The Petros Chronicles Boxset

by Diana Tyler

  “Why don’t you hit me before I call on my father?”

  Hector spun around. “How stupid do you think I am? I hit you and you’ll knock me out and then tell the cops it was self-defense.”

  “Cops? Why would I talk to trees about anything?”

  “I told you to drop the act. Please.”

  The man opened his palms to Hector and shrugged. “I am no actor. I have stated truthfully who I am.”

  “Not your name.”

  The man lifted his chin proudly. “Ares. God of war.”

  Hector laughed and held out his hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Dionysus, god of wine, and I must be really drunk right now.”

  Ares frowned at Hector’s hand and flicked it away. “Do you dare mock my brother, Hector, son of Philip?” His dark eyes narrowed as his face reddened and a blue vein bisected his forehead.

  Hector realized the man wasn’t acting. Either he was actually an ancient pagan deity, or he’d convinced himself he was. “Dude, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offen—”

  “Stop mumbling and try and hit me,” Ares bellowed. He held up the shield at his left side. “I will only block. I will not strike.”

  “Will you leave me alone if I do?”

  “You have my word.”

  Hector sighed and tried to find a boxing stance that felt somewhat natural. He’d never fought anyone in his life, although Gino and his posse had roughed him up plenty of times.

  “What?” Hector could see that Ares, or whoever he was, was trying not to laugh.

  “Nothing. It’s just that you remind me of one of Dionysus’ dancing women.” Ares lowered his massive shield. He rocked up onto his tiptoes and then drifted down again. He repeated the movement, faster this time, over and over, and then he swayed from side to side, shifting his weight to one foot, then the other. “You must not stand there like an olive tree rooted to the earth,” he told Hector. “Be light and nimble of foot.”

  Ares stopped moving and looked down at his golden breastplate and the hefty greaves fixed to his calves. “How silly I must look to you. Boxers do not fight with their clothes on, do they?”

  “Yes, they box with their clothes on.” Not willing to wait for another insult, or another outrageous question, Hector threw a punch.

  Ares barely had enough time to lift his shield before Hector’s fist crashed into the bronze surface, accelerating past it until it crunched against the thick layer of wood beneath. The blow sent Ares stumbling back, the horsehair crest of his helmet waving wildly as he fought to stay upright. He regained his balance and gave the shield a satisfied smile.

  Hector’s hand was throbbing. He knew it was bleeding, but he didn’t look down for fear he’d feel squeamish at the sight. “Is that thing made out of bamboo or what?”

  “Hephaestus forged this shield,” Ares answered. “It is unbreakable.”

  “I’m sorry to tell you this, but you got gypped.” Hector shook his hand and gently touched his knuckles, searching for splinters or bits of bronze.

  “You must keep your thumb on the outside of your fist when you punch. Did you break a bone?”

  Hector alternately curled and flexed his fingers. “I don’t think so.”

  “Good. Now the spear.” Ares pointed toward Hector’s car as a red pick-up truck slowed down.

  Hector turned and gave the truck a nonchalant wave, hoping it would keep moving.

  The passenger window slid down. “You need some help?” the driver called.

  “No, sir,” Hector called back. “The towtruck’s on its way.” Please don’t ask me what I’m doing.

  “What are you doing out there?”

  Hector sighed, waiting for a lie to come to him. “History project for school.” He pointed at Ares. “You like the armor I made?”

  “Looks convincing to me. You two be careful.” The man waved and went on his way.

  Hector pivoted back to Ares, forgetting the pain in his hand. “This is ridiculous.”

  “Nay. This is your destiny. You have only to embrace it.”

  Hector’s hand plunged into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. He knew better than to stand here on the side of the road and entertain a nutcase, but there was something about the nutcase that he couldn’t write off. Not yet.

  “That’s my destiny?” said Hector, putting away his phone. He pointed at the spear as he walked toward the front tire.

  “It is a symbol of it. Of the strength, might, and authority that shall be yours if you will lay hold of it.”

