by Molly Ringle
“True.”
“The law takes a while to act,” she added. “Especially when they can’t find Adrian. And they wouldn’t be able to hold him if they did find him, so all we’re doing there is giving him and his friends headaches. Maybe it’ll slow them down a little, at least.” She gazed at the flames. Wind and rain beat upon the outside of the Idaho cabin.
Sitting on the hearth rug, Landon circled his arms loosely around his knees. “Do you think these are the first actual immortals Thanatos has found since…way back when?”
“I can’t know for sure. But I’d say it’s likely. There were others we’ve tracked down and eliminated, on the basis of longevity and strength and other boasts. But since they died pretty easily, I suspect they weren’t the real article.”
Landon kept facing the fire. His brows drew together. “Were those in your time, or…?”
“I’ve overseen a few. The rest I’ve read about in our records. Oh well. Unfortunate, if they were innocent, but it happens in war all the time. We’re doing what we can. But this time is very different. We’re seeing all the signs.”
He nodded and drew his back up straight. “Those old tablets. Turns out the translation’s accurate, then?”
“For a long time I wondered. I thought it couldn’t be, or at least maybe it was allegorical. Talking about flying horses and oak wood and such. But now it matches up exactly with what Sanjay told Swami. So I’d say it’s accurate. And therefore there’s likely more we can learn from it.”
The guru who had caught Sanjay for Thanatos had a long Indian name, but Betty and the others, to avoid such a mouthful of syllables, had fallen into the habit of simply calling him “Swami.”
Landon wiggled his toes in his thick blue wool socks. “It’s such an honor for you. To be head of Thanatos at the time the immortals actually come back.”
“An honor and a challenge. Hand me the computer, would you?”
He brought her the laptop. She pulled up the photos of the clay tablets, their inscriptions so faint some of them resembled the mark of a leaf falling past the clay. Landon knelt by her armchair and gazed at them too.
“I first saw these in 1988, a couple of years after they were discovered,” she said. “Heard they dug up some Linear B tablets that started out, ‘O Thanatos, never forget.’” She traced the first few symbols on the tablet. “The archaeologists figured it was some kind of grave record, or maybe a poem or magic spell. Which it could’ve been. But I got a copy of the translation and photos of the tablets, just in case.”
“So the records Thanatos had before 1988, the ones that kept the group going all these centuries…” Landon frowned. “What were those? Something from medieval times?”
Landon had only learned about Thanatos’ existence within the last year. Betty had visited him and found him in need of a satisfying vocation and willing to shoulder important secrets and responsibilities. Perhaps the group wouldn’t like her choosing her own grandson as her successor. But the choice was hers, and Landon had a certain conviction and intelligence. The rest of the group’s members tended to be too short on one or the other, in her private opinion.
“Right,” she answered. “Our Decrees were written by medieval monks, transcriptions of older scrolls, but we’ve never found those. Things got burned or lost all the time. We’re lucky to have a transcription at all. But the Decrees, short as they are, do name some of the same details as these Thanatos tablets.” She clicked her fingernail on the screen. “The immortals vanishing and reappearing from another realm. The powerful fruits in a garden of the dead. The names of Greek deities.” She smiled at her grandson, pleased at the wonder in his eyes. “It’s all true, Landon. I’ve seen the other realm myself now. I’m lucky to have gotten back alive, but that fiend gave me a gift by showing me it was real.”
He blinked and swallowed. His gaze slipped back to the fire. “I almost want to see it. The other realm. But it’s so dangerous. That kind of power could rip the world apart.”
“That’s why we’ve kept the Decrees alive all this time. To guard against such a day.” She scrolled down, and read aloud what she had already memorized decades ago. “‘There will be plagues and the immortals will celebrate while humankind dies, as we have already seen. They will strike us down at will, as we have already seen. They will seduce traitors to join them, and turn them immortal, as we have already seen. Then they will breed and multiply in their other world, and break through to ours and conquer us: weak humankind.’ That’s what we’re seeing now. That’s what we have to stop.”
