Chapter 12
WHITE-ARMED
The corridor behind the ballroom smelled like garlic and lilies and talcum powder. Trailing her own discordant scent of vanilla perfume, June led Selene and Flint through the crowds of well-wishers—exchanging kisses and congratulations in fluent Italian as she went—and into a small lounge reserved for the bridal party. Two older women in matching lilac dresses sat in the corner, dabbing on makeup.
June collapsed onto a couch, pulled off her high heels, and began to rub her toes like any other fiftyish woman grateful to get off her feet. She looked like a blissful bride, happy to be exhausted.
Selene joined Flint on a love seat opposite, careful to sit as far away from him as the narrow sofa allowed, unwilling to give either him, June, or herself the wrong idea. Yet despite the space between them, she could still feel Flint’s smoldering heat—and she was pretty sure it had nothing to do with his erstwhile God of Fire status.
As soon as the other guests left, June’s smile vanished. She grabbed Flint’s hands in her own. “Tell me what happened to my son.”
She’s talking about Mars, Selene realized after a moment of confusion. Hephaestus’s brother, the God of War, had fallen victim to the Mithraic cult six months before, just like Apollo.
As Flint related the story of Saturn’s betrayal, all trace of the good-natured Midwesterner vanished. Suddenly, despite the wrinkles and the eye shadow, June became Juno once more.
She pulled her hands from her son’s and sat straight on the couch like a queen on her throne, as stern and imperious as she’d been in her godhood, when brilliant peacocks had strutted at her feet. The diadem no longer looked foolish wobbling on her brow. “Zeus should’ve destroyed our father long ago,” she seethed. “We should’ve known better than to let the Titan loose in the world.”
“The Wily One’s been playing a very long game,” Selene interjected. “Tying himself to Christianity for the last two thousand years. He’s proud of it—he’s the one who took a crucified prophet and merged him with Mithraic ideas of salvation. If it wasn’t for him, it’s possible Jesus would’ve faded away, and we’d still be ruling from Olympus.” But even as she said it, Selene knew that wasn’t true. Saturn’s plan wouldn’t have worked if mankind hadn’t already been desperate for something new. They wanted a personal savior; they were tired of appeasing vengeful Olympians. If Jesus hadn’t come along, someone else would have.
“Our father was always clever,” June admitted, her shoulders slumping again, as if she lacked the energy to maintain even her most violent maternal rage for more than a few minutes. “Someone was bound to latch on to Christianity. I would’ve, if I could, but there’s no room for a Goddess of Marriage in a religion based on a celibate messiah. They worship some prudish virgin instead.” She slid a curious glance at Selene, who wasn’t about to mention that she no longer fit that description. That was a secret that would stay between her and Theo.
“If things were different,” June went on, “if Christianity were a matriarchal religion instead, and I garnered strength from it … well …” She didn’t need to continue. Maybe her feet wouldn’t be sore after half an hour of dancing, Selene thought. Maybe she wouldn’t look decades older than her new husband. Maybe all the goddesses of Olympus would still retain their ancient powers.
“If you’re so disdainful of the Church,” Selene asked, “then why get married in one?” She couldn’t help the sharpness that crept into her tone. She was still smarting from June’s threat moments earlier.
June just smiled, as if she’d already forgotten that she’d promised to kick Selene’s ass. “Because Maurizio, the sweet boy, is Italian. We met when he was on business in Indianapolis. He wanted a Catholic wedding back home, and what do I care? I’ve had dozens of weddings. I’ll have dozens more.”
“Doesn’t it make you mad, seeing their idols everywhere? Their cathedrals?”
“You still holding grudges against the Christians, dear? Not much point in that. It’ll drive you crazy faster than a spittlebug in alfalfa. Nope. The key to enjoying this half-mortal life of ours is accepting the things you can’t change. Like your father, for example.” She chuckled as if genuinely amused. “Think of all the time I wasted chasing him and his lovers across the earth. At the Diaspora, I didn’t just leave Olympus, I left him. And let me tell you, that was the best decision I ever made. Now I love who I want, when I want. Husbands, you see, are replaceable. Children, on the other hand …” Her smile collapsed in a spasm of grief, and she looked at her son with a new softness. “I only have one of those left.”