  Hector stopped and stared down at the spear. It hadn’t moved one millimeter when he’d tried to pry it out. “And if I can’t remove it?”

  “You will.”

  The answer I was looking for is, “I’ll leave you the heck alone.” Hector sighed and straddled the spear, placing one hand in front of the other as he dug his heels into the ground.

  “Don’t overthink it,” said Ares.

  “Why am I doing this?” No sooner had Hector grumbled the words than the tip of the spear slipped effortlessly out of the tire. The weapon felt as light as a feather in his hand.

  Ares’ eyes brightened. “Throw it.”

  “Now you want me to throw this dumb thing? Just because I can pull a spear out of some rubber doesn’t mean I can throw it.” He extended the spear to Ares. “Take it. And please don’t puncture another tire.”

  Ares joined his hands behind his back and glanced at the spear. “I am the only god who has ever been able to lift that spear. And you hold it in your hand as if it were a twig.”

  Hector squinted at Ares, searching the man’s face for a tic or a twitch that might give him away. “You’re pulling my leg, aren’t you?”

  Ares brought his hands to his sides before lifting one to point at Hector’s legs. “You can see for yourself that it’s not so. Besides, what could a man gain by pulling another’s leg?” He frowned in disgust. “It’s a barbaric notion.”

  Hector sighed and faced the open field, positioning the shaft in his hand as best he could.

  “Find the balance point,” said Ares.

  Hector slid his hand down the spear until it sat still on his forefinger.

  “Good. Now hold it like a stylus. Let it lie flat in your hand.”

  Hector had to admit it felt pretty cool holding a spear. He felt himself standing taller, and lifting his chin like Ares. “What about my feet?”

  “Point the left one at your target. Keep your knees loose.”

  Hector had to hand it to him. If the guy was a phony, he sure was convincing. “What’s my target?”

  Ares pointed at the distant tree line. “The woods there look to be a furlong away. Do you agree?”

  “A furlong’s what? An eighth of a mile?”

  Ares nodded. “It’s a good distance.”

  Hector leaned forward and back again, getting a feel for the weight of the spear as he visualized it sailing over the grass. “Can you throw it a furlong?”

  “No.”

  “Well, that’s reassuring.”

  Ares raised his broken shield. “But neither have I so terribly scarred another god’s shield with nothing but my naked fist.”

  “Maybe that was luck.”

  Ares shrugged. “Perhaps. And that is why you must throw the spear.”

  “Okay, okay…” Hector took a few deep breaths, filling his lungs with the crisp autumn air. His eyes homed in on a bare fir tree directly ahead of him, then he held his breath, took a step, and threw.

  “By the holy twain,” Ares said as the spear soared up, arcing gracefully in the sky.

  Time stood still as they both watched the weapon climb higher and higher, gliding like an eagle as if gravity had no effect on it. It finally began its descent above the fir tree and fell slowly, disappearing into the woods.

  “It seems I was right.” Ares turned to Hector. “Your doma is very special, Hector.”

  Hector’s entire body tensed. “How do you know my name? How do you know about my doma?” He cha
rged toward Ares. He could punch him now; not even the man’s shield would stop him.

  Ares lifted his hands. “Calm yourself. There’s no need to be violent, nor to fear.”

  “What do you want?”

  Ares closed the space between them, his footsteps loud and heavy on the dry, brown dirt. “I want what you want. For you to fulfill your destiny.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  MISSING

  Chloe lay awake, debating whether to get up from her nap or flip her pillow to the cool side and try to fall back asleep. When she’d finally decided on the latter, her bedroom door cracked open.

  “Chloe,” Damara said, “your cousin’s here to see you and Damian. Are you up?”

  Chloe yawned and squeaked as she stretched her arms overhead. “Depends. Which one is it?”

  “Hector. Do you remember him yet?”

  Chloe sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Doesn’t ring a bell. On a scale of one to ten, how annoying is he?”

  “Chloe…” Her mother flicked on the light and opened the door wide. Apparently Chloe didn’t have a choice.

  “Guess he’s pretty annoying, huh?”