“Seducing traitors to join them,” Landon said. “Like Sanjay. And Sophie.”
“And who knows how many others. At least we know about Adrian. So he’s the one to catch.”
Landon sank back down on the hearth rug and pulled his knees up to his chest. “Don’t you ever wish we’d been given immortality, instead of them?”
“Of course. It’s a natural thing to wish. I could lose this bum hip, get my youth and vitality back, never worry about flu season. Everyone wants it. And that’s precisely why it’s so dangerous. Because it’s such a temptation. Maybe you and I would handle immortality without tearing the world open, but what would other people do with it? No, it’s a horrible scenario. Since it’s not safe for anyone, nobody should have it.”
He brooded over that a while, then asked softly, “When do we move in?”
She closed the laptop and folded her hands on top of it. “We’ll need help. At least one more person. Wilkes would’ve been good, but now he’s dead. Not everyone in the group is willing to fly out to the Northwest and…do what we might have to do. But I’m disenchanted with the street thugs we’ve gotten so far.”
“What about the people who helped you out of jail?”
“They can help with parts of it.” She glanced up at the rafters. “One of them owns this cabin. That helped. But they have careers, families. They were able to make a special trip that time, but they can’t always be committing to such things. One of them lives in Oregon, and the other three came up from California. So if the job’s in Washington, it’s a longer haul for them. Some might make it, but…” Betty sighed. “It’d be nice to have someone who could properly join us, not drive in for one night and then go home.”
“I’ve mentioned Krystal to you. My Internet friend.” Landon cast her a shy, hopeful look. “She’s not far from here. Lives in Montana. She’s between jobs now, since she was working on a politician’s campaign, but he just lost in the election.”
“You say she’s good with firearms?”
“Loves them.”
“And she’d go with us on this?”
“I’m almost sure. I’ve sounded her out. Carefully, but enough to see she’s interested. The secret group, ancient records, weird stuff happening lately—it all really intrigues her.” He dropped his gaze. His long eyelashes swept his cheekbones. “Plus I think she’d do it just for me.”
Betty chuckled. “Well, Landon. I may have misjudged you.”
“Hmm?”
“Nothing, dear.”
Chapter Twenty
The plague entered Greece from the sea. Sailors who had been to Africa sickened first, and the disease tore through the islands and the mainland. Persephone and her family were among the first to hear of it, when a large group of deceased Kyprians of all ages arrived in the Underworld and told them about it. They were subdued as souls always were, but shaken enough that their consternation came through.
Persephone and Hades’ mortal twelve-year-old daughter stood with them as they listened to the souls’ account. Hekate’s head brushed Persephone’s chin now; she was almost grown. But not quite. Not tall enough or developed enough to count as anything but a child. Not old enough for the blue orange.
The plague had killed these people less than nine days after their first symptoms appeared. A terrible fever and thirst, rashes and sores, coughing up blood, and soon death—either by suffocating when their lungs filled with fluid, or by infect
ion of their sores. Looking around at their numbers in the Underworld, the Kyprians estimated it had killed a quarter of the people in their village.
Cold sweat beaded all over Persephone’s body. She clutched her daughter’s arm, holding her here in this safe haven. When she glanced at Hades, he gave her a slight nod of assurance, but his face was tight with worry too.
That afternoon Persephone left Hekate and Hades at home and paid her mother a visit. As a healer, Demeter might have ideas regarding any precautions they might take. Demeter was already battling the plague in her village: symptoms had cropped up here too.
“A few concoctions seem to help. Feverflower and lady’s mint boiled with green garlic—it reduces fever and lets them breathe a bit better. But I don’t know. If it’s as lethal as you say, oh, Lady help us.” Demeter hurried around her hearth, chopping and boiling herbs and flowers as she spoke. Her hair had begun unraveling from its knot. She’d obviously been working among the people day and night.
