“Not anymore.”
Zeus made a sound between a chuckle and a cough. “It’s not something you can turn off.”
“Well, I can damn well ignore it.”
“For my sake, I’m glad you haven’t.” Zeus smiled like a doting grandfather reveling in his grandson’s report card. “It takes a Makarites to wield my brother Hades’ helmet. I hear you earned the title of ‘Blessed One’ through study. Now you earn it over and over through heroism.”
Pin a gold star on my chest and let me get the hell out of here. “I’ve already booked a flight back to New York. It leaves tomorrow morning, and I plan to be on it. Blessed One or not, I’m going home.”
“I have one more favor to ask of you.”
He needs me to find a Golden Fleece or battle a Minotaur or cut off my own balls, Theo thought. He wanted to protest that he’d done the gods enough favors for his one mortal lifetime, but he waited, curious.
“Saturn must be punished for what he did to my family.”
Theo felt mildly queasy. “Look, I know my opinion here doesn’t matter, and I certainly want to make sure he can’t hurt anyone again, but I’m not exactly pro–death penalty. Selene said you’ve got him locked up, and he’s still passed out. If you’re asking me to use Orion’s sword to execute him while he’s unconscious—”
“No, no.” Zeus looked flustered. “He’s spent centuries with his resurrection cult. Who’s to say there aren’t more syndexioi somewhere else who would find a way to bring back their Pater? No, there’s only one way to control my father. One prison that only we have the keys to.” He clasped his gnarled hands together like a man in prayer and stared at Theo intently. “Tartarus.”
Theo couldn’t stop himself from gaping. He wondered if Zeus’s mind had grown as feeble as his body. “You mean the mythological pit where you cast your father the last time you deposed him? That Tartarus? The one full of the terrifying monsters you conquered in the Gigantomachy?”
Zeus nodded, the slight tremor in his chin making a mockery of his grave expression.
“But, Father,” Selene interjected. “Surely Tartarus doesn’t exist anymore. If it ever did.”
“Of course it existed.”
“But so much of our past is just tales the poets told,” she pressed. “If Tartarus is one of those—”
“Has your mind grown so narrow?” he said sharply, spit flecking his lips.
“Has yours grown so confused?” she shot back.
Zeus thrust out his skinny chest in a pathetic attempt at pride. He pushed back the lapels of his trench coat to display the golden tassels of Athena’s aegis. “Do Gorgons walk the streets of Rome today? No! And yet Medusa’s face screams from this cloak. You deny that?”
“No,” Selene admitted stiffly.
“The arrows from the armory—they defy this world’s laws.”
“Yes.”
“Then don’t talk back to me.” He sounded like a senile old man, snarling at his well-meaning nurse. Yet the force of his own convictions gave his wheezing voice a new resonance. “We can open a portal to Tartarus. We can cast Saturn through.”
“Uh …” Theo had to ask. “Who’s ‘we’?”
“Men still worship wine and thievery and the ways of the flesh—many of my children will stay strong for decades, centuries even. But the Sky?” Zeus looked up through the oculus once more, a grim smile on his face. “Mankind does not worship it, doesn’t even notice it. All those stars, planets, the immensity of the universe. It might as well be”—he paused, as if searching for a vile enough description—“ wallpaper.” He sniffed, a sound more of illness than scorn.
“As for my other domains—fate, kingship—no one believes in them anymore.” He looked down at his own shaking hands, the constant reminder of how old he’d grown through man’s disdain. “For such a mighty task, we’ll need all the gods, strong and weak alike. Only a united pantheon can finally defeat the Titan who has always been a cancer, eating away at what little worship remains.” He linked his fingers together as if to stop their trembling. “With him out of the world, we may regain what we have lost.”
“You’re saying Saturn’s death will bring us strength.” Selene took a step back. Theo couldn’t tell whether she felt disgust at her father’s ideas or at his wretchedness. “No. We can’t sacrifice him for that. That’s what he tried to do to us. To use our deaths to become invincible. I won’t become that, Father. None of us should.”
