I had to know the truth. I came to earth as an elderly version of myself, my body sagging and my face lined. She cried when she saw me. I lied and said I’d given up my immortality for her, but that I knew she could no longer love me, as old and gray as I was. And she laughed, and it was no longer like the flutter of butterfly wings. It was a harsh caw, full of bitterness and sorrow. ‘Do you think I care about your appearance?’ she asked. ‘I love you more today than ever I have before.’ And then I knew I’d been wrong. The King of the Gods had been wrong. I let her leave Olympus, and she never even looked back, because she thought I wouldn’t listen to the truth.” Philippe leaned forward. “So that’s what I’m trying to tell you. The mortals don’t understand the gods. And the gods don’t understand mortals. Their love cannot last.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Philippe.” Theo stood and hefted his satchel. “But how about you all mind your own business for once in a millennium?”

  “She died there in my arms.” Philippe slumped back in his chair. He turned his face away. “I cut off my wings in mourning. They never grew back.”

  Theo felt his stomach constrict in horror. Those rainbow wings reduced to bloody stumps. Is that what love between a mortal and a god looks like?

  Philippe slapped the arms of his chair, suddenly all business, and stood up. “Nice chat, Theo. Sorry if it was a bit of a downer. Just thought you should know what you’re getting into.”

  When he walked away, Theo saw his naked back for the first time. Two thick, ropy scars ran down his shoulder blades.

  As Theo buzzed Apartment 4E one more time, his head drooped forward with exhaustion. He nearly knocked himself out as his forehead smacked against the directory listing. Finally, a weary voice answered with a cautious, “Hello?”

  “Remember how you said if I needed anything …”

  “Theo!” The buzzer sounded in his ear, jerking him upright.

  Moments later he stood in Ruth’s small living room. She’d moved in recently. A small stack of boxes stood in a corner, and the walls remained bare, but a comfortable couch with a warm fluffy afghan was all he needed. He sprawled across it, eyes closed, only to be immediately licked into near drowning by Hippo.

  “I know, girl,” he said through closed lips, unwilling to allow the dog’s saliva into any more orifices than he already had. “I missed you, too.” The dog took to snuffling loudly at his clothes, his bag, his coat, no doubt searching for Selene’s scent.

  He wiped the drool from his face and cracked open his eyes to peer at Ruth. She wore a pair of flannel pajama pants and a thin T-shirt. No bra, he noticed, before quickly removing his gaze from her chest. Her face was swollen with sleep, her hair even more of a tousled wreck than usual.

  She perched on the wicker footstool beside the couch, squinting at him through glasses so thick they made her eyes look even bigger than usual. Did I even realize she’s been wearing contacts all this time? he wondered, ashamed. Had he even known what color her eyes were? If pressed, he would have said … not brown. They were a patchwork of gray and blue, he saw now. Gold ringed the pupil, like a secret treasure for those who bothered to look closely.

  “Um …” she started.

  “Yes,” he agreed.

  She looked startled. “Yes to what?”

  “This is the second night this week that I’ve gotten you out of bed at an inhuman hour of the morning.” In-human. Hah. More like im-mortal. He wanted to laugh, but he was too tired.

  “It’s not a problem. I’m just—”

  “Tired? Annoyed? Worried about me?” He managed a smile. “Sorry about the former. As to the latter, I’m perfectly safe, I promise. I just need a place to crash for a night or two, if that’s okay. Another homeless puppy in your life.”

  “Of course! Where’s …”

  “The Relentless One is at the Four Seasons, relentlessly pursuing her own agenda at the moment.” How convenient to have a girlfriend with ready-made epithets. It makes snarky comments so much easier.

  “Wow. You said a hotel. But the Four Seasons …”

  “Is very nice, turns out. In case you were wondering how the other half lives, the answer is: with super soft beds and excellent room service. Really. Any thought I had of finding it offensively decadent pretty much disappeared the minute I ate that chocolate mint off my pillow. I’m considering hiring someone just to leave goodies lying on my bed at home. Imagine—I come back from a long day of lecturing, stagger toward my bed, and boom! There’s a chocolate chip cookie, still warm, wrapped in a cute little paper bag. What do you think?”

