by S W Clarke
I stared back, my legs shaking. I couldn’t stop their shaking, because even here, even now, I felt the instinct to run. It threaded through my system with white-hot urgency.
Could I defeat this woman? Especially now, knowing what I knew. She carried a mother’s love with her, and that love was indomitable.
Serena took another step forward, but as she did, Pythia stepped through her. She grabbed my wrist with her thin, viselike fingers. “We must leave.”
And once more, the world melted away.
Chapter 16
We stood back in the champagne room. I could feel my body, and I could feel the grip of El Lobizon’s claw poised at Pythia’s throat, but my mind wasn’t fully there. Serena Russo’s eyes had burned into my vision, still hung before me as if I’d stared too long at the sun.
“You understand now,” Pythia said. She sounded older, weaker.
At once, I jarred back to the present, gasping. I lowered the claw and stepped back.
She turned toward me. “I’ve given you a gift. Few ever discover their fate, and even fewer gain a glimpse into the future or the past. So you can imagine how rare it is that you should understand—truly understand—the heart of your nemesis.”
She had voiced what I’d been thinking for so long. Serena Russo was my nemesis. There was no better way of putting it. And yet Serena Russo was the mother to a boy in a wheelchair. Even now, the two could not join in my mind.
The oracle stepped away from me, crossed toward Aigle and Hercules. Hesperia and Erytheia let out another hiss, preparing to attack Justin and Cupid. But Aigle raised a hand in the air as Pythia came close to her, leaning to whisper something in her ear. One finger rose, pointed at me, and Aigle’s eyes darted to mine.
“Her?” she said.
At once, Aigle rose. She leaned close to Hercules, her mouth approaching his ear. She whispered something, and Hercules nodded. Aigle took a step back. “Move away, sisters,” she said, defeat threaded through her words. “We’re done here. The apples are hidden in Central Park—the oracle will tell you how to reach them.”
“Sister,” Hesperia moaned.
“But,” Erytheia cried, “we are the guardians, appointed by Hera.”
Aigle raised a hand. “The gods have left.” She moved to the center of the room, staring at me. “She is the one the oracle has been waiting for. And the oracle has told me that Hercules is crucial to the encantado’s fate. We must allow him to complete his labors.”
“Labors?” Hercules said. “I only have one labor remaining.”
Pythia shook her head. “Not so, Hercules. You and I will talk on this.”
I was still stuck on what Aigle had said about Hercules and me. Crucial to my fate. I stared at Hercules, who met my gaze. Since he’d walked into that motel office, I’d been struggling not to look into his eyes. Having a friend you find attractive is one thing, but the son of Zeus and a witty, perceptive charmer to boot?
Well, you either avoid, avoid, avoid, or you’re doomed.
“What do you mean about him being crucial to my fate, Oracle?” I said. “Why Hercules?”
“Isabella,” Hercules interjected, stepping toward me, “may we speak in private?”
I just stared at him, stuck to the spot. I did and didn’t want to speak to him in private. GoneGods, what would “privacy” look like in a strip club, anyway? I pictured us pressed into a tiny dressing room. And given his size, I do mean pressed.
A throat cleared to my right. “Well, I’m going to speak for my girlfriend and say that’s a big, fat ‘no.’ ”
Justin. He had pushed himself to his feet, but he looked like he was about to collapse from exhaustion. As soon as my eyes fell on him, the rational gear in my brain clicked into place. I crossed to his side, ducking under his arm to help him stand upright. “You need to lay down.”
“What I need,” Justin began—he was slurring again—“is for the Terminator over here to stop macking on my girl.”
“Bring him to my room,” the oracle said. “I will do what I can for him. Aigle, show them the way.”
A minute later, Justin lay on the oracle’s—admittedly glorious, plush—bed just down the hall from the champagne room, surrounded by the minutiae of her life. A dresser with a seat and mirror for applying makeup, vials and herbs set in a row on its surface. She even had beads across the doorway, like a true sham psychic. All of it seemed mysterious and appealing in the light from the hallway, but when Pythia turned on the real light—the bare-boned white light—all of us came into relief, and I was reminded that half of a strip club’s allure resides in the lighting.