“Have you listened?” he demanded, his voice cracking. “We do not sacrifice Saturn—we just open the door to Tartarus and cast him in.” He flung an arm forward weakly, a parody of a hurled thunderbolt. “And we do it together, our strength combined as one. Tartarus is a place of old powers and older magic. A place full of monsters and gods. When we open it once more, some of that magic will seep out—a divine wind, a whisper of pneuma. We will be there to breathe it in, and it will bring strength to us all.” He raised a gnarled hand to stop Selene’s protests before they could begin. “We won’t be invincible or omnipotent—such power is impossible in this world—but we will not be so old, nor so weak. Look at me! I have dreamed my own death, child.” His voice slipped from demanding to pleading. “Even without Saturn’s sickle to cut me asunder, I am not long for this world. Six months, perhaps. A year. Two at most. And every day I grow weaker.”
Selene’s face crumpled. Her mouth worked in wordless protest as her father went on. “If I do nothing, I will slip away into eternal sleep, just as your mother did. But if we go to Olympus …” A racking cough cut short his words. Selene stepped forward, her eyes bright with unshed tears.
Zeus held his hands out to his daughter. “Do not deny me this chance, however slim it may seem.”
“But it makes no sense,” she said gently. “How would you even open Tartarus in the first place?”
“With a Great Gathering on Mount Olympus, where we were always strongest.” He turned to Theo. “You must be there, Makarites, to bear witness to this conclave. Well you know that our stories don’t survive unless there are poets to tell them. You may not be able to share the tale with the world, but it will live on in your mind—your very presence will give the Gathering power. That is the favor I would ask.”
“That sounds …” Theo wasn’t sure what to say. Moments before, he’d decided he wanted nothing to do with any of them. But perhaps Zeus still retained some power as the Leader of the Fates, because Theo suddenly realized that he’d decided to go as soon as the words “Great Gathering” crossed the old man’s lips. “It sounds like something I should see.”
“Theo, it’s insane to—” Selene began.
“Any more insane than thinking I could kill myself, stroll into the afterlife, take you by the hand, and stroll back out?” he retorted. “Honestly, my bar for crazy has gotten pretty damn high.”
Selene’s expression of dismay was barely perceptible; Theo noticed it anyway.
Zeus clapped his hands, as if it was all settled. “Good. There’s a flight at noon tomorrow to Athens.” He no longer sounded senile. “Theodore will take it. I will stay here one more day, gathering the other Athanatoi.”
“Wait,” Selene began. “We should think about this first.”
“No. We must act quickly—the Wily One cannot be held for long.” He threw back his stooped shoulders. “In two days’ time, we will stand together: Artemis and Hephaestus, Dionysus and Hermes, Aphrodite, Poseidon, Hera, Demeter, and Hestia.”
“Um. Didn’t you miss one?” Theo asked.
“Mars is dead,” Zeus said solemnly.
“But what about Athena?” When he was a child, the gray-eyed Goddess of Wisdom had always been his favorite deity. She was not only the patron of scholars but also a goddess of crafts, creativity, and justified war. To Theo, she embodied the best of human civilization.
Zeus’s posture deflated. “That daughter is lost to me.”
“I’ve heard that before,” Theo interjected. “But it seems like someone always knows
where the Athanatoi are hiding.”
“Not Athena,” Zeus insisted. “She was always the smartest of my children. Even Hermes, Messenger of the Gods, cannot find her. If she wants to stay hidden, she will.”
“But you said the whole pantheon had to be there to open Tartarus,” Selene said, her brow furrowed. “Will it work without her?”
“We will have to hope so.” Zeus cleared his throat wetly. “Now, we have much to do. Much to plan.”
“What can I do?” Selene asked. “I still don’t see how it will work, but I’ll do whatever I can. Let me help.”
“No, no.” Zeus patted her on the shoulder like a master reassuring his dog. “You saw what happened in the mithraeum. You came all that way and got yourself killed, my reckless child. We must both rest. Recover from our ordeal. We need to be strong for Olympus.”