Fear choked Persephone. Babies, young couples, gentle elderly, all the folk she had grown up with in the area…but the worst of the fear was for her daughter. “Hekate. How do we protect her?”
“Keep her out of the living world.” Demeter looked at her with her sternest expression. “Not one visit, not for months if that’s how long it takes.”
Persephone tried to laugh. “Oh, mercy. The fit she’ll throw at being confined like that.”
“Too bad. It’s her life at stake. And have her eat garlic and yogurt every day. They fortify the body against illness.”
“I will. Is there anything I can do to help everyone else?”
“I don’t know.” Demeter sounded weary. “The people tolerate me well enough, at least around here, but they’re starting to sound hostile indeed against immortals. They even say the plague is our fault.”
“How in the world could it be our fault?”
“Oh, we control everything, don’t you know? We invented it to amuse ourselves. Or to thin the ranks of mortals, of whom we’re jealous because some of them are more beautiful than us. Or at the least, we could have stopped so many deaths and handed out immortality or magical cures, but we’re refusing to, because we’re too busy feasting and frolicking.”
Frustration layered itself on top of Persephone’s fear. “What kind of ingratitude—when they see how much you do for them, how much Hades and I do for them—”
“Yes, but you two have a fearsome glamour about you, being gods of the dead, so they view you with dread in addition to respect. And in any case we three are exceptions.” Demeter threw a handful of chopped mint into the pot over the fire. “Plenty of immortals do spend most of their time feasting and frolicking, doing more harm than good.”
Persephone thought of Ares, Zeus, Hera…even her friends Aphrodite and Hermes, for that matter. She bowed her head, ashamed at her fine embroidery and jewels, and the clean perfection of her body. She remembered being mortal quite well, and understood the people’s envy. “I don’t know what to do,” she said.
“Protect Hekate. That’s all that matters.”
Tabitha balanced her latte in one hand while she ripped a sticky note off the door of her dorm room before entering.
You’re missing a lot of class. Where are you? It was signed by not one but two of her professors. They were obviously conferring about her. Oh well, she knew as much from their voice-mails and emails. She hadn’t been answering those either. Not a lot of time, between one party and another—but dude, she was meeting the coolest, hottest, most famous people.
A popular actor on a sci-fi show, who had five million followers on his social networks, had been at one of the L.A. parties she’d recently attended. He loved the impromptu interview she had filmed with a younger actress, complete with proud drunken singing, and he had posted the video link on his page a few days ago. Tab now spent her free time reading the comments—mostly appreciative; a few trolls, as always on the Internet—and answering calls from people she wanted to talk to. One was a national late-night talk show, inviting her to come on if she could get to New York.
Which of course she could. Speedily, in fact, and without having to spend a penny on airfare. She’d call them back soon and work out the details.
She knew she was neglecting Zoe. She hated the guilt that arose with that thought. But come on, they lived in different countries, and they’d have loads of time to get to know each other if they were going to live forever. These calls from New York TV shows, on the other hand, weren’t going to go on forever. They had to be dealt with now.
But classes—ugh, who had the time?
In what was left of her free time, in those hours riding her ghost horse across the continent, or after crashing into bed drowsily at 3:00 a.m., she was pursuing the past. Following Zoe’s urgings—and Niko’s too—she was hunting down Dionysos, or Adonis, or whatever name he used. And that was confusing: those guys were two separate people, in the myths. At least, as far as she had found out from the Internet. But the actual past might tell a different story. So she hauled up each life, examined its temporal and spatial place in the world, and got distracted by its interesting features for at least a few hours each time before chucking it behind her and digging deeper.
Lately the past lives were seriously ancient. The concept of writing and reading grew sparse among the people she lived with. They grew crops and raised animals, but also sacrificed said animals and poured some of their wine or grain or fancy oils onto the ground for the gods.
Sometimes she was a man, sometimes a woman, but she always loved women. Apparently those kinds of traits and preferences varied from one soul to another. Zoe said she was nearly always a woman but had been sometimes straight and sometimes gay. Niko said he was usually a man, occasionally a woman, and always bi. And Sophie said she was usually a woman, but always preferred men even when she had been one.