“All these years,” Selene ventured. “And you’ve never had any more?”
June looked surprised. “We can’t. Didn’t you know that?”
Selene shrugged. In truth, as the proverbial Chaste One, she’d never bothered to find out, although she’d always assumed such a thing was possible. After she and Theo had made love for the first and only time, she’d assumed her lack of pregnancy was due either to luck or her body’s long hold on virginity. She’d never once had a period—perhaps she was just sterile. It had never occurred to her that the same might be true of all the Athanatoi.
“When your father proclaimed the Age of Heroes over, that was it,” June explained. “No more procreating with mortals.”
“I thought you didn’t bother obeying him anymore.”
“Oh, I didn’t say anyone obeyed him. But the goddesses just never got pregnant. And the gods started shooting blanks. I don’t know if your father’s command had anything to do with it, or if it was just a side effect of our decline. I thought about adopting …” Tears pooled in her lower lids, quickly blinked away. “Not fair to the kids, is it? To have a mother who ages so slowly. Eventually, I’d have to either abandon them or explain who I am. And that’s too much for mortal children to bear. So I marry men young enough that we’ll have plenty of years together. When they finally wonder about me, I either tell them—or I don’t. Either way, I’m a fantastic wife. Turns out, it’s my speciality. No jealousy any longer, just commitment.” Her eyes flicked knowingly from Selene to Flint and back. “Speaking of which, Maurizio’s waiting.” She reached for her high heels.
“Before you go,” Selene said, “how about you help us catch the Wily One and bring him to justice?”
“I told you, I don’t fight what I can’t change.” June stood up, wincing at the pain in her pinching shoes. “Don’t get me wrong: Vengeance is sweet. I remember its taste. But I’ve given it up, along with so much else. What’s done is done. My Mars isn’t coming back.”
“Forget Mars,” Selene said harshly. “What about everyone else who’s still in danger?”
“Like who?” she asked with a hint of fear. Despite her famous boxing match with Artemis, Hera had never been a goddess of war. She had no weapons beyond her own white arms. “Me? Flint?”
“All of us. Grandfather had Flint in his clutches two nights ago. And with each murder, the God of Time gets stronger. If we let him continue his sacrifices, he’ll become something all-powerful, monstrous. Who knows what that could mean for mortals like your new husband?”
June looked alarmed, but Flint grunted dismissively. “Grandfather’s clever—but arrogant. He’s so focused on his upcoming sacrifice that we got away from him.”
“Upcoming—” June began.
Selene jumped in. “My father.”
“And would that be such a loss?” June pursed her lips, as if tasting once more the vengeance she’d foresworn. “My former husband is not to be trusted. I know that better than anyone. If he’s gone, the world is a safer place. I’m warning you both, leave Zeus to his just deserts.”
“Mother—”
“No, Flint. He’s beyond redemption. Why would you help him after what he did to you?”
“After what he did?” Flint asked softly. “Look at yourself, Mother, then answer that question. Selene wants to help her father—who am I to disagree? We love our parents even when they hurt us. We h
elp them even when they’ve failed to help us.”
I finally convinced him, Selene marveled. But her gratification evaporated when she considered the alternative: Or he just loves me so much he can’t refuse me.
To her surprise, June knelt arthritically at her son’s feet.
“Zeus threw you off Olympus,” she said softly, placing her hands on his narrow knees. “But yes … I stood by and let it happen. And your legs, your beautiful legs …” She ran her hands down his shins, the tears falling now without cease. “This is my fault.”
“Mother,” Flint said hoarsely, reaching for her shoulders to raise her up.
“No, let me say my piece,” she commanded, mascara striping her cheeks. “I was scared of Zeus, scared of losing my place in his heart, even though I should’ve known I’d lost it long before. When he tossed you off the mountain, I did nothing to stop him. I chose my husband over my son. I will never do that again.” She rested her cheek on his lap. “I will help if I can. Forgive me, Hephaestus.”
“I forgive you,” he said hastily. “Please, Mother, get up.” He lifted her bodily to her feet, his voice gruff but his eyes overbright.