He turned away and shuffled slowly out of the temple. Selene stood like a statue. Zeus had not offered his daughter a single word of thanks or praise for coming to rescue him. Theo had never seen her so casually dismissed by anyone. He thought that she would shout something biting at her father’s back. Or that her face would turn to stone as she closed her heart to him. Instead, she blinked back tears. Her shoulders slumped. The fierce Huntress seemed little more than a chastened child.
Theo felt an overwhelming desire to go to her, an electric pulse that spurred his feet to move and his arms to open wide, to assure her that her father didn’t know what he was talking about.
He swallowed back the words. Selene would be just fine without his comfort—and it was about time he was fine without hers.
I will see her on Olympus, he resolved, bending down to gather his satchel and purposely avoiding her gaze.
Then I will never see her again.
Chapter 32
LADY OF THE TIBER
Selene ran.
She ran from the Pantheon. From her father’s decline and Theo’s disgust.
And eventually, as the sun cast its first piercing beams across the city streets, she found herself drawn once more to the River Tiber to heal the wounds to both body and soul.
The Host in Rome would never threaten her again, and with Saturn gone, any other secret branches of the cult would collapse. But death still stalked her father, and she couldn’t quite believe his Tartarus plan would work. As for Theo … It’s not the lack of his love that hurts, she told herself. I wanted him to find happiness with another woman—I truly did, for his sake. It’s the loss of his respect that feels like a javelin’s point drilled through my heart. With no passersby in sight, she sprinted onto the arcing bridge and stopped in the center, panting. I’ve stopped talking to him, even in my own mind, she realized. Why bother, when now I know he doesn’t want to listen?
She climbed over the stone railing. And jumped off.
She floated there for a moment beneath the river’s surface, her head suspended in sun-warmed water, her feet dangling in the murky cold. Her heart pounded with the memory of her near-drowning in the Lake of Mnemosyne, but she forced herself to stay submerged for another few seconds, letting the power of the fresh running water dispel her weariness and heal her battered body. With the familiar invocation to the Tiber’s rushing flow, she felt the whip slashes on her cheek knit closed. A warm surge of power flooded her limbs, returning the strength that Death had stripped from her.
She kicked her way to the surface and, bracing her hands on the ledge, hauled herself from the river. She sat on the lip, her feet dangling, water dripping from her hair and clothes to puddle around her.
The flowing water had fixed her body. Her heart still felt broken.
She’d run from the Pantheon, but she didn’t want to go back to her apartment either. How could she bear to face Flint’s pleasure when he realized she’d failed so utterly with Theo? Or Scooter’s grief when she told him their father was still in danger?
I want to go somewhere dark. Quiet. Deep in a forest, where there are no people to protect—or disappoint. Perhaps it’s time to change my name again. I wouldn’t even tell Scooter or Flint. I could just disappear.
But her father needed her to join the rest of the pantheon in his crazy quest, and she hadn’t freed him from the Host only to abandon him now. She hung her head and stared down at her hands. Such long fingers, their strength renewed by the Tiber’s waters. It will be many years yet before I fade away completely. And as long as I’m here on this earth, I have work to do.
There’s only one problem—I’m not sure what that work is anymore.
She closed her eyes and tuned her ears to the sounds of the just-waking city. Somewhere, she was sure, a woman begged for help. A child needed protection. A dog howled in pain. The Protector of the Innocent would hear their cries.
She sat there for a very long time. If the people of Rome called out for her aid, she couldn’t hear them.
Eventually, the sun set fire to Saint Peter’s gilded dome and dried the river water from her clothes. Traffic hummed along the streets; pedestrians crowded the bridge above her. Still, Selene didn’t move.
A steady flow of tears tracked silently down her cheeks. She leaned her elbows on her knees, her head bent above the river. The drops ran off her nose, disappearing from view before they joined the Tiber’s languid flow.
I miss New York, she finally admitted to herself. I miss my dog. I miss my river. I miss my island.
I miss Theo.
It took her another several minutes before she found the strength to return to the apartment where her family waited. Despite her newly strong legs, the five flights up had never felt so long.