  “It’s his birthday.” Damara beckoned Chloe with her finger, then left.

  “Still didn’t answer my question,” she muttered.

  Lured by the chocolate scent of another batch of cookies, Chloe shuffled into the hallway.

  Her cousin was sitting on the sofa next to Damian, nervously bouncing his knee as he watched her walk toward him. She smiled, and the quick superficial one he gave her in return reminded her of the smiles kids give the camera when the photographer says, “Say cheese.”

  “Hi,” he said. Awkwardly, almost as an afterthought, he reached out his hand for her to shake.

  Chloe bent over and hugged him instead. “We’re family,” she said. “We don’t shake hands.” She laughed and plopped down in the recliner next to him.

  “But you don’t know me, do you?”

  Chloe looked at him. His eyes were the same light blue as hers and he had the same dirty-blond hair. His narrow nose was much too long, and his round chin was recessed. She could have passed for his twin more than she could for Damian’s. Damian had won the genetic jackpot, at least on the physical side. But maybe Hector had inherited some athleticism.

  “Dad told me you run track,” said Damian.

  Hector’s eyes fell to the coffee table.

  Scrap that, thought Chloe. He’s just like me.

  “Yeah,” said Hector, “but I’m not any good. I thought I had a doma like my dad’s, but I was wrong.”

  “Did you just turn eighteen?” Chloe asked, trying not to cringe as Hector cracked his knuckles.

  Hector nodded. “Today.”

  “Happy birthday,” she said, as cheerfully as she could.

  He swept his hair aside, raising his eyebrows as he put on that same fake, close-lipped smile.

  “You’re an only child, right?” Damian leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’ll get a doma. It may not be what you want or expect, but you’ll get one.”

  Hector sighed and scratched his arm, then his neck, then his nose. Chloe wondered why he was so nervous.

  “I gotta go,” Hector said, and pulled his phone from his pocket to check the time.

  “You just got here.” Chloe glanced at the untouched cup of tea and plate of cookies on the side table between them. “You haven’t had a cookie yet. You know Mom makes the best chocolate-chip cookies.”

  Hector stood up and made for the door. “I know. I’ll come back. I’m just nervous about the whole doma thing.”

  Damian stood up and put a hand on Hector’s shoulder. “We’re here for you,” he said. “Whenever you need us, just let us know.”

  Hector grunted something in return and hurried out the door.

  Chloe grabbed a cookie from the plate and took a bite. “Well, that was weird.”

  Damian sat down and leaned against the back of the sofa. “Did you notice how he said he had to leave before he checked what time it was?”

  Chloe took a sip of the peppermint tea. “Did you notice how he just sat here with a plateful of Mom’s warm cookies beside him and didn’t even acknowledge their existence?”

  “He’s young. Maybe he’s just going through an awkward phase.”

  “Damian.” Chloe set down the cup. “He’s only a year younger than us. The awkward years are middle school. High school’s when you think you know everything.”

  “Unless your name’s Chloe Zacharias.” Damian laughed and jumped over the back of the sofa, landing next to her. “You know I’m kidding, right?”

  “I happen to fully embrace my awkwardness,” Chloe said, with a haughty, aristocratic air. “So much so that I want my epitaph to say, ‘She came. She saw. She made it awkward.’”

  “And mine can say, ‘He came. He saw. He made it awesome.”

  Chloe rolled her eyes. “Smooth.”

  Damian laughed and shook his head. “We’re all awkward every now and then.”

  “Even you, Mr. Awesomeness?”

  “If you don’t call me trying to save the day and then getting ambushed by a gang of Cyclopes awkward, then you need to have your head checked.”

  Chloe picked up her tea again and cupped it in both hands. She didn’t know what else to do; she thought Damian would have been over that by now. “You’re too hard on yourself,” she said, knowing full well it wouldn’t help. Damian’s storms always had to pass in their own time.

  Damian gazed out the window. The sky was still choked with ash from the eruption. “That’s what Dad said.”