“If you want to help us,” Selene said, eager to save Flint from emotions he clearly wasn’t ready to confront, “tell us what a Mithraist would want with a pine tree sculpture from the Campus of the Magna Mater.”
“I don’t know anything about Mithras,” June said, reaching for a tissue to wipe the blackened tears from her face.
“But the Magna Mater?”
She sighed a little wistfully and lowered herself once more to the couch. “You know I always chafed at my husband’s rule. Well, I thought for a while there I was finally going to get my shot at power when the Greeks brought the Great Mother from the east.” She paused. “That part’s like Mithras, isn’t it? An eastern deity.”
“Go on,” Selene urged. “I remember her priests castrating themselves, but that’s about it.”
June winced. “Yes, that explains why I never succeeded in merging her worship with my own. I’m a goddess of fertility, not of eunuchs. Besides, my mother beat me to it.”
“You mean—”
“Rhea. Titan wife of Kronos. Your grandmother. By the end, you couldn’t tell where the Magna Mater began and my mother ended.” She linked her fingers together. “One and the same, just like Kronos and Saturn.”
Selene felt a rush of adrenaline. The desire to share her findings with Theo was a physical ache. She imagined how his eyes would light up as they slotted another clue into place. “No wonder he wanted the Magna Mater’s pine tree. She’s the only one ever to outsmart him. He’s hated his wife ever since she plotted to save her youngest son from being swallowed like the rest of her children. If it weren’t for her, Zeus would still be inside Saturn’s stomach—and Saturn would still rule the world. Now he must be stealing her attributes as some form of revenge. Maybe her artifacts let him take her power for himself.”
“What power?” June said sadly. “Mother died long ago.”
“You sure?” Selene had once thought Saturn dead, too. Instead, he’d been secretly scheming for millennia to kill everyone she loved.
“I sat by her bedside and held her hand.” The wrinkles in June’s face deepened. She looked old, haggard, all the joy of her wedding day subsumed in the memory of grief. “A cruel irony, isn’t it? We’ve forgotten so much of our godhood, so many glorious moments of power and strength. Yet our mortal histories are seared into our minds, as much as we might want to forget them.”
Selene felt an unaccustomed empathy for her old nemesis. “I, too, sat with my mother while she died. As much as it broke my heart, she died peacefully with her children beside her.”
“Rhea did not go easily.” June shook her head. “She lived in a hovel, deep in a forest in Prussia. It was the early Middle Ages. Not an easy time to be poor. Not an easy time to be a woman living alone, possessed of strange memories and stranger powers. I didn’t know what had happened to her until my sisters brought me word. I was still strong, living off the importance of my attributes. Marriage, the family—they still formed the foundation of the world in the Middle Ages. But Rhea, Cybele, Ops, the Magna Mater—for all her names, Mother had been forgotten by everyone but the people of the nearby village. When the Black Death came, they blamed the witch in their midst. They hanged her. And when she didn’t die, they killed her again. And again. A stronger Athanatos might have survived it all, but there was no place for a Great Mother in a Christian world dominated by God the Father. Finally, they burned her at the stake. Her body was black, charred, and still she clung to life until her daughters arrived to say good-bye. She died an hour after we got there.”
Selene’s stomach roiled. She hadn’t known her grandmother well, but she, too, had been accused of witchcraft in the Middle Ages. She’d survived her own experience with the pyre, but that had been centuries ago. If it happened again, she doubted her fading body could withstand the flames.
Flint took his mother’s hand. Despite the pity in his eyes, he remained focused on the task at hand. “So if Rhea is gone—and her husband surely doesn’t want to bring her back—why did he want the pine tree?”
Selene felt like she knew the answer already. “Remember how many of our divine weapons he stole for himself? The Sea God’s trident? My father’s lightning bolt?”
“But the pine tree’s not a weapon,” Flint insisted. “Why steal it if it represents a goddess with no power?”
