Olympus Bound

by Jordanna Max Brodsky

  “There goes my angel. Always so full of l’amour even for those who don’t deserve it,” said a woman emerging from the shelter in a high-waisted 1940s safari suit. Her crystalline blue eyes flicked to Selene. “It’s been too long, Huntress.”

  Or not long enough, Selene thought, smothering a groan. Aphrodite. As the Chaste One, Selene had a pathological aversion to the Goddess of Erotic Love. She could almost feel her optimism leaking away. Nothing about this trip was going to be as easy as it seemed.

  The goddess sashayed onto the terrace, tucked a stray blond curl back beneath her brightly patterned Hermès silk kerchief—no doubt a gift from Scooter—and walked to Zeus. She knelt gracefully beside the stretcher to brush a kiss on the lined forehead of the man who had been her king and, like all the male Olympians, her sometime lover. “I wouldn’t have recognized him with all his beauty gone,” she said worriedly, as if his looks mattered more than his ragged breathing.

  She rose to her feet in a single sensuous movement and, ignoring Scooter and Selene entirely, made straight for Theo. She gave him her hand palm down, clearly expecting him to kiss it.

  “Esme Amata,” she introduced herself, her voice a throaty, seductive murmur. Unlike her son, Esme had no French accent, although Selene suspected she could speak in whatever accent she chose, depending on the whim of the man she was trying to seduce. It seemed one Athanatos, at least, hadn’t changed a bit. “You’re the handsome Makarites my son was raving about.”

  Theo took her hand, clearly flustered, and shook it firmly. Selene tried and failed not to notice his eyes widening as he took in the voluptuous perfection of Esme’s figure, the coral-shell hue of her generous mouth, the dove-soft luster of her skin. She no longer looked like the young, nubile woman she’d been in her prime—she looked better. Maturity agreed with her.

  Esme took a bold step closer to Theo. “I’ve heard all about you. The Huntress doesn’t know what she threw away, does she?”

  One more step toward him, Selene seethed silently, and I’ll throw away her next. Right over the side of this mountain.

  Theo started to stutter an answer, but Esme talked right over him. “I like a man who likes strong women. And, unlike some relatives of mine, I’m not scared of a little”—she blinked languorously—“intimacy.”

  Selene’s fingernails had carved deep crescents in her palms. I told Flint he didn’t get to own me. I don’t get to own Theo, she reminded herself. She felt a sudden moment of empathy for Flint nonetheless. Possessiveness came naturally to the gods.

  A puff of smoke wafted from the door of the shelter. A pungent mixture of marijuana, mint, and pennyroyal. Which could only mean one thing.

  “Dennis is here?” Theo sniffed the air.

  Selene’s mood blackened further. She still hadn’t forgiven the God of Wine for encouraging Theo to kill himself.

  Scooter shrugged. “Pop said he wanted his whole family, right? I’m just following orders.”

  “Any more surprises?” Selene demanded. “Are all the aunts and uncles already on the summit?”

  “Of course!” His self-satisfied smile shrank a centimeter. “Well … those that are left, anyway.” He lowered his voice as he spoke their true names. “Demeter, Hestia, and Hera. Uncle Poseidon, like I said, is guarding Grandpa. And Cora’s there, too.”

  Cora, once called Persephone, was their sister-cousin, the offspring of Zeus and his sister Demeter. As the Goddess of Spring, Persephone had once looked younger even than the perennially youthful Apollo and Artemis. But her status as a minor goddess, bereft of the name recognition the Olympians enjoyed, had consigned her to more rapid fading than the others. When Selene had last seen her, Cora had looked like a woman in her sixties. The Mithraists’ brutal murder of her beloved husband, Hades, the God of the Underworld, could only have aged her further.

  “How’d you manage to convince Aunt June to come? She had no interest in helping Father. You tore her away from her honeymoon with young Maurizio?”

  “Kicking and screaming.” Scooter grinned. “But hey, no one can resist a Great Gathering of the Gods.”

  “Speak for yourself.”

  Another cloud of reeking smoke drifted from the shelter. Esme thrummed a chuckle and batted her lashes at Theo. Selene grunted.