I stood just inside the doorway while Pythia examined him. Aigle, Cupid and Hercules had piled into her room with me, the latter two at my side, and we all observed Pythia’s work.
“Does she know what she’s doing?” I whispered to Aigle.
Aigle scoffed. “She is the Oracle of Delphi. Her understanding of the healing arts surpasses any human doctor.”
Justin winced as the shirt came away, and the mess of wounds came exposed under the harsh light.
I gasped, tried to muffle it with my hand. “I thought, when Hercules drank from the vial …”
“Yes, I drank from the vial,” Hercules said. “And though our fates are entwined, what I drink from the River Styx will have a much diluted effect on him. Particularly since he is a human, and I am not. It is only our bound fates that kept him from dying to it.”
Pythia raised a gloved hand. She had scrubbed with soap and put on a pair of disposable gloves like a regular nurse. Now she touched the edges of his wound. She chuckled. “You got lucky, given it was Erytheia’s blade. It’s not deep—just bloody.” A pause. “A few stitches will do.”
On my other side, Hercules leaned into me. His scent already overwhelmed me in this space, and now I felt the heat radiating off him as he spoke. “Isa,” he whispered. It sounded like the most familiar thing in the world.
I didn’t move. Stop thinking about Hercules, I thought, even as I spoke to him. “Yes?”
“I won’t fail. I cannot, because it will mean Justin’s death. It will mean your death. Nothing will happen to you—I swear it.”
As if he’d heard him, Justin’s eyes flicked to Hercules, then to me … where they stayed, accusatory through and through.
I realized how it looked: Hercules and I pressed together, him whispering to me. And it wasn’t injustice I felt—“how could you think this of me, Boyfriend? I’ll always be true to you!”—but shame. Some part of me wasn’t being true. I enjoyed the feel of Hercules beside me. The heat.
When Justin sat up, Pythia clucked her tongue. “Lay back down, human.”
“Not until I’ve taken care of this.” He swung his legs off the bed, his muscled chest gleaming in the spots where it wasn’t bloody. I had forgotten how strong he was, how the Other DNA had changed his physique.
Before, he’d been athletic. Now, he was powerful.
“Hey,” I said, “you’re unwell. Don’t—“
“Hercules,” Justin intoned, his growl vibrating through the room. Every hair on my body rose at once.
Hercules straightened. “Justin Truly.”
When Justin stood, he brought one fist into the other palm. Four knuckles cracked, then the fifth. “Step away from my girlfriend.”
“Oh boy.” Cupid flitted into the air. He sounded vaguely … excited? “I love a good throwdown over love.”
Aigle the nymph rolled her eyes, pushed past the beads in the doorway. “I have customers to entertain,” she murmured on the way out.
“Justin, Hercules,”—I lifted my hands in a placating way—“we don’t have time for this. Remember the apples?”
Hercules canted his head. “Your girlfriend is over five hundred years old. I believe she can decide whom she’d like to stand next to.”
Justin pointed at the doorway. “Outside. You and me.”
Hercules shrugged. “As you wish, Justin Truly.”
“A
nd stop calling me Justin Truly.”
“What shall I call you?”
“Your worst nightmare.”
Cupid snickered. “Proof positive that IQ drops when the adrenaline kicks in.”
As Justin passed through the beads and Hercules made to follow, Pythia called out to him. “Hercules, a moment. The rest of you may go.”
Cupid and I slowly followed Justin down the hall. “What do you think that’s about?” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder back the way we’d come.
My mind was so fixed on Justin, I just shrugged. “I haven’t got a clue.”
Whatever the two of them talked about in Pythia’s bedroom, it didn’t take long for the demigod to catch up to me and Cupid—and pass us as he strode after Justin.
A moment later, Pythia appeared at my side. “We have to stop them,” I said. “Justin’s hurt, he’s sick. He’ll get knocked out.”