As to where in the world she was in those primitive past lives, Tabitha often could only guess. People didn’t know what globes or maps were back then, and considered their homeland the center of the universe.
But this morning she found the life she’d been looking for, and knew the setting at once. Greece. The incomparable blue of the Mediterranean and cleanly elegant lines of the stone houses, the creatively arranged white or dyed tunics draped around everyone.
And she knew it for certain when the earliest memory of that life was her father—or rather, his father—bellowing, “Adonis!” accompanied by the crack of a wooden staff against Adonis’ back.
Tabitha pulled in and let out her breath, and dropped her keys on her chaotic bookcase. She’d thought she had a rough childhood, what with her sexual orientation being outed in high school before she was ready, and her parents divorcing, and the general suckitude of a small town. Even college started out far crappier than she had hoped. Her dad lived in Bellevue, right across the lake from Seattle, where he was a real estate agent. In choosing a college in Seattle, she had pictured meeting him weekly for lunch—which would be far more often than she saw him during the last two years of high school. She envisioned impressing him with how grown-up and savvy she had become, and assumed he’d dash over to help her with any problem that might arise.
Instead, he always either answered, “Sorry sweetie, working,” or, “Jamie and I have plans.” Jamie was his girlfriend, another realtor, about ten years younger than Tab’s mom. She wore way too much beige and reeked of over-sweet perfume. Though Tab was well aware of her mother’s faults—most of them involving drinking—she couldn’t stand to be around Jamie a single hour.
So Tab had seen her dad a grand total of once since moving into the dorms. Between that and being a state away from Sophie, she had felt depressingly isolated for her first month of college.
But holy shit, her life was a shower of rose petals compared to the glimpses she’d seen from the past. For example, Adonis. This one was going to take some quiet contemplation—a feature Tab rarely incorporated into life, but in this case i
t was important.
Tabitha’s roommate was out. The girl spent at least five hours a day practicing cello, either in class or in one of the rehearsal rooms. Tab shrugged off her faux-fur-hooded coat and stood at the window, sipping her latte. Rain lashed the glass. The Seattle traffic three stories below, crawling up the steep street, looked like smears of dark paint and blurry lights. Tab had been up most of the night at a party in San Francisco (the three women who starred as secret agents in that summer blockbuster? Yeah, their party), and had gotten only a few hours of sleep on a couch in one of their guest rooms. Now that she was immortal, she didn’t feel as tired on limited sleep as she used to. But, balancing that out, caffeine didn’t really work anymore either.
She grimaced at the cup. “Why am I even drinking you? Oh yeah. You’re creamy and tasty.” She gave the latte one more gulp, then set it on her desk and dropped onto her bed.
So. Adonis. Time to learn some Ancient Greek.
Chapter Twenty-One
In a half-dream, Tab moved fast through Adonis’ early years. He was an only child, born to parents who were well off but weary. His mother had suffered several miscarriages before having him, and three after. His father, distressed by that and by the demands of the vineyards he owned, made life a torment for the family. He had a vision of creating the world’s finest wine, better than Greece had ever tasted, wine fit for the gods.
According to the travelers and townspeople, he succeeded. His grapes were the finest, his fermentation technique the most masterful. But that only meant he had to keep up standards in order to meet everyone’s demands for this wonderful wine, and he shoved Adonis into the vineyards to work almost as soon as he could walk.
It was for eating some of the fat purple grapes instead of placing them into the harvest basket that his father had beaten him with the staff. Well, that was one reason. Sometimes Adonis got beaten for sleeping in. Or for stepping in to defend his mother when his father beat her. Or for losing his temper and yelling back at his father, which showed a grievous lack of respect for one’s parents, according to all the laws of gods and men. His father was perfectly within his rights to beat him, and to beat his wife. Adonis barely understood any other way existed in the world until he met Aphrodite.