  She returned to Zeus’s side, laying a hand on his clammy forehead. “You’re going to owe me one, Father,” she murmured to him. “There’s nothing like a family reunion to make me want to disown ninety percent of my relations.”

  Chapter 41

  GODDESSES OF OLYMPUS

  Scarlett Johansson’s sex appeal … Marilyn Monroe’s glamour … Cate Blanchett’s elegance …

  Theo was running out of beautiful blond celebrities, and he still hadn’t described Aphrodite to his own satisfaction. Normally, he would’ve enjoyed meeting another Athanatos. It was, after all, why he’d accepted Zeus’s invitation in the first place. But despite her blandishments, Esme Amata made him feel like he’d time traveled back to 1999, when a gawky, pimpled, teenage Theo Schultz hadn’t yet learned to wield his humor like other boys wielded their football prowess. At any moment, I’m going to ask her to prom, and she’s going to laugh in my face. Or she’s going to shove me into a broom closet and have her way with me.

  I’m not even sure which is worse.

  He made a half-hearted excuse to leave the terrace and retreated into the mountain shelter, looking for blister treatments.

  Sprawled across a bench in the dining area with one hairy-knuckled bare foot propped up beside him and his knee spread wide to display the crotch of his too-tight denim shorts, Dennis Boivin’s unsightliness only threw Esme’s beauty into sharper relief.

  The Releaser’s eyes widened when he saw Theo. He puffed two thick lines of odiferous smoke through his nostrils like a seething dragon, then scrambled to his feet and threw Theo against the wall.

  “Hey!” Theo shoved back, hard, but for all his apparent lassitude, Dennis had an Athanatos’s strength.

  “Think you can steal my golden leaf, little fucker?” Dennis growled in his ear. “Bet you felt smart, huh? Clever Professor Theo, always the quick study.” The god slipped his hand under Theo’s shirt, ripped the pendant free, and dangled it in front of his face. “Guess I got the last laugh, though. Whole thing’s just some useless Orphic bullshit.”

  “Orphic bullshit that got me into the Underworld and back out, with Selene in tow.”

  Dennis immediately released him. “No shit!”

  Theo rubbed his bruised chest. “Yeah shit.”

  Dennis stepped to the window and looked out to where Selene crouched worriedly beside her father. “I thought no way you were going to go through with it. You committed suicide and everything?”

  “Piece of cake. You should really try it sometime.”

  Dennis just guffawed at the insult, all his ire immediately dissolving into his usual insouciant derision. “And look at you now, up on Olympus with the big boys. Bet you’re wetting yourself with excitement.”

  “Remind me, is it the big boys who needed a mule to get up here?” Theo asked casually. “Because it seems—”

  “Don’t remind me of those horrible beasts,” Esme interrupted, appearing in the doorway. “The whole trip smelled like dung. Not at all what I’m used to.”

  What is she used to? Theo wondered. Rose petals underfoot and naked young men fanning her with dove feathers?

  “What do you do, Esme?” he couldn’t help asking. “For a job, I mean.”

  Clearly bemused, she replied, “Why would you think I have a job?”

  “Selene’s a private investigator. Philippe runs a dating website, right? So I just assumed—”

  Esme waved a dismissive hand. “Selene needs the money. Philippe likes the distraction. I don’t need either of those things. Love is the best distraction you can ask for. And as for money”—she chuckled throatily—“I get plenty of that.”

  For the first time, Theo noticed the ring she wore. A diamond the s
ize of a marble. “You’re engaged?” he asked her.

  “Oh, perpetually,” she said, the corners of her coral lips turning up. “To one man or another.”

  “But not … married?”

  Dennis and Esme laughed. Theo couldn’t help feeling they were laughing at him.

  “You’re adorable,” Esme said. “The Goddess of Erotic Love couldn’t possibly get married.” She batted thick black lashes at him. “That would defeat the purpose, wouldn’t it?”

  Her limpid blue eyes turned hard, just for an instant, and Theo suddenly understood why Aphrodite had betrayed her husband, Hephaestus, and chosen Mars for her lover. To her, Love was War. A series of conquests and pillages. Storm in and take their hearts, take their diamonds, and then move on to the next battle. She hadn’t, he noticed, even acknowledged that she was in fact still married to Flint. The Smith believed in building things slowly, carefully. That was as true for his relationships as it was for his complicated mechanical inventions. He’d taken centuries to craft his bond with his stepson, Philippe. Even longer to finally reveal how he felt about Selene. Theo felt a surge of sympathy, remembering how Flint, despite all his surly reserve, had fallen prey, over and over, to his wife’s wiles. Theo squared his shoulders, determined not to suffer the same fate.