Pythia only clasped her hands together before her. “Some things you cannot stop. Hercules desires your affection, and Justin loves you. This is how he has chosen to fight for you.”
Warmth pooled in amongst the fear in my chest. I didn’t want them to fight, but it also felt good to be wanted. The encantado in me glowed at Pythia’s pronouncement, and the other part of me felt terrified for Justin.
“No. This can’t happen—he’s Hercules,” I said. “How can Justin possibly win?”
“That depends on how you interpret ‘winning,’ ” Pythia said. Well, that was mysterious, but what could I expect from an oracle?
We threaded through the club, which had filled with customers. Aigle had returned to the stage, captivating the men seated around her. When we came outside, a blast of winter air hit us.
Before me, under the neon lights of Nymphos, Hercules had removed his shirt and his corduroys, leaving nothing but the lion skin, and the two men faced off in the middle of the street.
I stepped between them, my arms folded across my body against the chill. “This doesn’t need to happen.”
Justin’s eyes never left Hercules. “Step aside, Isa.”
I approached him, but Justin only moved around me, leaving nothing between him and Hercules. And from somewhere behind me, Cupid’s chubby hands went around my shoulders and he urged me to the sidewalk.
“It’ll end quickly,” Cupid whispered. “Their fates are entwined, remember? It’ll be like each of them is beating himself up. Natural preservation instincts will take hold.”
But, I thought, you don’t know Justin when he’s determined.
↔
For all Justin’s bulk, Hercules still stood half a foot taller and probably that much wider than my boyfriend. They looked like they were of different species, and I guess they were.
A demigod, son of Zeus, versus a human being with a spritz of unknown Other thrown in.
From the sidewalk, a line of people waiting to get into the club hollered and hooted and raised money in the air.
“Two to one on the big guy!”
“Take it all off,” a woman crooned at Hercules.
Pythia came forward like some sort of referee, her robes trailing behind her as her hands raised into the air. “Step two paces back, each of you.”
Cupid floated at my side. “She’ll never admit it, but she loved the arena back in the ancient world.”
I kept shivering. “Like, gladiators?”
“Like gladiators,” Cupid said. “Just be glad there are no tigers around.”
The two men stepped back. Justin leaned forward, hands out, ready to grapple, while Hercules only stood upright, hands at his sides. He appeared as casual as ever.
Pythia’s hands remained in the air. Her head turned from one to the other before she swept them down and stepped back. “Begin.”
Justin rushed forward, ducking low as though to sweep Hercules’s legs out from under him. Hercules fell into the same pose, the two men meeting and grappling.
“He has no chance against Hercules,” I murmured. “He’ll break his hand on Hercules’s face.”
Cupid glanced at me. “You don’t know how Hercules’s strength works, do you?”
“What do you mean? Isn’t he just … strong?”
“Yes,” Cupid said, “but only as strong as his opponent. That’s the trick of his strength. You see, the gods loved nothing more than fine print and exceptional challenges.” He pointed at Justin. “However strong your boyfriend is right now, that’s how strong Hercules is. In terms of brute strength, they’re a mirror match.”
Before me, the two continued grappling, neither able to gain any purchase on the other. “Doesn’t Hercules usually win? I mean, what he did to the odontotyrannos …”
“He does,” Cupid said, “because he understands the fine print. Think back to how he defeated the creature.”
I shivered as another blast of wind hit us. It was hard to think about anything right now. “He sidestepped it, I think.”
Cupid snapped his fingers. “Bingo.”
“So he outsmarted it.”
“He used technique, wisdom, savvy. Doesn’t make for good entertainment for the gods if he could just overpower every enemy with brute strength, does it?”
In the street, the two men had dropped to their knees, each reaching out to grab at the other’s leg and failing. This stalemate persisted for a full minute—and had just begun to feel like it would last forever—when Justin managed to get a grip on Hercules’s ankle. A scraping ensued, and Hercules was pulled off his feet and onto his side. Justin tried to climb on top of him, but Hercules rolled out from under, scrambled away. The two of them rose to their feet, and then the real fistfight ensued.