To her relief, Scooter wasn’t there. She wasn’t sure she could bear to see him without losing her composure; he loved their father as much as she did. And he’d been the one to urge her to seek Theo out in the Pantheon in the first place.
“I’ll take care of Pop,” he’d said when they’d finished settling Zeus after returning from Saint Peter’s. “Go find your thanatos.”
“Why in the world would I drag him back into something he clearly wants to be done with?” she’d demanded.
Scooter laughed. “You really think he wants to be done with you?”
“That’s exactly what I think.”
“Then you’re a fool, sister mine. He loves you. He gave his life for you more than once. He might be pissed, but trust me, he’s willing to be convinced. Just shake your pretty hips and—”
Selene shot out a hand to grab Scooter by the jaw, gripping tight. “You forget who you’re talking to.”
Her brother wrenched away. “Ouranos’s balls, Selene, you’re a pain in the ass. I just mean that he may be a Makarites, but he’s only human. He can be persuaded.”
“Even if that was true—which it’s probably not—why would I try?”
Scooter rolled his eyes. “Because you love him.”
“I …”
Her brother had looked over his shoulder toward the living room and lowered his voice. “You’ve lived with Flint for how long now? Six months. And in all that time, did you ever feel for him what you felt for Theo?”
“It’s not—”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Flint may be damaged goods, but he’s got the shoulders of a god, he can’t keep his eyes off you, and I’ve heard he’s got a certain hairy appeal. Yet you haven’t fallen for him. In fact, if I remember rightly, you’ve fallen for two, and only two, men in your entire overlong life. Orion the Hunter and Theo the Nerd. One of them’s dead, and one of them’s waiting for you to come get him right now.”
She laughed now at the memory; she’d been a fool to believe Scooter. Her bitter humor quickly stuttered into a choked sob as she pinwheeled from self-loathing to grief. This emotional fragility is probably just another effect of my journey through the Underworld, she decided. That’s what’s wrong with me. She felt new and raw, her emotions bubbling too close to the surface for comfort.
Despite the early hour, Flint was awake, sitting at the dining table in the center of t
heir small living room. For once, he didn’t have a pile of gears and wires in front of him. Nor did she see Mars’s spear. Flint had never condoned his brother’s bloody ways; no doubt he’d stowed the divine weapon somewhere where it couldn’t be used to hurt anyone. He looked tense, as if the whole time she’d been sitting beside the river, he’d been here waiting. His eyes went first to her bare neck—she hadn’t put back on his necklace. Hurt flashed across his face, but she didn’t have the will to explain. What would she say? It feels wrong to wear your gift with Theo back in my world? Why should that matter when Theo wanted absolutely nothing to do with her?
“Schultz isn’t coming back,” she said instead, “in case you’re wondering.”
Flint’s shoulders lowered; his face relaxed. She could’ve sworn he hid a smile beneath his beard. His obvious pleasure made her angry. But angry was better than despondent.
“Did Scooter get back from the Pantheon with Father yet?” she asked.
“Yeah. Then he went out again. Your dad’s taking a shower, and Saturn’s still locked up and unconscious.”
“Fine.” She considered telling Flint about Zeus’s Tartarus plan, but she knew the Smith would want nothing to do with it. Saving her father from brutal murder to prevent Saturn’s rise was one thing—saving Zeus from the inevitable decline they all faced was another. Eventually, she’d have to convince Flint to come so they could complete the pantheon, but she couldn’t quite summon the strength for that argument yet.
“Oh, and Father just brushed me off like a useless puppy,” she said instead. “So in case you’re keeping score, two more men I care about are leaving my life. More room for you. So congratulations.”
Flint’s lips tightened. He didn’t shout back at her or tell her she was being unfair. He didn’t need to. But a hint of red colored his cheeks, and his massive hands tightened on the edge of the table before he pushed himself upright. He wasn’t wearing his leg braces, and he had to hold on to the furniture to support his body. His withered legs buckled and twisted as he hobbled toward his bedroom.
Olympus Bound Page 25