  Esme stepped closer. He’d expected her to smell like flowers; instead, the tang of a woman’s sex and the faint musk of sweat wafted toward him, as if she’d enjoyed a marathon session of lovemaking just before he arrived. He cast a suspicious glance at Dennis’s bulging crotch and wondered if that could actually be true.

  In the myths, he remembered, Aphrodite and Dionysus had a son named Priapus, the God of Fertility. He’d seen a fresco in Pompeii of Priapus placing his two-foot-long penis on a scale, where it easily outweighed several bushels of grain. As Dennis’s grad school roommate, Theo could testify from firsthand observation that Priapus’s father wasn’t as well-endowed—not quite, anyway. He shuddered at the memory of Dennis’s disturbingly frequent naked rambles through their apartment.

  That got Theo thinking of Dennis’s orgies, which made him think of his own crotch, which made him look again at She Who Turns to Love, who’d unbuttoned the top of her shirt so that two perfect hemispheres of creamy flesh swelled into view, which made him turn to the shelter’s reception desk and pound the bell in a desperate SOS.

  The manager appeared, a harried woman with unwashed hair.

  “Kalimera,” Theo greeted her. “Could I get a blister pad and a pitcher of cold water, please?”

  The woman dashed sweat from her forehead. “There is no water. No toilets, no drinking water, no showers.” She sounded angry. “The spring that feeds the shelter has run dry.”

  “Climate change?”

  “That’s what started it. Not enough snow this winter. But then the government came in and tried to help. Brought in a whole bunch of machines to dig deeper channels, but that just made it worse. Now there’s nothing.” She reached behind the desk and retrieved a pack of blister plasters and a bottle of water from a cooler. “Ten euros.”

  At this point, Theo would’ve paid twice that. He took his bottle of water, downed half of it in one gulp, then found himself standing uncertainly in the middle of the room.

  Esme had moved to sit with Dennis, and the look that passed between them signaled it wouldn’t be long before they returned to their erotic pursuits. Theo didn’t intend to play voyeur, but he didn’t particularly feel like going out to talk to his former girlfriend either. Looking at Esme just made him more aware of his desire for Selene, not less.

  “Do you think we’re making him uncomfortable?” Esme asked Dennis, not bothering to lower her voice.

  “Theo-bore’s always uncomfortable,” the God of Revelry replied, looking straight at him. “You should’ve seen him in grad school, gasping like a shocked schoolmarm when I’d bring home some heroin and some women for a little nighttime snack. I swear he used to go into his room and secretly call the cops on me.”

  “No wonder the Chaste One likes him so much. They’re a perfect match.”

  Theo downed the rest of his water, now thoroughly confused. Hadn’t Esme been coming on to him a moment before?

  “Oh, he’s embarrassed!” Esme said with a peal of laughter. “He thought I wanted him!” She finally addressed Theo directly. “I just wanted to remind the Huntress how she feels about you. I’m awfully good at matchmaking, as you can imagine.”

  “Do you expect me to thank you?” he asked stiffly. “Because I don’t even—”

  “I didn’t do it for you.”

  “You did it for Selene?”

  Esme snorted delicately. “I just don’t want Hephaestus to have her. He is still my husband, after all.”

  Theo felt exactly like the prudish schoolmarm Dennis had so derided. All these “gods,” these hypocrites, these greedy assholes. They manipulated each other; they manipulated him. Selene had done it, too, asking Philippe to shoot that love dart into his arm after she’d faked her death. I can’t trust any of them, he decided, growing angrier by the second.

  He stormed out of the shelter, then froze on the terrace, unsure where to turn. Maryam was just arriving, followed by Flint, who rode on a mule led by his stepson. The two men went to speak with Scooter and Selene, who’d already started making preparations to continue their trek. Selene glanced up from securing her pack and caught Theo’s eye. Heat flashed between them before he looked away. Perhaps Esme’s little ploy had achieved its desired effect. He couldn’t help hoping it had—and then hating that he cared one way or the other.