With her right hand, June traced the creases that scored her left. Despite the elegant gold wedding band and a delicate diamond engagement ring, her hands were those of an old woman. “No power indeed …” she mused. “And yet Mother was once the most worshiped goddess in Rome. From inside her sanctuary, you could hear the chariot races in the circus next door. When the crowd roared, their thunder put Zeus’s to shame. Then, as soon as her priests brought out the bull for the climactic ritual … well”—she laughed shortly—“you didn’t notice the crowd noise anymore.”
“What bull?” Selene asked, sitting forward.
“The supplicant would stand in a pit. The priests walked a bull onto a grate overhead and slit its throat. And then—let’s just say the result was dramatic.”
Selene looked at Flint. If Mithras and Rhea both centered their worship on bull sacrifices, that could explain Saturn’s interest in his wife’s cult.
June went on. “The taurobolium—the bull sacrifice—allowed the supplicant to become one with the divinity, able to transcend death itself. Like the pine tree, each man holds the seeds of his own rebirth. He just needs to be watered correctly.”
A tauroctony and a taurobolium, both symbolizing salvation and resurrection. The parallel was striking. “This temple to the Magna Mater—” Selene began.
“They called it the Phrygianum,” June interrupted, “since the Mater came from Phrygia—that’s Turkey today, I guess.”
Selene thought of the conical Phrygian cap Mithras always wore. “Which circus was it near?” she asked eagerly. In New York, the Host had chosen a major city landmark—Saint Patrick’s Cathedral—as the location of their sanctuary, but the extant mithraea in Rome were mostly situated beneath relatively minor churches. If Rhea’s Phrygianum lay in a more significant site, Saturn might not be able to resist adapting it for his own use.
“The Circus of Nero,” June replied. “But don’t get too excited, dear. Her Phrygianum’s not there anymore, not even the ruins. It’s all buried under Vatican City.” She smiled apologetically. “So that can’t be what you’re looking for, can it?”
This time, Selene laughed aloud. “Actually, Aunt June”—she kissed the woman on the top of her gray curls—“it’s perfect.”
Chapter 13
THE HOLDER OF KEYS
“I’ve told you before. It won’t work. Hades is dead, his wife is off getting high on coca leaves with her mom in Peru, and if you think some hocus-pocus will magically make Selene reappear at your front door, you’
re as deluded as a blue-collar Republican.” Scooter Joveson’s disembodied voice echoed so loudly through Theo’s cramped rental car that he had to lower the volume on his cell’s speakerphone.
Months before, he’d contacted Selene’s younger half brother and asked for his help reincarnating her. As the god Hermes, Scooter had once overseen more domains than nearly any other Athanatos, serving as both divine Messenger and Psychopompos, the Conductor of Souls to—and from—the Underworld. Yet Scooter, who’d returned to Los Angeles shortly after the final battle on the Statue of Liberty, had flatly refused to help.
Now, on the ride back to the city from his upstate bacchanal, Theo had called from the car to beg the Athanatos’s assistance once more. Unsurprisingly, Scooter picked up his cell, clearly wide-awake—it was only ten o’clock on the West Coast, and despite his recent incarnation as a cybersecurity expert, he still kept his old movie mogul’s hours.
“It’s not hocus-pocus,” Theo insisted. “I’m going all the way to the Underworld to bring her back.”
For once, Scooter fell silent. Theo listened patiently to the hiss of his breathing over the speakerphone, waiting for him to state the obvious. Finally, “You know what that means?”
“Yeah, I’m not crazy, Scooter—I don’t want to die. The plan is just to die temporarily.” The words made Theo grip the steering wheel like a life preserver. He could barely believe he’d even said them. “I find Selene in the afterlife, then bring her back out with me.” He barreled on, knowing that if he stopped to think, he’d lose his nerve. “But I’m going to need help, and you’re the only one I can ask. So get on your private jet and meet me at Selene’s house tomorrow.”
“Have you lost your mind?”
“I don’t have time to debate this.” Theo fought the impulse to slam his foot on the gas for emphasis. “Archeologists found cherry pits at many mithraea sites—that means the original Mithraists held their most important rituals in summertime. And knowing their penchant for astronomical connections, probably at the summer solstice. That’s two days from now. And if the Mithraists chose propitious times to imbue their rites with the most power, I should do the same.”
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