  “Sometimes we fail, Damian. And I’m sorry if this offends you, but I think you have a hard time dealing with the fact that even you are capable of failing.”

  “You’re right. I need to handle it better. It’s just hard when…” His voice faded as he closed his eyes. “It’s just hard when the biggest mistakes I’ve made have concerned the ones I love, the ones I’m supposed to protect.”

  The Damian she knew from the old timeline would have stormed out of the room before saying any of that, kicking the coffee table or punching a wall on his way out. But this Damian was different; he was still stubborn and averse to imperfection, but significantly more even-tempered. Had she changed, too? She didn’t feel any different, but then she couldn’t remember much of her past here at all. She could only hope that if she was different, it was in a favorable, non-embarrassing way.

  “What are you thinking about?” Damian said.

  Chloe tore her eyes from the fireplace and took another swig of tea. “Have I changed?”

  Damian looked at her quizzically, then intuited her meaning and sat back, thinking. “You smile more.”

  “I do?” Chloe blushed as she caught herself smiling.

  “You’re not holed up in your treehouse all the time, writing angsty discourses on what’s wrong with people.”

  “I never wrote angsty discourses. I wrote comics.”

  “Excuse me. Allegorized angsty discourses.” He laughed and shot his thumb back toward the home office. “Mom saved all of your writing. Want me to pull it out so we can compare it to the angsty adventures of Ruby and Fido?”

  Chloe folded her arms crossly and slumped down in the chair. “Rhoda and Farley, jerkface. And stop using that word. They weren’t angsty. They were full of curiosity. Like me.”

  She couldn’t keep up the pouty act for long. She let a smile peek through as her mind flashed with images of paper and crayons and colored pencils, the tools she’d used to process her life in the old timeline. “My curiosity hasn’t changed, I don’t think,” she said.

  Damian shook his head in amusement. “If it had, I doubt you would’ve taken your boyfriend back in time to get shot in the shoulder by a centaur.”

  Chloe’s elbows dug into the armrests. “He told you about that?”

  “No. Hermes did when he came by earlier while you were napping. He was wondering when
you were going back to get Orpheus. He suggested that Dad go with you.”

  “What a blabbermouth,” she mumbled.

  “You’re the one who just said we all make mistakes.”

  Chloe glared at him, but he only shrugged, daring her to say something in her defense. She couldn’t. “I don’t want to take anyone with me. For obvious reasons.”

  “That’s why it’s smart for Dad to go with you.”

  Chloe filled her cheeks with air and then released it slowly, feeling her chest fall like a burst balloon. “You going, too?”

  “Of course I am. Hermes said we need to take Orpheus’s lyre so he can’t use it on us.”

  Chloe stood, and took the cookies and tea to the kitchen sink. “Well, it’s nice to know you guys were able to hatch so swell of a plan without me.”

  The front door opened, and Chloe heard the jingling of Jacey’s collar and the pat-pat-pat of the poodle’s footsteps. Her parents hung up their coats and wiped their feet on the welcome mat.

  Damara came in, looked around the living room, and then the kitchen. “Where’s Hector?”

  “He stayed about ninety seconds,” said Damian. “Seemed a little edgy.”

  Nicholas had removed Jacey’s leash and the dog went flying onto Chloe’s lap, her pink tongue lashing at Chloe’s chin as she wagged her stubby tail.

  “Philip says Hector’s pretty down about his doma,” Nicholas said. “It could take him a while to come to terms with the fact that he might not get what he’s hoping for.”

  Chloe held the dog in her arms and rocked her like a baby, the only way to quell Jacey’s excitement. “Domas don’t repeat themselves, do they?”

  Nicholas shook his head. “They never have. But then again, you two are the only Asher twins in recorded history, so I wouldn’t say it’s impossible.”

  Damara pulled a water bottle from the fridge and took a long drink.

  “You okay, Mom?” Chloe asked. With her flushed cheeks and frizzy hair, her mom looked like she could use something a little stronger than water.

  Damara held the cold bottle to her neck. “I’ve changed my mind,” she said firmly.

  “About what?”