  Maryam sat by herself at a picnic table, massaging her feet. Perhaps I finally found the one goddess I can relate to, he decided, heading toward her. He’d felt little kinship with Sister Maryam back in Turkey, and the Athena Promakhos atop the Acropolis had seemed far too intimidating for small talk, but now, seeing her so isolated from the other Athanatoi, he felt a tug of empathy.

  As he made his way toward her, he noticed the construction site on the border of the shelter. A sign in Greek and English explained that an American company had sponsored the “spring relocation” project that would ensure a continuous water supply for the shelter in the face of climate change. Beside it sat a backhoe and a bulldozer. He pitied the poor mule that had to lug the machinery up the mountain.

  He walked to Maryam’s table. “I see you’re not twirling around the mountainside Maria von Trapp style, huh?” he ventured. “Not that kind of nun?”

  She looked mystified by the reference. It seemed American musicals had never made it to the convent. He tried a more direct approach. “I’ve got some blister bandages if you need them.”

  “That would be useful,” she said.

  Useful, Theo mused. Not “nice.” Not “good for my evil plan to manipulate all my relatives.” This is a woman devoted to practicality above all. What a nice change of pace.

  He handed over half his supply, then reached to pull off his own sneakers and cotton socks. “Honestly, I wasn’t sure how hard the hike was for you,” he said, watching her apply the adhesives to the backs of her heels.

  “Hard enough.”

  “But you … you’re still worshiped. After a fashion. I thought maybe your strength …”

  “Strength to stay young, yes. Strength to perform the odd miracle or two for the penitent, yes. Or at least, to make them believe I’m performing a miracle,” she admitted. “But physical strength? The Virgin Mary doesn’t climb a lot of mountains. Nor is she used to lugging such weight anymore.”

  Theo looked down at her enormous hiking pack. He’d assumed that, since she didn’t complain, Maryam had shouldered her burden easily enough. “Now that we’ve got more people to carry the stretcher, I could help with your pack the rest of the way,” he offered.

  “You think you’d be helping me,” she said matter-of-factly. “But once the oxygen thins, the extra weight would slow you down by at least thirty percent.” She glanced at the sloping path to the summit
. “Perhaps thirty-two if I judge that gradient right. We’d need to leave you behind to get to the top before the storms move in, but Selene wouldn’t do that without protest, and I predict it would take at least fifteen minutes to convince her otherwise.” She glanced at her watch. “My uncle and aunts are already waiting up there with Saturn. We can’t afford any more delays.” Then, for just an instant, this new, scarily smart Athena disappeared once more behind Sister Maryam’s gentle smile, and she added, “But thank you for your kindness.”

  “Um. Anytime.” He wasn’t sure what made him more uneasy: the mathematical precision, the jarring personality shift, or the fact that she thought Selene could be convinced to abandon him in fifteen minutes.

  Either way, when Selene announced that they’d be continuing their ascent, and Maryam hoisted her huge pack onto her shoulders, Theo made no move to help.

  Neither did Scooter, who’d been staring at his half sister with an unusually chilly expression ever since she’d arrived. He sauntered over to the picnic table. “This is quite a surprise. Maryam, is it?”

  Theo wondered if Scooter’s aloofness resulted from bruised pride. As the god tasked with keeping track of the Olympians, he wouldn’t appreciate Maryam sidestepping him.

  “I came here to help Father,” she said calmly. “Selene said I was needed.”

  “Yes, so I heard.” He gave her a strained smile. “The more the merrier.”

  Turning to the assembled crowd on the terrace, he said, “Okay, ladies and gentlemen and Dennis. This is the last push. We need to get up there before eleven in the a.m. After that, we’re hiking through a torrential downpour, and the whole plan’s kaput. So let’s be quick like little mountain goats, yes?” He glanced up at the summit, already shrouded in clouds. “Unfortunately, no helicopter in this weather and no mules. So Philippe, you and Selene should take Pop’s stretcher. That way, our brave Makarites can be rested when he gets to the top.”

  “I don’t need—” Theo began, but Scooter talked right over him.