  He knew he was rambling, but he didn’t care. Ruth was chuckling at him, Hippo was staring up at him adoringly, and all, for once, seemed right with the world.

  Ruth went to get him a pillow and linens. He rolled off the couch to paw through the meager possessions in his satchel. He wasn’t sure when it’d feel safe enough to go back to his own apartment. Probably only after this new cult had been eliminated. Until then, his association with Selene made him a tempting target. He searched fruitlessly for a clean pair of boxer shorts to sleep in, realizing belatedly that he’d thrown Selene’s dirty shirt in his satchel instead. The bracing, piney scent of her had filled his bag with memories. He held it to his nose, unable to stop his body’s Pavlovian response. You’re supposed to be angry at her, he reminded himself. Hence the whole sleeping on Ruth’s couch thing. He allowed himself a moment more to imagine her as she’d been only an hour before, naked and willing in his arms.

  He held the shirt away, wondering what to do with it. That’s when he noticed the bloodstains from when the bullet grazed her temple. For all her strength, she was still vulnerable. Could he really stand by and do nothing tomorrow while she strode into danger? Will she let me do anything else?

  He shoved the shirt back in the bag, kicked off his shoes, removed his pants and cashmere sweater, and lay back on the couch in his old underwear. Then, unable to resist, he reached for his phone. No messages from Selene. He found himself staring at a still image from the video of Selene by the creek in the Catskills. Wild and beautiful and mysterious. He swiped past, unwilling to linger on her face, and clicked on the photos Freeman had sent them of the Charging Bull crime scene instead. The crow, the snake, the statue itself … he felt like there was a pattern there he’d never identified. With a start, he realized he’d never even bothered to do his own research into the symbolism. Between working on his classes and the unexpected visitation from the flying man, he’d never found the time. He swiped to the next photo: a close-up of the eviscerated dog’s liver. Another question he’d never answered.

  He tossed the phone back into his satchel and forced himself to wipe the gruesome images from his mind. If Selene’s right about Mars, he decided, then she’ll get all the answers soon enough.

  He was almost asleep by the time Ruth returned from rustling up a pillow. She reached to tuck the fuzzy blanket more firmly around him, a surprisingly motherly gesture. Her chest hung over his face, and he caught a whiff of her scent. Sweet and warm. He’d forgotten that’s how normal women smelled in the middle of the
night.

  Impulsively, he reached for her hand as she pulled away.

  “Thank you,” he mumbled sleepily. “Really. I didn’t know where else to go.”

  She nodded and didn’t pull away. Finally, he released her hand and closed his eyes. Dimly, he realized Ruth still stood there, staring at him. But that didn’t stop him from drifting toward much-needed oblivion.

  Chapter 17

  THE HARUSPEX

  The next morning, Theo rapped lightly on the open door to Ruth’s molecular biology lab in Columbia’s Fairchild Center. “Excuse me, is this where they keep the vials of apocalyptic zombie plague?”

  Ruth swiveled toward him on her stool. “Theo!” Even her exclamations of surprise were soft and a little breathless. “You’re up! Did you find the cereal I left for you on the counter?”

  “Yes, and the strawberries and banana, too. You shouldn’t have.”

  She shrugged and hitched her red cardigan sweater a little higher on her shoulders. “I was up early to walk Hippo and just swung by the grocery store. No big deal.” But it was a big deal, at least to Theo. He wasn’t used to anyone taking care of him that way. “Come in! This is such a pleasure. You never visit me here.”

  “‘Never’ is a strong word.”

  “Well, not since … you know. You started seeing Selene.” A flush crept up Ruth’s neck. She wasn’t the sort to complain.

  “I’m here now, and I come bearing gifts to thank you for putting up with my unwanted incursion last night.” The scent of melting chocolate filled the room as he pulled out the bag of still-warm cookies from Levain Bakery; he thought Ruth might pass out from shock at the gesture. He knew then and there that he’d been a terrible friend.