Chapter 17
Justin threw the first punch, but Hercules dodged. Another punch, another dodge. Every time, my heart rose into my throat. I didn’t want to see Hercules take a blow—it would hurt Justin.
Plus, I didn’t want to see him hurt, just like I didn’t want to see Justin hurt.
I wanted to run out there and scream at them both, but I had already tried that, and they had just ignored me like two feral cats.
Then Hercules’s swing came. That massive arm plowed through the air, and Justin deflected with his forearm, used the opening to land a jab in Hercules’s side. Both of them jerked forward in synchrony.
I gasped; as before, the blow had hurt Justin as much as the demigod.
I took a few steps forward, but Pythia grabbed my arm. “Do not interfere, encantado. Trust me, you do not want to be the recipient of a stray fist.”
I watched the two men—shining examples of male physicality—fight over me, and I didn’t realize Cupid was observing me until he said, “You think you’re not worthy.”
I flashed him a glance. “What?” I knew he’d hit on the truth, because I became flustered, couldn’t find the right words except to pretend like I hadn’t heard.
“You heard me.” His hand settled on my shoulder. “I know that little voice in your head. It tells you lies.”
“You know it?” I said, my eyes still on the two fighters. I wasn’t sure a demigod like Cupid could even have psychological issues. “But you’re …”
“Oh, you think because I’m going to spend the rest of my mortal life looking like a toddler and fly around shooting arrows that I don’t have thoughts like the rest of you? Well, my therapist can set you straight.”
I started to laugh, but stopped when I met Cupid’s eyes. “Oh, you’re serious.”
He pointed at Justin and Hercules, who were dancing around each other, throwing punches and deflecting, occasionally getting a half-blow in. Neither one had landed a definitive strike yet. “They’re fighting over you, but that’s not why you’re worthy, Isabella.”
“Why, then?” I said, just to humor him.
“Because all three Cupids”—his chubby fingers went up, waggled—“are seeking you. All three of us.” He floated partly in front of me, and one finger lowered, touched me in the center of the chest. “You’re capable of greater love than any
mortal in this entire city. Empty Hell, this entire continent. Don’t forget it.”
My eyes focused on Cupid staring at me, then beyond him to the two men in the street. Then they could not focus at all, and I had to wipe a tear away. I hadn’t expected to cry—not here, not now. But then, I hadn’t expected Cupid’s little pep talk, either.
Most importantly, I hadn’t realized how much it would mean to me to hear his words.
A cheer rose from the line outside Nymphos, and both of us discovered Justin seated on the asphalt. He was working his jaw with his fingers while Hercules stood over him, both hands clenched. I knew Hercules’s own jaw must have ached.
“Do you yield?” Hercules asked.
Justin said nothing. He only glared up at Hercules, lowered his hand, and in one motion, rose from the ground and landed on Hercules like a jaguar. The two men toppled onto the street, Justin on top of Hercules, and Justin proceeded to wail on the demigod. Every blow he landed appeared on Justin’s own face.
As I thought: a determined Justin was a madman.
I gasped, rushing forward.
“Enough!” Pythia declared. “It is done.”
But Justin didn’t stop. When I touched his shoulder, he flinched and shot a furious stare up at me like he wanted to attack me, too. His chest heaved, blood seeping down into his pants and onto Hercules’s skin. Dark bruises were forming around his eyes, and a streak of red ran down his chin.
“Are you stopping me because of him?” he growled. I had never seen him this angry. “Because you don’t want me to hurt him?”
I staggered back. “No,” I whispered. Beneath Justin, a smattering of blood covered Hercules’s face—his lip was broken, too—but he only stared up at Justin, green eyes impassive. He didn’t struggle, didn’t continue fighting. He just lay there.
“Please,” I said, reaching out for Justin’s hand, “I love you. Let’s just go back inside.”
Justin’s shaking hand rose as though he would take mine. Before we touched fingers, his eyes fluttered, and he dropped sidelong onto the asphalt.
